My Memories

They'll Too

The situation I had been in, Was the situation they were in. I wanted to warn them, As I already knew the end, But I decided against it. As I was the one who ignored the warnings too, And I knew they'll too. Thinking, The way I realised, They'll realise too. The way I learned, They'll learn too.

~ark

We used to be strangers,

Nothing was known, no memories.

I hope we had remained the same,

Because now nothing is left.

No bliss, no pain.

Sometimes I don't care about what people think, Because I've already thought about it on their behalf.

~ark

There were two reasons I was scared to let people in; the damage they could do, and the damage they could find.

Chris Mc Geown

"I don't even feel anything anymore, I'm just immersed in the stillness of my own thoughts."

— Echoes of the Infinite, Restless Prayer

With a glint in her eyes, hungry to be heard and loved, looked around herself, she was all alone, all by herself.

She had no major problems in her life nor did she want all eyes on her. It was a search for a pair of eyes, deep as an ocean, for she could drown in them and vanish.

With stories unwritten, she remained responsible, priorities remained unhinged. But it was there in her mind somewhere, to weave a beautiful story once, from her memories and not from her imagination.

To be Known, To be Lost

I broke free Too tired to survive in monotony Too tired of being recognised, known to anybody.  The urge to just disappear lingered,  To become a part of something new,  To feel new, to dissolve, to be lost completely. 

But in the process of, Filtering myself to feel unique, Escaping to gain my own autonomy, The desire to belong, My willingness to surrender, Made me realise that I was nothing more than a selfish body. Transient beings, their desires - ugly.  To be bound, to be known, to be contradictory.  I confined myself to have nothing, But a fleeting identity.    

Sculpted

I sculpted it With the desire To reshape something I could never fix To create something I could never become To make it distinct from me To let it live my every dream

But it wasn't the only one coming to life With it I was reliving I was being crafted in the process of crafting I was creating it to recreate me To give it life to live mine To feel complete

Displaying it one day, The audience seemed to be smitten with its beauty But it refused to believe them It refused to believe me It refused to love itself It refused to be Caressing it, I reduced it into pieces Only to realise, The molds I had used were once used on me, I had created nothing but me.

~ark

The Footsteps

The footsteps across the path she crossed, were the inspiration of the nightmares in which she was lost. Those footsteps made the path uneven; they were embedded in it after all.

Every time, she wanted to take a different road, full of adventures abode, she tripped on the footprints, that trapped her there, the moment she felt aware. The other one would be bad or even worse, she thought while she was handcuffed by the curse of her memories.

The footsteps she was scarred by, Belonged to the person who once made her fly, But she never knew, she took her first flight in a trapped sky.

She revisited the days she was a sunflower, who followed her star, her sun with all her power. She was now a prisoner, unknown of the jailer, after all the road became her world now.

The girl who was trapped by a jailer in a jail, Now thought her home was that person who protected from the unknown, Little did she knew; she was being hidden behind a cruel veil.

She asked herself one day, how did the footsteps leave such a deep impact on her fate?

She then remembered, the person crossed the path when it was young, when the cement was wet. The footsteps were embedded when the cement was naïve, it was isolated when they met.

The footsteps sculpted her entire life now, which made her imprison herself in the prison constructed by her hands, she was just a puppet now, strangled by the death strands.

~ark

And once again, I endured the pain, I never caused.

~ark

Done being the PUNCHING BAG.