New year's resolution

darling,

i'm wearing a rubberband on my wrist... every time you call or i feel like calling you i pull the rubber band to remind me of the pain i will feel when i start talking to you again and then you ditch me for some reason or the other... it reminds me to stay away from the temptation of talking to you because eventually u will call me dumb, an idiot or stupid-- u will make fun of my career decisions, my personality or anything and everything else and make me feel pathetic...the very important thoughtful decisions i make are nothing but stupidity to you...i cant handle that...and when i wanna talk even for 5 mins...u'll never have the time cause ur busy doing something....its okay....i'll also be busy all the time someday... its convenient when u feel lonely and want to talk or go for a movie or dinner...but what about me?? when i'm lonely and wanna talk...yes i wanna talk everyday...every freaking day i wanna talk... the world thinks its normal its only u who doesnt think so and i've lost each and every bit of my personal identity in trying to make U MORE comfortable when i should be trying to make myself more comfortable....

i wanna talk...yes i wanna bloody talk...i'll be talking on my deathbed too...and you cant stop it....so just leave...let me be...i'll manage not talking to u by pulling that rubber band again and again...my wrists wont bleed....but they'll remind me how much pain i have to endure when i am with you....


bye

happy new year.... move on soon....

ishy - the girl who almost died trying to make you happy

White Walls

Whitewashed sterile walls enclose,
Cluttered fixtures and cluttered egos,
Layed to waste on the purgatorial carpet,
After the august ersatz banquet.

Yet sporadically in bouts of joy,
Benevolent souls oblige this toy.
Obscenely bright becomes mellow light,
And sterile walls vanish from sight.

A Lost Soul

Inside the idle crevices of an empty soul
Lays a part of me that I shall not befriend.
Now it is filled, and then drained again
By faces and places I do not comprehend.

Scratched upon by an old splintered pen
The scars on this soul shall never ever mend.
Now it is clean, and then stained again
By faces and places I do not comprehend.

Just a look in the mirror and all is clear,
I am not whom I often seem to pretend.
Now I am me, and then another again
A face in a place I do not comprehend...