Piece of my heart

I’m just fed up with myself. I hate that I refuse to sit still and empty my mind of all manners of thought. I hate that I’ve become so impotent, been reduced to sterility. I hate that something in me won’t ever give up. I hate that as a person I have to constantly do and can’t ever just be.

And why?

The agony drags on in my mind so much so that I am no longer free.
If freedom’s just another word for nothing left to lose, why am I not free?
If all I’m to do is pick up the pieces and move on, why am I still singing take a little piece of my heart?
I’ve never looked so contemptibly at myself as I do now.
Ah, how we have fallen!
So dark. So old. So sterile.


About Bhumika's Boudoir

I love to laugh, and end up being a part of high drama and stormy emotion even when I don't pursue it. Being creative, and communicating with people get me going. I enjoy all the good things in life especially those that are slightly risque, and apologise little, if ever, for all that I do. Literature is a passion and so is music.
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4 Responses to Piece of my heart

  1. 'Smee! says:

    Dear, it’s a great thing to be able to ‘do’ instead of just ‘be’. The grass is always greener on the other side.


  2. So Trupthi, what was the deleted post? 🙂


  3. 'Smee! says:

    Oh, just the wrong link, honey. nothing scandulous, sorry to disappoint 😛


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