Tragic Love
Words feel smaller, They still call her; You are hazier, I am crazier Than before, And I don’t know, How many lives ago Were you there, Twinkling like a star In my sky. I am a life unlived, Hoping a vision clearer, Things were never
All posts by Scottshak
Work It Out
Work, I could bring you home, But you wouldn’t stay; I am a man Who knows your secret too much, And you would hear my thoughts, I talk that much. I hate the idea of you To be done, You are a serpent The world
Watch Me Die
Consumed, Confused, I lie awake, My life’s at stake, I am back to ground zero. They say there’s no hero; I tried to be one, Son of a gun! They are all blind! My eyes couldn’t find Hope to keep me up at night, Or
Sleepover – A Fat Story | A Short Horror Film
Sleepover short film was imagined in an entirely different setup contrary to the place where it was shot. The backdrop happened in an impromptu manner. Nothing was set up, nothing prepped up beforehand. I was low on resources, as I decided to shoot it with my
Swords Are Needles
Why draw a sword, When you know That it only kills? Nothing good has ever come From a needle that only knows how to cut, And how to taste blood. You are calling out destruction When you know How to use a weapon; Its knowledge
Dawn of the Living
Waking up in your time, I am the night! I see what calls you – A light from the sky, And you walk out like moths To a brimming sunshine; All that glare hides promises Of a bright future That you could make In your
Written
Did you know? You were born in kisses, Moulded with slurps Of my sloppy lips, You didn’t know what it was then Or what together meant. You just take love for granted, Just as you take breathing now. Your birth wasn’t a mistake, But a
The Crying Child
What ails you, child? Why cry you wild? The journey is yet to begin; The world is crook and pain And outright insane; It hides in its ways, Mysterious days, Hurt, that has yet to find a name. It will a play a game That’s
The Fallen
People fall in, They fall out, And yet they never learn That falling in Is supposed to give butterflies, While falling out, ashes. And that’s all there is to it – A series of falling in and out, Of broken hearts and reconciliations, Of tamed
Everyone Else
My parents named me a very common name. You google it and thousands of Prashant Singh show up. They had unknowingly registered me to their very idea of normalcy. Maybe they secretly wished me to be like everyone else. But I am not everyone else.