Empty (Part - 1)

I clasp onto the arguments that we have. It makes me sick and happy at the same time. Sick, because I bog down a little, subdue my ego under yours, and belittle my soul. Happy, because we talk when we argue. We don't talk now. We fight. And I find solace in it, because we talk. I ask sundry questions, when all I want to do is yell, shout and abuse you for the pain I've imposed on myself. Oh, how we love to shift blames; to make culprits out of saviours. It makes us feel that our souls are pious. Oh, how badly we hate being guilty. Most of all, being guilty of our own selves.

- A heart penned down