Losing myself.

I'm fed up. I'm frustrated at my own darned self.

Every time, it's the same old story. WHY am I so weak? WHY do I always hurt the people I can't live without? WHY do I make others suffer on top of my suffering? WHY couldn't I be strong? WHY CAN'T I be strong?

I've lost it all...the feelings, the living. I've lost my want to live. I've lost my want to be happy. I've lost my want to fight against my own misery. I just want to stay miserable, I just want to die miserably.

I've lost myself somewhere among the blurs of confusion, frustration, unawareness, and giving up.

I've given up.

I've given up on myself.

And I felt...

I'm not sure how I felt at that time.
Those small things...those words you said...
It all stood out right in front of my eyes.
And I felt nostalgic.

I'm not sure if my reactions were rational and right.
Instinct and Impulse, Gratification and Reliving...
You pulled me up to you towards the light.
And I felt exhilaration.

I'm not sure how everything fell so perfectly.
Time seemed to have this destined...
I looked up at you with eagerness and happily.
And I felt it was divine.

I'm not sure how you felt.
Each time something reminded us of things...
All my delusions in front of me knelt.
And I felt sublime.

I'm not sure why I stopped you.
That was the first time...
I couldn't let you leave me again.
And I felt I was pleading against time.

I'm not sure what made you concerned for me.
I was a different subject altogether...
But you held out your hand.
And I felt grateful.

I'm not sure if what I formed was right.
But there were traces...
Perhaps I was reading too much between lines.
And I felt a bit confused.

I'm not sure why you chose those lines.
It wasn't in sync with your previous statement...
Things that come directly out are usually true.
And I felt worried.

If I'm sure of anything at all,
It's a plain reclamation of words-
With each passing moment
Love is still on the roll.


And I felt I couldn't express my feelings perfectly all through the rhyme.

The tree- The lover.

It's sepia with a green kiss
It speaks to me in a language called instinct
It's the neighbour of my solitude
It's the angel; the angel of grief's bliss.

It loves me like a lover
And demands nothing whatsoever
It hugs me with its shedding
Sepia scraps on the streets covered.

It's one with me during time all
From my childhood to the teenage toll
It has stood unmoving and non judgmental
It has truly been an answered call.

The tree, the life it bestows on me
My friend among unseeing enemies
The love of whose life is a personification of quietude
The unconditional lover off the street.

It's dear to me, it's a special murmur
It's been there all weather
I'm a weakness and a strength
Of it's unasked affectionate river.

The tree- the lover.

A new enviromment outside, the same environment inside.

So I've shifted to a hostel that's at a distance of about 3 hours from my house. It's all new for me. Staying all by yourself with sometimes annoying room-mates, having to worry about food and water, washing your clothes on your own...in short, taking up your responsibilities. I admit, it's not easy.

I thought the change in environment would affect my mental and inner state in a positive way. So much for hoping things.

It's been a week now, and my state has improved...as in, I do my chores, I don't cry all the time and I don't sit on the net for hours together. But I want to.

It's not the same, but it's not much different, either. On the whole, only the frequency has changed, not the intensity. I feel sad every night. I keep longing. Longing for what? I'm not sure. I'm lonely all the time now, in the literal sense. I don't have freinds. I've roommates and classmates and batchmates.

I keep getting anxious. I want to cry, but I'm not sure how to or where to. I want to get numb, but at least the daily college hours coupled up with assignments don't exactly allow me to. But I'm not really doing this on my own will. I WANT to be numb. I WANT to exist and not live. It's inertia.

Yet, I try pushing myself at times. But the temptation of falling back right into the muddy and murky dark voids is high. Quite high enough for me to get hysteric at times and yearn to cross over.

I wait for a reply. I don't get it. Seven days and I'm on the edge of oblivion.

I don't like the hostel life. But, like it goes with food- health food is almost always never the delicious one on the table.