Ouroboros lived in a forest,
He could’ve been like anyone before us.
He lived his life filled with pride,
Masking plenty of issues on the inside.
Ouroboros always believed he was in the right,
Despite the many times he was on the wrong side,
He lived his life filled with pride.
A constant cycle,
In the shape of a circle.
He never learned from his mistakes,
He just brushed them off onto another day,
His friends and family wished he would change,
But he remained the same.
Ouroboros lived in a forest,
He convinced himself that it wasn’t due to his poor choices.
He could’ve been like anyone before us,
Poor Ouroboros.
A constant cycle of believing you're constantly in the right,
A never-ending circle consistently spinning because of pride.
Is it worth it to throw everything on the line,
Just because you can’t accept that your side,
Of the issue isn’t the only one on people’s minds?
Poor Ouroboros,
A somber chorus,
And the poor forest can’t ignore his cries.
All this strife due to pride.

Beating a stigma
 with a stereotypical stick — as they tell me  
“Do stick to your kind” if I ever hope to suite in.
But trying to suite in never really means you’ll fit in —
it just means you’re dressed for the part, and not the room.

Because when the interior world doesn’t match
the exterior’s performance, the walls echo as a stranger.
    Being “mysterious” is still a bit of a mystery to me —
Especially when society’s own boundaries blur like
  breath on glass. So they’ll corner you with regulation
and call it freedom. But the regulars aren’t in order.

Again, boundaries do blur,
  like lines drawn with wet chalk.
Regulations - written by those who keep changing the page.
Still, society will corner you and call it “open space.”
The regulars aren’t in order. They call us too young to be this
    tired, by this idealistic age, that has us exhausted by reality.

Some mornings, I hate being told “Good morning.”
It sounds too bright for the kind of dark I’m carrying around.
My face? Is mundane by necessity. And I’ve surrendered to
the grey — because bright ideas can get you darkened these days.

Memories always haunt us —
   but we never get the gift of being ghosted by our pasts.
We are phantoms in the present, shadows behind the future,
hoping to step into the light without burning.

But let’s make light of the struggles we face, and not
just fight demons in the dark. The dark is their territory —
but the light is where we name things without shame.
Cos in the weekly sense — you wear your weakness
  like cologne, but cover it in the smile of a pretend-bright today.

I was tied to the train tracks.
For all the horrible things I didn’t do?

I had a small knife.
What’s the point?
It’s dull.

I could try,
but it’d be endless.

It started as a rumor, that morning.
By my last class, gym,
it was the fourth time they pushed me.

What’s the point of getting back up
if it’s dulled to happen again?

I’d let them,
especially him,
crush my skull until I died.

The funny thing is,
the rumor was true.

I did have a crush on him.
I was just a boy.

शब्द वापरून वाक्य बनवली जातात,
वाक्य वापरून मनातील भाव मांडले जातात.
एकेकाळी मी ज्यांच्याशी तासंतास बोलायचो,
ते आजकाल फक्त कामासाठी phone करतात.

Priority नाही आहे मी कोणाची,
फक्त एक option म्हणून उरलोय आता.
आयुष्याच्या झाडाची टवटवीत फुलं
कोमेजलेली दिसतात येताजाता.

आजकाल काही share केलं जात नाही,
WhatsApp ग्रुप्सला कधी add केलं जात नाही.
लोक भरपूर आहेत आजूबाजूला –
मित्र तर नाहीत, पण आठवणी उरल्यात काही.

मला मान्य आहे की मी आहे एक failure,
नाही जमल्या मला काही गोष्टी करायला.
आयुष्याच्या या सांडलेल्या कचऱ्याला
मला एकट्यालाच लागेल भरायला.

The morning light is
judgement day.
Like life's lingering memorial to inadequacy,
it is a death determined on slow demise.

Exacerbated exhaustion,
£s pounding your brain and taxing souls.

Bedroom shade, blissful sheets and bold coffee are
barless enclosures,
like spindles
patient for a maiden's finger.

There is a heaviness within me
that never leaves,
no matter what I do,
no matter what I say.

Omnipresent,
like a death sentence:
slow,
cruel.

My thoughts are curses,
blasphemous, dark, vile,
a constant sacrilege
against a power too great
to subjugate.

I'm held in chains,
my humanity a gift
wrapped in a cage.

I try to run,
but it claws at my skin.

Now I'm left
with bones and veins,
dragging myself through the sand
as the clock ticks,
a reminder
that my time will soon end.

My arms flail in despair,
reaching for an anchor
before I vanish
into an abyss
too vast to comprehend.

Yet an echo chants in verses,
a lament of truth
that feels like a burden:

All is fleeting.
Nothing stays.

Love comes in waves.
It drowns you
in euphoric bliss,
where two souls intertwine
for a single kiss.

Then you're alone,
washed up on the shore,
wondering
when it began
and how it came to end.

You bask in the light of happiness,
but darkness always follows,
leaving you cold and hollow.

Only death is certain.
Only you exist.

Others are but mirrors.
Their reflections never change,
a constant dissonance
between who I am
and what I try to escape.

I've been cast out of heaven
to rot in this hell,
among demons and devils
whose desires drip like venom.

Greed in their eyes,
wrath in their hearts,
sweet nothings
masked beneath lust.

Cleanse me of this place.

Burn me:
sevenfold,
tenfold.

Rid me of this plane.

Banish me to silence,
where death does not toll,
to the place where time
exists only as a shadow.

Noise, all I hear, this loud head,
Suggestions for all the ways to be
A vacuum, a void, with things left unsaid,
A voice unheard, left in the dark,
Tastes unseen, fear that they'd disappear
After a while, differences seem stark,
A clean room, on a bad day, appears a mess,
The walls seem to talk, with silence looming,
The quiet beckons me to a game of chess,
"How long can you play", it asks, "till you stop?
I can go on, it's my favourite game,
Will you keep going, until you drop,
Until you're nothing, till you forget your name?"

the hour is late
fears keeping you wake
it's all in your head
it's all in your head

the nightmare is nigh
in your tired eye
it's creeping nearby
it's creeping nearby

the danger exists
it's still in your head
it will never end
it will never end