Obsessed 

To all the writers out there:

It’s not real unless it’s obsessive.

We all dream. But, you don’t deserve it unless every minute of your life is somehow a journey towards it.

We all love. But you don’t belong together unless you share a passion that drives you insane.

You can write pretty words, think easy thoughts. It might even please the crowd. But you’re not really writing unless every word you write is a window to your soul. The truth is ugly. It doesn’t rhyme. Sometimes it doesn’t even make sense. But the moment you stop caring what others think, you will discover yourself. Maybe they’ll like it, maybe they won’t. At least, it will be real.

So darling, stay obsessed. Make every choice like there’s no consequence. Live every fucking moment like you’re about to breathe your last breath.

– The Obsessive Writer

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Day and Night

A raging ball of fire slowly slips into the shadows. The darkness embraces the light, and gives birth to the night. The gold turns to silver, all the noises now merely a quiver.

I hear nothing.

I see no-one.

I am relieved.

Little by little the dark fades into lighter shades, the moon leaves to light the sun ablaze. The world comes to life and with it, it’s strife.

I hear lies.

I see liars.

I am betrayed.

© Abirami.

The Girl in Love

You wield your cold, steely eyes like a deadly weapon.

Each stare is a merciless stab to the heart.

As I bleed out from the gaping wound,

Nobody comes to rescue the girl in love.

Every touch sends chills down my spine,

You suffocate me with your smouldering smile,

As I pant out of breath,

Nobody comes to rescue the girl in love.

You are my ocean of endless trust,

In you I drown, with complete submission.

As I enslave my heart to you,

Nobody comes to rescue the girl in love.

© Abirami

Inside Out

I write away my sorrow

It is the only way I know.

Spilling ink thicker than blood.

Leaving behind words in place of scars.

They said, Be the change and the world will follow.

I pretend to be reborn.

I tell myself that I am the change.

And the world did follow,

On Instagram to mock at my expense.

Some people see a few familiar faces and call it home.

What if I need to look at hearts and not faces?

When I look through those chunks of rock

Will I still be able to tell them apart?

This mind of mine colourfully black and white,

Scatters them into piles of two

They all judge me for my depth

Some look at my pockets and some my poetry.

© Abirami

The Storm

Little flashes of lightning,

They come and go.

Like memories of a forgotten past,

Surface wounds that did not last.

With every roar of thunder,

I feel it get closer.

The darkness creeps in

When the lights flicker out.

Through the pouring rain,

And shuddering pain.

All that’s left is a heart that’s torn.

As the storm within my soul is reborn.

© Abirami

Love and Pain 

You can break my heart,

Time and again.

Let it shatter to pieces,

And shower like the pouring rain.

Take the half,

That belonged to you then,

Scribe on it a scarlet letter-

My love for you that died unspoken.

Whether it’s love or pain,

They’re both a throb to the heart.

Whether you knew or not,

It still would have broken me apart.

© Abirami

A Poet’s Tale

A poet’s soul,

Is neither kind nor forgiving.

We have been hardened by life,

And moulded by its strife.

These are things we are not born with, but acquire:

Eyes that reek of judgement,

Tongue bitter from the taste of truth,

And an imagination that defies gravity.

These are things we do not dread, but desire:

Nights devoid of sleep,

Passion that burns a hole through your heart,

And a mind that obeys no one.

© Abirami