This October,
My thoughts
Are brittle as snow
And not nebulous.

This October,
All I need
Is to not be me.

This October,
I want to be forgotten
Rather than be known
In any way,
I would rather not
Be known.

This October,
I want to pull away.

This October,
I hope it is the last October
I write something like this.

This October,
I want to re-examine my life
Without the relationships in it.

This October,
I have been trying to write
Less about God
And more about
Atheists who still pray
To a God, they no
Longer believe in.

This October,
I want to write more about
A love that does not bruise
When you get uncomfortably close to it.

This October,
I want to bow
On my knees
And Croon
Coming Up Roses.

This October,
I want to get close
To someone
And not burst into flames.

This October,
I am still wasting away
As I was the
Previous October.

This October,
I am looking for anything
Any sign and anyone
Who is going to assure me
Everything will be okay.

This October,
Nothing I write
Carries the entirety
Of my sentiments.

This October,
Between grief and nothing
I still do not know
Which one to pick?

This October,
I am nothing but myself.

This October,
Is different from all
The other Octobers

This October,
there have been
Splashes of happiness.

This October,
I tried to write a poem
That was not
Painful to write.
I still do not know
If I succeeded

or not?

This October,
I expected nothing at all
Or maybe,
I expected everything.

This October,
Is an ode to all the
Sorrow I have felt
And I cannot let the
Happiness I have felt

Ruin it.

This October,
There seems nothing to
Write about.

This October,
I tried drawing myself
In a way, more people would want me
For the life of me, I could not
Figure out what kind of heart to draw
What kind of emptiness in it?

This October,
All I see around me
Are remembrances
From my past

This October,
My grief is housed
In every inch of my body.

This October,
I really wanted to be
Easy to be around.

This October,
Made me realise only
The me that I am today
Is the only one who
Would have made
The choices I made.

Next October,
A different I will
Will be looking at
A different set of choices
Hoping for a better end.

This October,
I want to know
What is coming tomorrow?

This October,
I want to belong somewhere
Even if it is in
A burial ground.

This October,
I realised I never
Did like living in Sydney

Or wherever.

This October,
There is nothing to talk about
The answers are
All staring at my face.

This October,
I will finally make an attempt
To clean the
Blood-filled sink
In my old room.

This October,
Or the one after that
I hope it is my
Last October.