Occasionally, I feel like,
I’m being buried by a landslide,
So I go into my room and turn off the lights,
Play music to drown out my plights.
Suddenly, I feel a bubbling,
Deep inside my soul.
It’s been bottled up,
My dam isn’t enough,
And I’m about to lose control.

The truth is,
Sometimes I cry.
When I’m tired of bottling it up inside.
A deconstruction of pride,
Fractured fragments left behind.
My dam can’t hold back,
The tsunami that’s on the attack.
Sometimes, it’s overwhelming,
It can feel like I’m drowning,
In a pool of sorrow,
Of my own making.
It’s hard to stop it,
So methodic,
It keeps on coming back.

Pathetic, sympathetic,
It’s difficult to control it.
Cathartic, ironic,
How do people deal with this?
The waterworks are a virus,
That everyone’s contaminated with.
Can’t show weakness,
Got to keep a straight face,
A mask from the pain.
Let the pillow be the bucket for my sorrows.
Let the tears dampen the fabric of the case.
Let my blankets cool me off, calm me down,
And help me change my frown.

Sometimes all we need,
Is an emotional release.
Perhaps, that’s the way,
To inner peace.

oh,
how the tragedy speaks for itself with me in its arms.
It speaks about vile i let in and followed through life.
It gushes on given blood to a vampire It applauds me,
For venturing in woods,
Fighting with wolves,
shedding skin off for a family of cruels,
It repeats my sins over my dead body to make sure i remain buried.
I've lived in pages others skim through,
Pages where ink is bruised too,
all along i've been in a story that must be abolished through and through.
I could've been a sonnet of love,
memerising everyone to above,
yearning, longing for the ones i love
i gave myself to the above.
The times passed between my fingers,
As steadily sand passes through,
all alone i whisper
Will the life regret me too?

My tears dress for cowardice.
They are always up on my eye lids ready to ashame me.
“the rain is about to befall!”
the cads care too much.
All these drownings of heart break paint me ****,
you dignified it in sentences of two. “you cry often. You cry in front of everyone.”
you persuaded me about our fragile hearts.
Filled with softness and poetry.
“but that's our friend”
it got ingrained in my memory.
I trace it with my fingers in solitary. “in this harsh, cruel world.
Kindness is the greatest boon to have”
my lips curl into a warm smile. Though these memories don't come often.
They are trapped away in a dull corner of mind yet they come in time. Just how our paths collide
Messing up fate's tricks and twists
Those messed up calls,
messages built up on one and other, cancellation couldn't quite reach for our comfort with each other.

I gave you the softest parts of me—
not to be etched with your absence,
but to be held like something sacred.
You mistook my silence for surrender,
my patience for permission
to translate my worth
into your dialect of deficiency.
I kept shrinking,
hoping you'd stop asking me to stretch
into shapes that broke me.
But even silence thundered
when it was you echoing inside it.
You wanted me holy—
while you played god with my peace.
But where was the audit?
Where was the reckoning
for all the times I arrived
as more than you deserved
and still left with less than I needed?
I begged the universe for balance,
and it gave me you—
a lesson wrapped in longing,
a storm disguised as stillness.
I wore almost like a second skin.
until it blistered:
almost loved,
almost safe,
almost enough.
Now, I gather the fragments—
not to rebuild you,
but to remember me.
Because healing isn’t ornamental,
but it’s mine.
And this time,
I won’t apologize
for the fire
that finally burned you out of me.
I’m tired of drowning
in the shape of someone else’s healing,
tired of being the altar
where guilt is laid like offerings.
So I take—
not out of want,
but necessity.
To stop giving to ghosts
who never learned how to stay.
This time,
I light the match,
watch the echoes burn.

__

believe me
i know my tears—
too wet,
 too sudden

my eyes a washing line
of memories, regrets
hung me up
  to dry

searching for a loan
of love like a borrowed
heart pinned to a shirt

to find the wear and tear
of time; every memory
is washed,
 wrung out in silence
until it dripped from my eyes—

finally, oh finally,
  this man has found
the time to cry.

Amount of berries surge, price drops.
Amount of berries drop, price surges.
I am merely someone flooded with tears–
How can I not fear my tears will lose all its meanings too?