Boom of a killer bullet,
slice of a bloodied sword ,
are what my ears get served with.
Hold on! Get a break.
I’m not a soldier at a battle field.
But, I’m more than that, just an
ordinary girl, but more than that.
That boom is the beat of my heart.
That slice is the ripping of my heart.
I have no idea if this makes sense,
but, trust me I’m fighting the most
gruesome battle unarmed, which
feels like sprinting to reach the end of the universe.
I’m the poet of my life who couldn’t
be its scriptwriter.
Words are my sword…
Well as sweet as it sounds, this old
phrase gives me a cliche vibe.
So I say, words are my drugs…
that awakes the drowsy dams in me,
forcing me to release all the pent up
emotions that got me on my knees
each time I try to reach the light.
I crave for its flavour with the
hunger to push all these goddamn
frustration the world heaps on me.
Heck! It’s even harder for me to
pick up what all these emotions are.
Why? You ask me why?
Just look at all those hungry gazes
growling to claw your heart to feed
their beasts.
I’m tired of plastering smiles in a
world rid of humanity.
I’m tired of playing the clown to
survive.
I’m too drained fighting my
emotions.
Yet, I’m trying to be that warrior,
drugged at the war zone.
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