Counting

I am counting my smiles ;

maybe to feel relieved that I am not entirely gloomy in this hell home.

I am counting my smiles ;

maybe to picture them

the next time

I need an escape to into altered realities.

I am counting my smiles

as a way to count my blessings ;

But aren't all my blessings hesitantly fulfilled duties that aren't mine?

"Every house is not a home" , they say , it didn't hurt much .

But it was too much to realise I was a product of ritual , not love .

The house was under turmoil and I can walk past the fire .

But I would never be able to escape this half an hour bickering that spits daggers ,

breaking not two hearts but three ; Ruining that eightysix thousand and four hundred seconds of my life .

I would never be able to ignore the mess ,

because I always hear

They are always heard ,

but they aren't loud enough to deafen my senses.

I would never be able to grow numb to their shared pain.

Because it hurts .

It hurts too much to witness the two souls I love the most hate each other In a split second of friction

This isn't love , this isn't passion

This is just a bond

between two rocks ,

held by a rope of regrets , adjustments and unnecessary sacrifices.

This is just a bond

between two like poles

held by a rope of pride , ego and redundant opinions .

Yet I tried to mend the bond ,

change it ;

I tried cutting the tightrope but it slapped me on my face for it was fierce , tensed .

Now I try to coax for my red cheeks and puffy eyes with white lies and forced smiles.

And Yes ! I am counting my smiles ;

in a way to count my blessings.