Heart on the sleeve

To love is the most personal thing ever. You just identify one human and make him or her the subject of your affection. We human beings are born with a heart and in this real world of fake people and transient forevers, this heart of ours gets beaten up often and we become this cold distant humans whose hearts are locked up because we are too afraid of love and feeling vulnerable. That feeling when your soul is absolutely naked in front of someone you love is unsettling, it gives you a pittish feeling in the centre of your chest and your bosom feels ached to be hugged and held tight but that doesn’t happen and you continue to live like that feeling that void and carrying it with you wherever you go. You don’t know the beloved’s heart. You may know it and it may break your heart but you still choose to keep going on feeling strange and having that heart on your sleeve because for a moment Rumi’s words heal you and you believe in universe and destiny and Ted Mosby who taught you to never give up on someone you love even when it completely destroys you and there you are smiling and going on as if nothing has happened while your heart lays exposed like never before. I have got only one thing to say here-

Dear heart,

just own it like you have always owned it. Afterall hearts were made to be broken. Keep showing off the sleeve.
Or maybe just fade off slowly while you bleed with your heart on the sleeve. But never lock the heart inside. Never.

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Black Death.

As I see stars twinkle
A tear that trickles
Went back in those tear glands
For it all is black
All is blank.

Black and heavy
No iron rods I carry
Only contrasted dark memories.
To Remember is bane
In memories there’s pain
Here I feel broken glass in my veins.
Pricks every cell as the blood flows
The cave of death is close.
Blank. And black.

To the oblivion I travel
Knocked the peace door
I fell back on the floor.
Blood escapes from my brain
Washing away all the pain
I am dead. I am no more.

Pain

Pain is inevitable
Suffering is a choice.
Emotional imbalance
Physical disturbance
Mental occupation
Always moving so fast
Ripping apart
The soul
The heart
The feel
The body.
It persists and vanishes.
Sigh left behind.