I let them die

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I am bitter. 

I mourn for the people I couldn’t become and I blame the world for it. 

They killed the poet

They killed the writer

They killed the playwright 

and everything they could’ve written.

They killed the actor

They killed the model

They killed the muse

and everything they could’ve become.

They killed the firefighter

They killed the doctor

They killed the soldier

and everyone they could’ve saved. 

They killed the child

They killed the romantic

They killed the dreamer

and everything they could’ve accomplished.

They killed everything I could’ve become and I’m bitter. 

Because in the end, I let them die.

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Published by Chirag

I am Someone, who can be anyone from nine to ninety, a boy, trying to break up with his bed sheet every morning and finding his path in this world of sycophancy, balancing life between his family and friends, which yes is a very difficult task at which I hold a record of failing consistently, struggling with the fact that being good, normal, straightforward, a human; is itself not a normal thing these days. I wish to get up one morning with my Sun (not son) beside me. Sometimes I wish to wake up when my father is seeing news on television where the globe is no more sagging in its own global warming. And sometimes I wake up praying that I don’t want to die a virgin wishing that I don’t have to spend more than twenty minutes in the shower. I think of all the things I want to buy after winning a million dollars, in spite of knowing it won’t happen. Sometimes I feel like I am wasting time on deciding which pair of glasses to wear; Now how many spectacles are too much for two eyes, can anyone tell? So I am someone, just like you. A tiny portion of the Almighty’s creation. I am someone who is selfish and thinks only of himself because who else will? Again! Wait, let me not show my true colors to you so soon

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