Writing

Not knowing what to say,

Not knowing what to write.

It has never been the issue.

Having too much to pour out,

That endless train of musing,

It goes on a journey

From too much truth to heartache.

Putting pen to paper is like,

A vacuum to the heart.

In the end there’s a dirty bag of poetry,

And a soul drained of all emotions.

© Abirami

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The Choice

They say this is where inspiration comes to die. Past the dreaded deadline, not a soul has ever made it. One after another they all went into a bottomless pit.. I asked myself, “Dear heart, what about you? Has all this hassle left you down and blue?” Fear not for there is always a choice. Venture out to tread new waters or go over the line another undead carcass. All of life spent in a philosophical stride only to end in literary suicide. Perhaps there is a way, another way. I could be the one to learn the trade and still stay in touch with reality and keep my soul. What if I could actually pull off inventing that role?

© Abirami