Freed Slave
I purchased my freedom from you.
My hair was the price.
Your memories were written in cursive
on each curly strand that fell.
Your darkness is the reason
it was the purity of white.
You killed me once.
You killed me twice.
If anything,
I've become immortal.
I purchased my freedom from you.
My hair was the price.
You went with it.
Now I am your master.
You are my prisoner.
You are imprisoned in the tip of my pen.
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PLEASE READ TILL THE END.
Countless number of people are victims of depression across the globe. Many commit suicide.
Depression is NOT any different from all those killings going on.
It is the worst form of terrorism. Its bullets fire from within.
Consider this the same as War on Terror.
FIGHT DEPRESSION.
Yes you can!
I know it.
Your soul is stronger.
"What hurts you blesses you.
Darkness is your candle."_Rumi.
Add the hashtag #fightdepression with your writing. Just spread the message.
Insomnia
I don't bother fluffing my pillow anymore.
The depression in the curvature of my pillow is deeper than any sleep I've had in years.
I lay still staring at nothingness in the dark,
because changing sides is a practice long abandoned.
I watch the night mature.
I watch as it gives birth to dawn, and then dies;
only to be reborn again.
Oh, but to me it isn't night.
It's morning without light.
A Bed Of Red Roses
Life is a bed of red roses.
Lying on thorns hurts.
But the fragrance of the rose makes up for the pain.
The blood trickling from your wounds blends perfectly with the red of the roses,
as they soothingly stroke your skin with their soft touch.
Life is a bed of red roses.
Life is hard.
But the work is worth it.