I'm the sharpened tip of the pencil lying on your desk. The peeled wood still stuck in your sharpener was my guard. You uncovered me so that I can become a bloomed flower on a bland white sheet. If you could read me, you would see my desire to turn me into a deadly serpent wrapped around you, squeezing every inch of you. You swiftly move some sheets, and the pencil rolls towards the edge and falls onto the ground. I’m broken - I'm detached and lost somewhere under the bed. To be honest, the fall felt like a lifetime. That's why they say - your consciousness summarises your life when you're dying. You look at the pencil with the missing tip and feel that pang has paralyzed your body for a few seconds. I look from afar and experience your grief through your remorseful eyes. You take a trip filled with guilt and come back with a sharpener. The moment passes, and you make someone like me. *** buy my books on amazon - redhya
i am redhya. and this is the place where i spew out the havoc birthed by my triggered neurons in the form of words. you may or may not like my writings. however, i insist on you reading some of my works. besides that, you may leave any comments so that i can know my writings from your perspectives. s u r r e n d e r yourself before you read any posts; otherwise, these are merely some words taking their last breaths and it's impossible to resuscitate them now.