Grief is universal,
dreams are personal.
Yet we choose to talk more about things
that many a times is surreal.
And the things that make one bleed, the ones that make one go mad,
we keep it inside,
and like food that rots when it’s left unattended,
we let the pain rot our insides.
Words are light,
and it can save us from going blind.
So let the pain bleed out,
one word at a time.
You might have no friend,
no one bothers, pretends or cares,
but take a paper and pen,
and in the end, that lifeless thing
will become your best friend.