The Thirteenth Spade

I’ve always wondered what happens after the end. 

Now, I’m six feet under the ground; and I still don’t know what happens.

The world has moved on, like it should have and I’m just a forgotten memory.

Remind me, why I struggled so hard to keep everyone happy again?

Was it all worthless?

Now, I live six feet under the ground.

I’m the corpse of a dead boy.

And nobody’s here to make a single sound.

I’m finally at peace…

Trapped within the torturous screams of my mind, I sleep.

I struggle with my limpy, lifeless limbs.

Can not pretend that I’m moving on, anymore.

My world is a damp, suffocating and congested place.

The earth above me mourns my death.

Her tears percolate through the layers.

They’re the sweat-beads forming on my flesh.

I’ve forgotten all about the dew drops- I’m the decay process.

I’m surrounded by friends- the worms & the ants.

The only ones, I can share myself with.

I can’t speak, they can’t listen.

But, I tell them our story anyway.

I tell them of my mistakes;

I attempt to justify my choices.

And I think they’ll understand me.

I think…

I didn’t expect to be still able to do that…

It’s a blessing;

It’s a curse.

With only you on my mind & a lot of free time-

It’s a familiar prospect.

Few people come every now & then.

Friends, whom I do not particularly miss.

They come with flowers I never really liked.

I guess, I must have meant something to them.

Some come empty handed, 

To pass on their burdens of regret.

Others try to say the things left unsaid.

A spadeful of dirt is offered in somber.

A slow shifting of the tectonic plates.

I already feel heavier with the added weight.

And in my inability to speak- I suffocate. 

It’s not about breathing anymore… 

I can’t voice my pleas for forgiveness, even now. 

I grumble under the ground- I’m unhappy even now. 

I relinquished my light to destroy my shadow. 

But it seem to have somehow followed me here. 

And you thought that life was being unfair… 

The string of one way goodbyes continue. 

Twelve visitors in seven years.

Even in death I’m ‘Mr. Popular!’

And then on my eighth posthumous birthday, she comes.

My brown-eyed girl with blue-eyed daisies in her hand!

At last! My favourite flower!

My disintegration is almost complete.

Maybe now is the time for my redemption.

I want to hear her voice, but she doesn’t speak.

She just stands there.

There’s a calm, serenity to her.

And an inexpressible emotion stains her face.

She cries.



As if she’s trying to let go of me,

As if she’s struggling to get rid of me. 

And it’s the saddest thing, I’ve ever seen.

I try to find it in my bones to rise up from the ground & hold her in an embrace.

But I can’t.

The anger…

The pain…

The helplessness…

It grows inside my decayed hollowness.

The earth carries her tears to me- 

And I know all the things I hadn’t before- 

This is the thirteenth spade-

And there’s a finality to it.

She wipes her eyes.

And I see a different ring glittering on her finger.

I’m happy she’s moved on.

She smiles her most affectionate smile at me.

And I know, what I was really waiting for.

Her smile…! 

I store it my memory and let go. 

And as my consciousness begins to fade away,

I see her bend down to place the daisies at my feet-

And see my old ring, dangling around her neck…

Maybe this isn’t over yet.

Maybe she is my anchor to immortality.

Maybe a part of me will continue to linger- 

Maybe a part of me will always be hers

Humming along her happy tunes, 

whispering sweet nothings in her ear. 


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Breaking The Habit

Every bad habit wants to be broken. 

It feels guilty for ruining your life, in fact. 

But it is helpless. 

It screams in silence, but you’re not listening; 

You never are. 

You abandoned the control to the autopilot long ago. 

You’re happy playing the victim… 

But, if you’re willing to change, 

If you’re willing to find a suitable replacement, 

If you have few companions, who’ll lift you when you fall;

Then it’s not very difficult at all. 

And every bad habit is just waiting to be broken… 

And don’t think you are weak. 

If you need help. 

Cause you aren’t. 

We’re all the same. 

Indulged in our own addictions. 

The successful? – They just have healthier ones. 

So, don’t worry about motivation. 

You don’t need it. 

