Every Day Poems

A 'witch' you named, a 'witch' you cursed.

And a witch you shall see,

This neck is not for you to slaughter, these wrists aren't for you to shackle, they're mine to use.

And I shall use them well, in setting your souls on fire, with the wood you so kindly prepared for me.

I will shackle your minds and squeeze them open, with the chains you so humbly graced me with.

You refuse to see, then I shall make you watch,

I shall show you,

The price of my blood you thought you could spill.

#random
#SammyScribble

"I don’t want this—goodness!" she spits.
"May the heirs remain in the abyss,
The prodigies of the stars,
The kin of the night,
And the servants of the moon.

Why must one yield to the other,
When two can coexist?

On the hem of my ancestor's robe,
The realm of my heart,
Let there not be a flicker of light,
A drop of life,
Nor the trail of the vine.

May it remain
A beacon of its ethereal descent."

“The Genesis of Her Tears”

It begins with her eyes, doesn’t it?
Not the way they sparkle in rays or dart with cleverness
but the way they flood,
a betrayal of gravity,
each tear tumbling
as if the universe has failed her.
And you’re standing there,
this hollowed-out parody of a man,
with hands that don’t know how to touch without
shaking,
a voice that turns to dust
before it can form even a
clumsy comfort.

Her shoulders quake,
like a typhoon you can see
but never stop,
the kind that washes away
everything sturdy,
everything you
thought you built for her.
And you—
you stand as still as a tree
in the gale,
roots frozen,
useless,
while the wind pulls at her soul.
Your words trip over themselves
before they even leave your throat,because what could they possibly do?
What could you possibly do?

Her sobs don’t just sound.
They invade.
A war cry for a battle you
already know you’re losing.
You reach,
but the distance between you
isn’t made of air.
It’s thicker, crueler, a chasm
carved out of your
inadequacies.
You think of all the times
you promised her—
and how you were certain those promises
would be enough to shield her
from pain.
But promises don’t heal.
They don’t stand like armor
between her and the world.
And now, they’re just broken, brittle memories
trampled under the weight of her tears.

She doesn’t say it.
She doesn’t have to.
You see it in her trembling hands,
the way they clasp and unclasp as if looking for answers
you don’t have.
You’ve never felt so small,
like a single grain of sand
beneath the tide,
watching her crumble
while you remain
this pitiful statue,
an idol of all the ways you’ve failed her.

You wonder
if she hates you for this.
If she’ll look back on this night
and remember you not as the
man who tried,
but the man who stood there,
useless,
while her world shattered
around her.
But then again,
it doesn’t matter, does it?
What you feel doesn’t matter.
Her tears burn hotter than your self-pity ever could,
and you’d trade everything—
everything—
to see her smile again.

And so you try,
desperate and clumsy,
a child reaching for the stars with broken fingers.
You try to tell her you’re here,
you’re not leaving,
but the words falter,
because you know she
deserves more than your presence.
She deserves answers,
and all you have are excuses.

“There is no worse feeling,”
you think,
than watching her break
and realizing you’re no hero,
just a man too small to save her.

But still, you whisper,
half to her, half to yourself:

“Don’t cry alone.
If I can’t save you,
at least let me drown beside you.”

I'd rather stand in the open field
And get burned by the scorching sun
Than go underground and hide in the dark
Untouched by its caressing warmth.

He twiddles with the pen with the grace of the ocean meeting the shore, velvet-smooth words on standby, ready to spill with the black ink at his command. And when he wills them to materialize, his thoughts take on bodies of immense beauty, jerking tears from all who see them. The multitude of hearts that follow the trail of his golden metaphors, in awe of his graceful renditions, do not know the truth of his trade. It is all an experiment—how far from the truth can his art stand? How unlike him could the creations of his hands be?

~inspired by the red flag poet.

To those listening, the void whispers,

"Two kisses, one day,

Blue Bird sings, a tale of stupidity and carelessness,

In a single hazy night, with drunken smiles, roaming hands and purple neon lights.

Lavender is in the air, out of its field,
Defiled angels are on the streets, holding their own leash.

Two kisses in one day,
Two shots from one hand,

Interlocked arms, dizzy thoughts and sweet, crushing bites,
Dreams are high, beyond a normal sight.

The Lavender laughs, the Angel smirks.

Two, in one night,

A crazy witch, a maddog,

In a single moonlit night."

#random
#SammyScribble

Will it heal you
if I apologize,
for the scars
I never gave.
- Priyanka Metha


No—
this will break me
Into halves.
Of a million pieces,
Of my heart struggling
to make me feel alive.

Not because I blamed you… 
but because I let you believe 
you were the reason for my pain. 

When the truth is— 
I was always at war with myself. 
The scars I carry 
belong to my past, 
not your future.

But I let them touch you. 
I let them shape the way I loved you—  
like arms that wanted to hold, 
but only knew how to break. 

You were my everything. 

And yet, little do you know— 
I carved these wounds myself, 
then placed them in your hands 
as if you were the one who cut me. 

I never meant to hurt you. 
But pain is all I’ve ever known. 
I was never enough for you, 
but somehow, 
I was too much for myself.

Trapped between who I was 
and who I swore I’d never be. 
Drowning in the past, 
suffocating a future I don’t deserve. 

And if I whisper, 
"I’m not enough..." 
Will you leave me? 
Please do. 

Not because I don’t love you. 
But because I do— 
too much, 
too wrong, 
too destructively. 

Because I am carving scars into tomorrow, 
and tomorrow is you, 
my love. 

And in the end— 
you will only bleed for one… 
but I? 

I will bleed for two. 
For myself, 
and for you. 

For the wounds I carry, 
and the ones I left on you. 
For the past that still haunts me, 
and the future I will never hold. 
For the love that tried to save me, 
and the love I made suffer. 

I will bleed— 
until my past has had its fill,
until my sins have been paid in full, 
until I have given back every piece of you I stole.

And when there is nothing left of me, 
maybe then— 
you will finally heal.

- Achu B

The mirror sighed today,
It’s tired of watching me search for someone who isn’t there.
.
~ rahul
#poetry #poems #prose

"Yesterday, I Broke My Pen"

Yesterday, I broke my pen.
Snapped it in half like the silence I could no longer bear.
Ink spilled onto my fingers,
like the words I had swallowed for too long.

It wasn't just a pen—
it was the weight of everything unsaid,
the burden of unspoken thoughts,
the pressure of a mind that never rests.

For years, I let it write stories
that weren’t mine to tell,
poems that rhymed but never felt right,
letters that never reached their destination.

But yesterday, I broke my pen.
And in that moment, something shifted.
Not just the ink, not just the plastic—
but the fear of writing my own truth.

Maybe today, I’ll pick up another,
not to rewrite the past,
but to finally, finally write as me.

— master
Late-night 28feb.

Do you have things you don't want to forget,
Things you're scared to forget,
Because then it means,
Losing the sight of an already blurry path?

I do.

Are you afraid of oblivion,
Because then it means,
Fading out of everything that matters?

I am.

#random
#SammyScribble

Will you be able to love me,

For what I am, for who I am, for all of me?

Will you be able to love me,

For my ever changing nature, for my deteriorating pieces, for the broken and fading fragments of me?

Will you be able to love me,

To hold my hand, and smile at me in a way you don't smile to anyone else?

Will you be able to love me, to hold me,

When I can't do that for myself?

#random
#SammyScribble