The war is not over yet, they say. But I'm already half-dead, wounded and broken and like an empty sack, I lay, on the battlefield. Still holding my sword, while my entire body bleeds. I never wished to be the strongest soldier, but every battle came my way and I fought, I fought every single day. I don't lose but I never win, it's a weird situation.

Is the war over yet? How long could we hope for the best? Will the sun ever rise again? It's been so dark for ages, we're trapped in cages. How long can we fight? Just let me see the light, oh lord, is there a way out of this mess? There's nothing left. I have no more strength, within me to stand back again.

We lived in a castle, it almost felt like a dream. Our tiny kingdom, our people, we lived so happily. Until one day, everything started crumbling. And the worst part is we can't even fight this enemy. I watched all of our castles turn into dust in front of me. Tell me how am I supposed to believe in miracles when my life is a tragedy?

I think I'm just going to lay here and pretend that I'm dead while I sleep. Please wake me when the war is over and when we can finally breathe. Tell me we're gonna win. Tell me all of this was just a nightmare. And when I open my eyes, would you stay by my side? We'll build our castle again, I promise I'm gonna stay.

There's a lot of hope in life, but not for me. I truly believe it, don't try and convince me. I've seen every colour in life, but now it's painted deep black. And no matter how much I try, I can't put the colors back. Darling, hope is a dangerous thing for a woman like me to have. You'll never truly understand, the melancholy of my heart. And I wish that you never do. It's a curse to feel so deeply and it's a curse to be me.

Solitude is my home, I love to be alone, with nobody but just me. Its embrace warms my heart like nothing. I could unmask my soul and truly be myself. Me and my solitude, I don't need anything else. I can be gleeful like a little child or I can break down in its arms and cry. I can be messy, chaotic and unhinged, without judgement. Solitude accompanies me like nobody else. I take it along with me, wherever I go. Even when amidst people, I don't feel like I truly belong. Because solitude, is my home.

I'm sorry that I painted the canvas black, and everything that I write is just sad. My wounds are still unhealed and I bleed words through my heart. There's no justification for pain, I can't just make it go away. I have to sit with it and feel every ounce of it in my veins. All this darkness, all this sorrow, I must embrace. And so I will bleed ink on the paper, until I feel better again.

I'm a melancholic soul. I've sheltered darkness in the corner of my heart like it's something I own. I wait for the sun to rise, wide awake until dawn, but I fall asleep before I can see the light. These monsters in my head, I can no longer fight.

But wasn't I just a kid and you told me I was too young to step out in the world? I can never quite explain, why I was always that quiet kid in the class who would never speak up even when she knew the answer. I still look for a hand to hold while I'm crossing the road. I still make up stories to tell to people so they don't get bored, of me. She never grew up, she's still a child. So naive and stupid. Let me tell you how mature I was at fifteen. I started writing poetry.

Is it fine, contemplating life in your 20s? Is it okay to be dumb when you are supposed to be wise? When you're so much older, the world considers you an adult, but you're still a child. Still looking for a hand to hold when you cross the roads, still asking for advice. So broken, yet holding on to that little hope, I can tell by the look in your eyes. Just how lonely are you from the inside?! You're wondering again about the purpose of your life, trying so hard to make sense of this cruel existence. Every night you ponder about everything under the sky instead of sleeping. I know at times you even wished that you don't wake up to see the sun. But the next morning came and you thought to give another day a chance. I know it's been so hard lately, doing this everyday. But it's okay. To contemplate life in your 20s. It's okay to not know everything. It's okay, still learning new things. And when it feels like the world is going to crumble at your feet, and the night is too dark and lonely, just lay down for a bit. We'll give this life thing another chance the next morning.

How do I sleep with this idea stuck in my mind? How do I sleep with this perfectly crafted poem, I just want to hit my notepad and write? I stay awake, most of the nights. I'm either haunted by ghosts or losing my mind.

Am I to be blamed? If I never felt the love they gave and every time my heart breaks over some silly things that they said. 

Am I to be blamed? For what I have become, a total nuisance, trust me I was never this way, I'm lost somewhere. 

Am I to be blamed? Life has been cruel to me in unimaginable ways and I am broken in pieces that can't be fixed ever again. 

Am I to be blamed? For I have failed to endure all the pain. I have failed everyone who once believed in me. I know I should've changed. 

Am I to be blamed? If it all was too much for me to handle. I'm weak. I should have been made up of steel. 

I am to be blamed. I know, I'm sorry. I'm sorry, for all that I have become. I've lost myself. And I didn't even try to find myself. 

I am to be blamed. ‘Cause all the lessons and all the pain haven't made me even a teeny bit wiser or stronger, it was all in vain. I am to be blamed. I'm faded. 

~Grace

I was too afraid to put poison down my throat or jump off of something very tall. So, I let my thoughts consume me, slowly, day by day, like poison itself. I drowned myself in the darkness, didn't even try to stay afloat. I muffled all the screams inside, didn't even ask for help and I was just tired, couldn't feel anything anymore. I caged my heart inside my ribs, and let it ache, but I never let it out afraid that it would escape, the hell that I created for it. I waged a war between my heart and mind and wounded them both, while I sat like a lifeless soul, not caring about the world or myself at all. I was too afraid to kill myself so I stopped living.

All my life I craved for love in places I knew I would never find it. I waited by the doors of the houses of those kids in my block who'd never come play with me. I made cards and wrote letters in middle school for friends who grew distant because of some silly little reason. And I tried so hard to laugh at jokes that were never funny, always wanting to fit in. Always wanting to be seen. But maybe I was invisible. I've always been the third wheel. And everything they do makes me wonder if I should just leave. That I do not belong here, yet I stay. I'm quite foolish. I look up in the eyes of people when all they do is look away. I'm desperately reaching out for a hand to hold but all they do is leave me alone. All my life I've been an idiot, desperately wanting to belong.

How ironic that what I crave from the bottom of my heart is company, yet I want to push everyone away and stay alone.

"I love the city and its lights, but I hate that it fails to illuminate my world. There's nothing except darkness and emptiness in this little town of my heart."

And I hold up my emotions for days and weeks, until they get too heavy for my heart. Like the clouds that hover over the head and make the day gloomy but never rain.

People like us don't heal. We're melancholic souls. We carry the sorrow of our entire lives in our heart and take it to our grave. We're poets, we're painters, we're writers, we're singers, we're dancers. Sylvia, virginia, emily, vincent, edvard, dickens, micheal, lana, adele, taylor, all my beautiful people with sadness tucked in their soul. With a persistently cruel mind and a soft heart. With a paradoxical and pretentious existence. With a beautiful bright smile but dull eyes. We try to live a life so full of gaiety yet it remains constantly pathetic. I wish I could just hug you because this world is not meant for us.

I can't express it. I can't express how I feel. I'm constantly trying to find words, building stories, creating rhymes but everything feels empty while my heart is just heavy.

This cruel existence of mine and my restless mind. They never let me be at peace. I'm a living paradox of all the things I am and I can't be. I love myself immensely but there's this insecurity, telling me I'm just so stupid and naive. I'm like a kid at twenty. I'm constantly trying to portray a character I'm not. It's all a facade. I switch between masks that I wear on my face to hide my true self but now I don't know who I am, myself.