god forbid a man kills people

I'm slightly self-conscious and then suddenly irritated and annoyed—it feels similar, but no, not quite like that, somehow even more unbearable. Sort of like opening a box, only to find another box inside, so you open that smaller box and again there's another box inside, and you open it, and one after another there are smaller boxes inside each other, so you keep opening them, seven or eight of them, until finally what's left is a tiny box the size of a small die, so you gently pry it open to find... nothing, it's empty—more like that feeling.
-Schoolgirl (Osamu Dazai)

i didn't realise completing this would be so tough T_T

may this love never finds me. may this love be buried under 6 fucking feet from me

in summers, i become suicidal hoping my end, ends this treacherous vile star in this system too

"Since we had already lost course on how to express love, if someone, instead of telling us not to do this or that, were to instruct us convincingly about what we ought to do, all of us would gladly pay heed. Doesn't anyone have any self-confidence? I doubted that the people who had published their opinions here always felt the same way, in every situation. They scolded us for not having any real hopes or real ambitions, but if we were to pursue our true ideals, would these people watch and guide us along the way?"

you think of doing something, just after taking a step you forget what was the actual work.....so now you gotta retrace the whole thing like doing a time reverse so your thought process also reverts and you finally remember what was that thing you planned to do.

@

i'm so fucking tired of living in my home, fuck i wish i just escape somewhere for several decades. there is no issue here, no severe pressure, nothing at all.. but i can't deal with nagging. what the fuck is constant repression by using one or two words every fucking 2 hours, i am not fucking limited by your perception. your perspective is small, i see fucking wide pictures.

nobody can tell me what is wrong or right and what is true or false, you all might be the masters in your domain, prolly excel and flaunt it everywhere, you can be a genius or whatever entitled position there is.
but at the end of the day, there is a million dollar bet that what i say is gonna be correct, because i see on levels which you aren't even aware of. so don't fuckin tell me whether this is that or that is this.

I am disgustingly self aware, there’s nothing u can tell me that I havent spent weeks reflecting on

My glasses are the thing I hate most about my face, but there are certain good things about glasses that other people might not understand. I like to take my glasses off and look out into the distance. Everything goes hazy, as in a dream, or like a zoetrope—it's wonderful. I can't see anything that's dirty. Only big things—vivid intense colors and light are all that enters my vision. I also like to take my glasses off and look at people. The faces around me, all of them, seem kind and pretty and smiling. What's more, when my glasses are off, I don't ever think about arguing with anyone at all, nor do I feel the need to make snide remarks. All I do is just blankly stare in silence.
But actually glasses are the worst. Any sense of your face disappears when you put them on. Glasses obstruct whatever emotions that might appear on your face—passion, grace, fury, weakness, innocence, sorrow. And it's curious how it becomes impossible to try to communicate with your eyes.
Glasses are like a ghost.
The reason I hate glasses so much is because I think the beauty of your eyes is the best thing about people. Even if they can't see your nose or if your mouth is hidden, I think that all you need are eyes—the kind of eyes that will inspire others, when they are looking into them, to live more beautifully. My eyes are just big saucers, nothing more to them. When I look closely at them in the mirror, it's disappointing. Even my mother says I have unremarkable eyes. You might say that there is no light in them. They're like lumps of charcoal—it's that unfortunate. See what I mean? It's dreadful. When I see them in the mirror—every time—I think to myself, I wish I had nice eyes that sparkled softly. Eyes like a deep blue lake, or eyes that look as if they reflect the big sky that you might look up at while lying in a lush green meadow, with clouds floating by every so often. You might even see the shadows of birds in them

- Osamu Dazai

तुम बहुत कुछ हो मेरा, पर सब कुछ नहीं।
कुछ कहानियां तुम्हारी, कुछ पंक्तियां मेरी,
संयोग से ही सही, कुछ कविताएं हैं हमारी।

मैं तेरा

तुम मेरी?
मैं दिन-रात सा, तुम शाम सयानी,
तुम चुराई हुई बात, मैं अफ़वाह तुम्हारी।

मैं तुम्हारा, यह बात मैं तुमसे भी छुपाऊं,
कोई कवि तुम, मैं अधूरा लेख तुम्हारा।
अधूरा क्यों? शायद वह भी हक है तुम्हारा।

कड़वा सच हो तुम, मैं झूठ तुम्हारे हजार लिखूं।
जितने झूठ लिखे हैं, उनके आगे मिठास लिखूं।

मैं तेरा, और तुम बहुत कुछ हो मेरी।
पर शायद अभी, बस एक कविता हो मेरी।