Suicide Letter

Dear Ones,

Pain is a side effect of Living

No matter how hard you ignore

 it will make you melt

 it will put you in guilt,

It was a story my grandma built.

Pain is the hero, villain, the moderator the antagonist the protagonist and what not

Every time he attacked me

I became a punctured tyre of a cycle

Whose load was increasing and increasing day by day,

But the air was suffocating. 

And one day air left the tyre and it chose placidity.

And again the blame game started and started and ended with a note "she was a nice girl".

The name, fame victim, crime everything became a pain.

The Bruise of my red clot wound smiled sarcastically on the unstitchable hole of my Insanity.

I was aching in the bed of roses, 

Imagining the thorns of your eyes.

I had to bury my dreams in the land of compromises,

Rotten flowers decorating the void of loneliness,

Where funeral is just the salt and pepper in your pizzas.

Decayed in the wooden benches of the tea shops

And in the wines of your kitty parties,

I became a mere matter of walls of the neighborhood.

My pain and words were a source of reglement for them.

The reason for their harmonious Unity.

My hormones served angst to my parents and anxiety to my self.

They drove me the depth of Earth

To show the wetness and dampness of the soil.

To make me understand the oxymorons of life.

The reality was pretty much disastrous.

I craved the warmth of love and in return, I was left for the heat of the sun.

I looked upon the scary nights and felt the extra ring of Saturn to be my metaphor.

But the metaphor left my simile in the midway

 leaving my poetry sink in tides.

I remember that funeral,

Joss sticks staring the tears of humans.

I see myself lying in the ground

neatly covered in an ironed white sheet.

I see my friends crying and blurting their hearts out.

My voice disappeared in the air of melancholy. 

They were screaming as if they were dragging out all the memories in the form of tears.

Where were they, when I was forced to sit in an empty desk?

Where they when I needed their WhatsApp messages.

I saw my parents tearing apart,

Cursing everything that disturbed me throughout my life.

Where were they when I was forced to hate my body, 

because of their bastard friend. 

He used me but I was blamed, 

And then I didn't see them yelling?

I have to say,

Every time I approached you,

You said, "I am silly, the world is full of fury, Rather be grateful".

You underrated my woes as a B grade movie.

You boasted your story of sacrifice on me. 

I hope, had you not done this to me.

I am writing for the last hope.

Holding to a nice thread before a free fall.

To let my memory bank deal the transaction 

Loading the accounts of wail and scream.

Searching in the recycle bin for the last hope.

I am no one's priority.

I am my universe's decision.

Don't worry I won't kill my self

To have your sympathy and blame on my head. 

I am the black rash of the moon,

Who stays high with pride.

I pack my body and extra fat of my soul to be back.

I am not your choice,

I am the choice that the graveyard rejected.

Yours faithfully,

The suicide note gazetted to hope letter!