• shreyah 8w


    One of those days when I don't feel like writing at all. Will be active soon.

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    Young and Wilted

    I stand against myself with a
    deadpan profile, swallowing
    an awful evening that resists
    to elapse. Perhaps, eighteen
    is an age too vulnerable to
    fall prey to unbidden distress
    and unattended depression.
    The gathering I wilfully walked
    out on, envies my seclusion
    enough to paste a dozen of
    derisions on my already ailing
    self and amidst all the chaos,
    I pretend to lie five feet taller
    and am compelled to feel six
    feet under. I know not if suffer-
    ing is the right word for such a
    fresh age but pain is one to all
    the plights —feeble or severe.
    Some give in or some just
    happen to carve an emotion
    out of it. Certainly, poetry is my
    last hope in times that drag
    me deep into despair.

    ©shreyah || 13-10-21