This one’s straight from the diary. Unedited and unfiltered. Raw. Inked on a dark December night. I don’t know what exactly made me feel this way. But I ended up penning down something so unlike me that it perplexed my senses. Something so different and dark. Something like this. Here goes.


There are these thoughts. Absolutely random, with unknown sources. Uncalled for.

And they just come to me sometimes. Out of nowhere. They come. And I let them. Just like that. No questions asked as to why they are here and what do they want. Some of them are happy. The others…not so much.

Lately, I have started appreciating pain. It’s almost like I find pleasure in this pain. I like drowning in it. And it surprises me somehow. And why shouldn’t it? I find myself looking for answers. Yet again. And I don’t find them. This doesn’t surprise me though.

December is so dark. Maybe it’s the cold in the air or pale grey mornings or just dark empty nights.  There’s something mystical about winters. Something that lets the inner demons come alive. Something that lets the negative emotions run amok in a head full of thoughts. I see fear taking a sinful, almost majestic form. And oddly enough, I enjoy this. The very idea of it.

The random thoughts from previous experiences, dreams and ideas- they make me sad and angry. And when I’m busy dealing with these emotions, a part of me relishes this struggle, this pain. This is how the seed of self-destruction gets planted perhaps.

Emotional turbulence. Chaos. Wounds that never heal. Melancholic musings.

The crevices in broken hearts are like deep trenches of a vast ocean. The depth is unfathomable. Their heartbeats, like delicate symphonies.

Dark nights get to me.

I listen to miserably sad songs and enjoy them somehow. I stare at the dark empty ceilings feeling nothing. I shoot puffs of dark air out and inhale almost nothing. I look at shadows and smile. I gaze at the starless sky and feel the lonely moon beams on the fabric of my cold skin. I desire to be consumed by the biting cold of the midnight wind. I want it to hurt me. I wish to drown in every conjecture that I have crafted, in the tears that I have shed and in the smiles that I have faked.

I want to be like snow. Beautiful but cold.

No, winters are not just Christmas-y and cheerful and hopeful. They are dark. An enigma. An enigma I long to be a part of. This darkness that engulfs me; I want it to swallow me. The darkness in my soul wishes to be dissolved in this very darkness that I see so clearly right now.

Like every good ol’ story needs a good ol’ villain, maybe this hidden darkness is the villain in me. Or maybe, just maybe, it’s the hero; because it makes me feel more powerful and less vulnerable. And for now, that’s what I want to feel. That’s what I want to be…