I am my own GRAVE

A Poem or a CRY FOR HELP?

Pulkit Srivastava
2 min readAug 16, 2021
Photo by Ben Allan on Unsplash

I huff and puff
for reasons unknown
I have been running
from something in me

Dissected at all angles,
my breath a strangle
I exist, I am aware
I wonder if I’m alive
If I am,
I pay a surcharge to survive

Like a tombstone,
white marbles, and intricate designs
I am beautiful and haunting
at the same time

All pearls drained
I am a colorless cave
my existence a tragedy
I am my own grave

My clothes a coffin,
footwear a trap
A shadow greets me
with a violent grasp

My veins have forgotten
the ability to make flow
I lay, don’t want to
want to, but don’t want to,
my elaborations a joke

Depression came tiptoe
now its in excess,
converted me to a skin
burnt black and red

My voice, a catastrophe
my tears bring annoyance
I aspire to seek help,
all the languages seem foreign

My dreams a conundrum
my head a turmoil
over-thinking a signature
my head, an exile

Too much to fix,
I am out of wrenches and duct tapes
I make more holes
in me to respirate

All pearls drained
I am a colorless cave,
my existence a tragedy
I am my own grave



Pulkit Srivastava

Fashion Writer who is also fond of Literature, Poetry, and Feminist Analysis. I aspire to cover Met Galas and International Runways some day.