Dear Ghost: 3

Dear ghost,

I apologize.
Because up until now,
I still hate you.
I still blame you for this  fear.
I still see myself unworthy of anyone’s attention & affection–
All because of you.
I still remember the vague memories;
The scattered pieces of my broken past.
I still picture myself giving it a try,
Yet I ended up scarred,
Couldn’t even cry.
When will you stop haunting me?
When will this fear subside?
‘Cause I’ve been walking back & forth–
One step forward,
And twice back.
I didn’t even love you,
Didn’t even last for a while.
But still you tattooed fear & pain on my heart.
One day, if you’d get to read this,
I’d like you  to know,
That I might be okay again,
But I won’t be fine anymore.

Trembling,
Vier.

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3Rs and the Stars: Part 1

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She’s thinking about the stars.
What’s wrong with their fates
That she can’t even draw
A  single constellation?

Why do they hide behind the clouds,
When she badly wants
To see them wink at her?

Is she that bad that she has never been granted a wish
When a shooting star falls?

She keeps wondering,
But nothing comes to mind.
No one’s answering her queries,
No one’s bothering to try.

So with a deep sigh,  she decided–
“I must seek the answers on my own,
Who cares if I’d get it wrong?”

To you, my dear…

I’m in pain.
Because, in a way, I brought you the pain you are feeling right now.
And the thought of causing those tears haunts me.
It makes me regret not keeping my mouth shut.
I should’ve not told you,
Even if it would mean keeping it from you.
Because dear, it hurts me that I can’t do anything to ease that pain,
Or even make you feel better.
For in the first place,
I don’t think I can handle that kind of pain myself.

Author’s Note

When I write,
I write what I feel.
I write what I think.
I write what I imagine.

When I write,
I make a whole new personality.
I create a whole new world.
I turn bad things to good,
And good things to bad.
I end it whatever way I want,
Either happy or sad.

When I write,
I think of all the possible ways to  escape reality.
To just stay in my own bubble,
Until all my fantasies come to life.

When I write,
I think of all the painful and blithesome days.
I write without thinking about rules.

There are no restrictions.
I just write from my heart and soul.

My Painful Demise

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My head’s throbbing,
my heart’s racing.

The pain starts slowly,
Assaulting every piece of me.

The aching stops suddenly,
And for a moment I was free.

Yet it starts again,
Quickly–as unimaginable as it can..

And the pain comes repeatedly.
And I die.
Every fucking beat of my pulse kills me.