Not unless your route is the one of restraint, anyway. 

For restraint isn’t a human strength. 

Drive is. 

Obsession is. 

So, don’t try to push your mind. 

Let it pull you instead. 

Just give it the permission. 

It already knows what you truly want. 


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Time Travel

I wish I could fast forward time. 

I wish I could just skip ahead to the moments of joy in my life. 

Not because I’m afraid of pain. 

I just want to see, if there’s anything else. 

I just need to know, if it’s gonna be worth this. 


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Faded Happiness

You are still a mystery to me, I think.  

A whisper trapped between my ears. 

My demonic angel. 

Fading away in front of my eyes. 


That’s what you are. 

And I am dying to catch that emotion into words; believe me I am. 

For I want to relive it before the blues hit. 

For I need to forgive & let this bruise heal. 

But as it turns out, happiness is an extremely tricky affair. 

And no matter what I write, the ink of bitterness never dries. 

And how selfish you’re, to steal away the answers to all the whys?

But don’t worry, I’m determined. 

I’ll unravel your every impossible riddle.  

And where do I start?

Your letters! 

They make a nice, little stack. 

An emotional volcano. 

Smell of burning paper. 

A quickly closing portal to the past. 

And I know once again I’ve come up short. 

Blew away my chance to fix our faulty start. 

Exploded before I could replay time. 

Boiling, bubbling lava everywhere. 

No sun, all smoke. 

Some rain, raging snow. 

Drowsing out my fiery heart. 

The birth of a frozen soul.

And before I could blink, 

I am in the wind. 

An insignificant grain of sand. 

A rock no more. 

Blown away like house of cards. 

Still sleeping; 

Still dreaming. 

And now- with the same subtlety of your slippery hand, you’re fading;

Fading away; waning slowly from my mind. 

So, I guess it’s a goodbye then. 

It’s a shame- I couldn’t preserve our happy tales. 

You kept the ‘secret recipe’ secret, I guess. 

And before you go, there’s something I need to confess. 

I am not a writer; Never was.  

I’m just a thief, maybe. 

I re-write the stories we wrote together & publish them under my own name.’

Just a thief…

I’m a dealer of pain. 

I’m a merchant of hurt. 

I’m forgetful of my own happiness’s worth. 

And I don’t understand why that is. 

I don’t understand why the god gave me the power to relive my hell;

Without the sight to see even a speck of my heaven. 

Maybe I’m a sinner; 

And this is what my atonement is.

Or maybe it is just the muse’s way of saying-

Some things aren’t meant to be shared; They are only meant to be felt. 

Some moments belong to the person and not the writer.’ 

Or maybe this is all in my head & we aren’t supposed to figure out any answers, at all. 

Maybe we’re only here to ask the questions… 

Happy and sad. 

Maybe that is what this all is. 

A crossroad, a prayer. 

A beginning, a goodbye


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Deep breath; 

And the grip loosens. 

Just a little bit… 

One word at a time, 

One day at a time; 

That’s all you need to do. 


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We are all here to die. 

We all have our vices.

Something’s slowly killing us.

Cunning destiny- she’s rolling dices.

Maybe life’s just here to keep us entertained till then.

Maybe life’s just a big, gigantic waiting room.

And in anticipation we wait, as we’re supposed to.

Some call it living;

To some it’s slowly dying…

Stuck between the beginning & the end, we float.

Obsessed with the impressions we make; we stand.

With our momentary, meaningless woes; we dine.

Distracted by the illusions of abundant time; we sleep.

Unaware of the rising high tides, in our made up castles of sand; we hide.

Not a very good place, is it?

But how can we ever know…?

And in the interim the death decides.

Makes up it’s mind about it’s intended weapon of choice.

Addiction, bad health, misfortune- take your pick.

& if nothing else then the time itself.

Nobody knows for sure what their fate will be.

But I do.

For me it’s you, isn’t it?

Such an articulate way to take life…

Death by thy beloved.

Who knew the sweet nectar of love could be lethal, too?


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Tentative of my own sins; 

I tiptoe through life. 

Trying not to wake up my conscience. 


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