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But Maybe, 

Only Maybe,

My Pain Is Fictional 

And Would End With My story 

That’s still 


I walk

with my muscles


On my

Bones now,

My skeleton 



Now, I 

Walk with 

My skin,

On my muscles

All rotten 



No feelings,


More of a  

Stone now !

My life has changed into a completely unbearable mass of sorrow. If there was any instrument to measure sorrow, then maybe mine would exceed above the bars and the instrument would shatter into numerous pieces. But my sorrow was a gift unwrapped, a kind of pain I unleashed myself. I still curse myself for my ingenious moves each day. It’s so painful, that I crib and cry and go to sleep in irresistible pain, I feel miserable and I don’t like seeing myself this helpless, well who would like it anyway ? 

.............. But, the morning comes with no beauty either. A new day only puts this process On repeat. Each and every day I suffer. Maybe my sorrow is a labyrinth, endless and painful. Maybe all that I’ll ever be able to do is die one day trying to untangle myself from this mass of sorrow.

I’m like

A prisoner kept


A cage. 


Is Small.

I can’t even



Alone ever


Well I would 

Say, it is not

Even a 


It is more


A whole where 

I roll

Like a ball and 


And if once

In a blue moon, 

I’m let out,

I feel

That I forgot 

 how Tall 





No use it is

 As in the 

 End of 

 The day 

  I too 

  end up

  As a ball 

  And just 


I cry sadistic tears. They think it’s my weakness. I think that my end would be painful and hopeless. Like a screaming lunatic. All I can do now is just hope that,  may the odds ever be in my favour.

Written by Anushka Sangari

Best Submission- September 2020- Scrabble.

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