Over the past one month, I had completely engrossed myself in the words I wanted to write, to outdone myself. And I did. At least I think I have. After completing that said work, I have been looking for an inspiration, something, anything at all. It may be so, that I have ran out of ideas, or words to say for that matter, expressions that were once my forte have now become my Achilles heel. Because it seems empty on the inside. The words, the feelings. Its all gone. Drained. Like a hallowed, barren land. Every time I put the pen to the paper, the words that come out stare me in the face and give me a disappointed look. Every time I try to rhyme a poem, it looks at me like a martyr.
I made endless distress calls to ones that can help me, it was only after nights of cigarette smoking and passing out on whiskey stolen from my dad’s liquor cabinet that I realized, absolutely no one, not a single human being possess the power to save me from my handmade despair. “Despair” how do I even speak of despair at such a time, when that despair drowns me. Why do I summon it you ask. The reason lives inside me. My despair lives inside me because I let it. I have become so comfortable with, that any wee-bit of happiness has become unacceptable by me. This is an issue to worry for the ones that know me, the reason for their worry may be different. And yet, after knowing the dynamics of right and wrong, I stand here. Numb. Unable to move my own soul towards the right.
I spend my days, surrounding myself with people that are of no importance to me. At work, on the streets, at home. I try to be more involved on social front because if the demons inside me find me alone for a minute, they will drag me to the place I do not intend to go. It is the nights that are tough to pass.At nights, these demons, these voices whisper in my ear like a passing wind. They follow my shadow like an unfaithful king. In the crowd, I stand surrounded by these voices, these demons like a wall. A mirrored wall. Where anyone looking from the outside can see that there is nothing wrong, none whatsoever. Because they see nothing but their reflection in me. Their happiness, their laughter, their pain, their lies, their love and their folly. But behind these mirrors, the truth lies. The pain that has been veiled until now behind these mirrored walls. The truth that is gasping to come out. The rescue done by my own.
This may seem like a story, which in every way it is. This may seem untrue, in reality which isn’t. This may seem like a dream, which is as it should be.
This is how it feels when the words inside your head makes no sense. They come out in random order and make you black out almost instantly. This.. this feeling makes you question you existence, your talent. This feeling drains you from your responsibilities. This black out will end all your responsibilities, it will make you forget your morals and principles. It will draw you towards silence and destruction. It will end.
This may seem temporary, although the time span is undecided. Like every good thing, this too shall end.
Bleeding Parchments 