an ode to my incomplete poems

a line of thoughts, gone astray,
when the demons in my mind, came out to play.
happiness is the antagonist, in this tale of woe,
shush, be gentle, please take it slow.
the words that my tongue stifled on its tip,
are now tattooed in every crack of my ribs.
early morning, the crypt lights of the lamppost falls on a window sill
as my fingers spin themselves in my emotions’ spinning mill.
acquainting themselves with my love, grief, anger and agony,
yarning threads of gold that when woven, will sum up to the perfect tragedy.
my silent screams shatter the windows surrounding my soul’s land
as it bursts in two, filling the cartridge of the pen in my hand.
from the edge of the void, beneath me, a pool of crimson
leads to the gateway of hell, where I’m creating commotion.
the walls of hell rattle from my desperation,
Lilith herself wailed witnessing my desolation.
a dagger plunged into my heart, blood seeping my white sweater,
the face of a stranger stares back at me from the mirror.
at the sight of my devastating distress,
something, someone, takes pity on me and drags me out of my mess.
my chest is screaming as I’m gasping for breath,
as my senses come back from their almost death.
finally, finally, the pen in my hand shakes as blue ink runs free,
on its merry way to indulge in a murderous spree.
slicing alphabets left and right,
drenching the pages in my diary, in the silence of the night.