What kills a curse
If not a curse.

If not the curse of prayer
If not the curse of death
If not the curse of a confession
If not the curse of a new birth
what else will it be?

The truth can **** a curse.
Start from telling it.

From the moment we start living,
From the moment we take our first breath,
We fight.
Such a tiring fight life gives us,
But how fruitful and capturing joy can be
When we finally rest,
If only for a moment.
The world will keep spinning,
So we fight for it to spin in our direction,
So that maybe after we leave,
Someone will remember the one soul out of billions of others
That fought for them.
This is a trying life,
It's cruel and swift and so very, very beautiful.
And often we fall and break and scar ourselves beyond recognition,
And we lose.
And sometimes losing is too much.
Sometimes we can't fight anymore.
Sometimes we lose sight of just what glorious jewel we've kept,
All this time.
But this life is a cursed blessing,
It's a fight.
And it begins,
From the moment we start living.

A lean plain-faced insignificant figure,
With a green ribbon around his neck holding a card,
Dressed in the same khaki clothes everyday,
Walks the walk of an old ghost that knows,
Where it has come from,
But has just been denied redemption.
Rather, he has been cursed,
With an object-less stare,
An ear deaf to the world around - and,
Long pointless hours, forcing him to give in,
To a world, he merely dared to live in.

Life's never too Ideal, it's like stormy weather
Two eyed child with his third eye's perspective severed
Heard of blessings, received a curse & wants it tethered
Hates the weights on his consciousness & wants it feathered
Fate states he's never to end with this endeavour
Forever to be displeasured
He's just sought the comfort he so vividly treasures
Taught effort won't make him triumphant, doesn't matter
***-for tat, in tatters, with his hope set to shatter soon
The night sky is his mind & his dreams are the moon

there are nights where the rain's so heavy I could drown myself in it
the thunder's just as violent as my sadness
and I wonder why I feel guilty when you were the one who left
I met someone new but my heart was never meant to belong to anyone else
and I love him but I feel like he's only borrowing what's yours
your t-shirt is at the bottom of my junk drawer
and I think of how I could've done things differently
If I could, I'd do it all again
but if I'm being honest with myself I loved you the only way I knew how
with the kind of abundance that can suffocate
so I'll carry my heart like a weight and not an asset
because it will never be a blessing to feel this much

The curse of mortality:
handing everything over day by day

I look at the horror around me
and see.
I see mothers and fathers helpless
as their hungry infants cry out.
I see men and women uselessly working the arid soil
in a last desperate attempt to feed their starving children.
I see folks weep as they are forced to choose between
nourishing their old parents or their young kids.
I see people so gaunt,
I can count each one of their ribs
as they shiver despite the extremely hot weather.
I see frail once-friends fight over a minuscule piece of bread.
I see a people suffering so greatly and so slowly
that death would come as deliverance to them.

And in the middle of deserted fields, dried up lakes and emaciated kids
stands a black figure.
Not a man nor a woman nor anything in between.
Just a dark ghostly figure holding a golden scale in its right hand.

I am mesmerized by the shadow and cannot help but stare
and although, it has no eyes,
I can feel it is staring back.
My curiosity disappears
as I am suddenly overcome
with a feeling of emptiness.

I guess we're all different
I don't know if I'll make
Maybe we'll find salvation in the words we write

Or are they a curse
A never ending burst
Of emotion
Of pain
And sorrow

But let's not think of that today :]