The Art of Self-destruction

Even after
knowing the cure for whatever ails one,
the parsonage seems to dither.

Ebbing with lousy attempts to escape the furrow
but it is not facile to unchain from the ramifications that tether.


Tired. Willing. Unable. 

I taught this to myself: Helplessly, I’ll fade away. 
I’ll be reborn, slightly variant. 

All over again.

But the day I ameliorate, I’ll stay.

3 a.m.


I can touch my face, but I can’t really feel it.

I know that this body is mine, but I’m really just floating inside this silhouette. 

No, I’m not on any kinds of drugs. 
I’m sleep deprived. I’m willing to sleep but I’m unable to. 

I know for sure that this body is aching, shivering due to the pain, but I feel numb. 

I’m losing it. Again.
All over again. 

I can comprehend that this body is experiencing feelings of panic and anxiety, but at the same time I’m calm. How can this be?
I’m going mad. I’m doing things that are completely irrational. I’m not psychopathic. But I’m acting like it. Not intentionally, I am simply aware of what I’m doing. 
It is as if I stare at the mirror, piercing into the reflection, but I won’t see myself. 

Venial Sin 

As I put the hiatus to your awareness, 
All your misery will begone.  
I know a place where there’s no good and bad;
or right and wrong.

While receiving the gift of quietus, 
I want you to realize,
That applying what I’d practiced in my head before,
Isn’t completely foul but condonable and venial.

Only then will I go on peacefully, 
For myself I’d chosen the same fate. 
Putting an end to this trivial agony,
Attaining a state with no sentiments; neither love nor hate.

The Silent Havoc. 

Blood-curdling expressions,
The storm inside your head is poison.
And like a silent havoc it left,
Fading past the horizon. 

What have you done to yourself?
Letting it take you right down to your knees.
The lonely hiding behind the winsome mask still,
Doomed haplessly to be ill at ease. 

The Personal Torment.

And so it dawned over me,
Like the morning ray’s conception to the senses. 
If you’re already in a personal torment dire, 
The other afflictions would affect you much less.

-Sadvansha Munshi 

The Third Person. 

Oh, I hear you..
The intensifying sound.
But soon it fades,
As if I’m drowning.
For I become lost,
Lost and confined. 
I walk silently, bound to it.
Waiting to dissipate. 
The roars dull and I 
Escape not from it but within it.

-Sadvansha Munshi 

The Fall.

As expressionless as still water,
Standing stagnant on the ashes.
Almost moribund with this guise,
Moving on to the next in flashes. 

Both, unborn and immortal,
A boundless process.
Albeit, an end is necessary;
The emancipation of the unblessed.

-Sadvansha Munshi 

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