An idle continuation of

a happening of choice


Redundant existence of loitering days

and nights; skulking.

The timely squall visits yet again, once again, lurking.

Embezzled dreams once longed for; now lost,

and today; forgotten.

Ambitions improbable; in any case impossible

Dreams of voyage that torture:

A peaceful slumber, constant, for all time

A goodbye, plausible; quite possible

Eternal void


eternal rest.

Yes, I am



People are surrounding you; you’re not alone. You have your family. You have your friends. You have your lover. But you are lonely.

You relentlessly linger, laze, and loiter. You find it mundane, meek, and mediocre. You render them lower, lesser, and worse.

You’re lethargic. Without energy. Without power; powerless. Without direction; directionless.Your life is hapless, and you, hopeless.

Always looking for something, always. Never have you found it, but never did you stop. Constantly lost, in a yearning search, on a longing pursuit; it’s a never-ending desire. You’re looking for something, wanting something. Who is it? What is it?

You thought you found it. You let it go, you let go. Break up, break off and break away. Time and time again.

But then, things changed. Someone became something. This time you didn’t let go. How could you? He’s everything you have ever wanted. The exact reason you want to. Too good. Too good to be true.

It is not true.

Is it?

Only you choose whether it’s worth it. Whether it’s worth the inevitable hurt. The very hurt you now contain, carry down, and carry on. The strangling, the choking, the heart beats; all that’s buried down.

If you decide it worth it, decide it true, if you let it be true: dig a bigger pit. Let it be ceaseless, only then will it suffice.

A question difficult to answer. Yes, you can not answer. You remain, for now, still lost. Still searching, still pursuing. In a never-ending desire.

You do not want to answer.

She was depressed.

She sat in her bathroom. Her head in her hands, her eyes closed. She sobbed. The sadness was overwhelming; she actually felt a sense of grief, almost tangible, engulfing her very being. She felt the energy drain from her frail body, her back stooped.

She lifted her head from her hands and opened her eyes. The lights were hurting them. She paused, then looked to her right, opened the bathroom closet, and grabbed some small nail scissors from a familiar clutch. She tossed it around her hand for some time. Then, she pressed its edges against her thighs, and tugged. It was silly, she knew.

She scraped the sharp ends across a little patch on her thigh softly. She repeated, slowly. She watched as her skin reddened, but she did not stop. No, consumed in her unhappiness, she continued. She sensed pain, ache, inside. Her heart hurt. She was sad. . ‘Die’, she whimpered. ‘Die, die, die.’ Her emotions grew, her scratches too, stronger and harder, and she sadder, and angrier. Her heart pounded as her scratching turned to stabbing.

‘Die! Why don’t you fucking die!’ she moaned, her chest heaving with misery.  It was starting to hurt, she could sense the pain in her thigh. ‘Die! Die! You deserve it! You fucking deserve it! DIE!’ she cried.  She abraded her skin until she could no more. ‘Why won’t you just die?!’ she wept. Then, she stopped stabbing, letting go of the scissors from her hands. She was crying. ‘Why won’t you die.’ she sighed with tears masking her face. She sat there, still, for a while.

She stopped crying. She felt weak, in the face. Exhausted. She got up, looked at her miserable miserable face in the mirror. Such beauty, marred. Eyeliner stained her soft cheeks. She wiped it away, she washed her face. Looked again in the mirror, and left the bathroom.

Into the living room she went, and smiled, at her family. ‘Hey!’ she said, sincerely casually. Her thigh burnt.

         It’s ever so sad, isn’t it?