Negotiations with the past events

Negotiation with the past events.

Of all the squares in the brain cell,
some photographs lost their print,
I know they had some evident concerns
yet all characters talk in hint.
The purpose was to cherish them,
I pulled out knots that were hard,
It throttle my senses to them hate all,
Where the closet lead innocence retard.
A single run out of the crowd and a
clock that keeps haunting me to delay ,
the rush you need to keep yourself before had stopped running anyway .
The strategy of this strange thing is that some sort of memories do come and go, but no hands come to hold me tight,
neither Rainbow pops up after a heavy flow.
Nor my anger was served right.
I am creating a turmoil around me containing reactions from the past,
to the actions that covered my view of presence and counted me to burn in blast.
The entire rage is directed to be one with intention to be thrown on floor,
I have no idea of what’s wrong in getting away with the saddest tour.
Limited sky and all good posts,
what makes negativity plunging in dark holes.
A matter of self and it’s conciliation with trade to behave
of all the past that comes by,
only my profile seems to engage.
I’m stuck too much on the inside that,
even the love doesn’t heal me anymore,
a little bruised down my ankle and I quit to walk next four.
My perception is questionable as to what makes this as sin, the push to a blind fall, or
a heavy merry go round call,
some candies of my taste or the lipstick that was stolen by mistake.
I hold a blank palate of lips, eyes and nose , each haired inches want to say it’s story before this birth wishes for a close.
A continuous screen of being well behaved ,
to draw a scenic mountain and
to wish to be on intelligent grade.
I lost my gratitude and bagged with attitude to feed my worth,
a simple mind to talk it’s core,
was named selfish and a mean headed robber.
Nothing was ever left with my tears,
little hands that got red and scared,
my family thinks I’m demon too,
what would you expect from an echo that’s so rude.
I look back every year and wait for my retort that nobody could hear,
I am irritated this side, wanna console my soul and offer this personality a ride.
I sit back while planning infront,
I’m forgetting my memories while forgiving has yet not begun.
-isha mridul