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Tuesday, 18 July 2017

Vase ...

I have been choking on the lump in my throat for quite some time now. And the temporary relief of lust has lost its touch as well. I realize now, lust is nothing but the bottom of the emptiest vase, with the void above filled with unperceivable loneliness. It's like a child's fleeting obsession with the new toy. You can never be sure how long it's going to last, but you know it will dry out eventually. My heart has been surviving at the bottom and every effort I've made to climb back up has been in vain. For someone who has not felt the dryness of their own veins in their throat, this is not for you. You are the lucky ones. You do not have to excuse yourself from a conversation because suddenly, in the middle of a regular busy day, you are reminded of all the "what ifs" that could have possibly existed. You do not go to sleep haunted by the memories of her sleeping beside you, her hands clutching on to your shirt because she fell asleep on your chest listening to your childhood stories. You will never drown in nostalgia like I do.
So I pull up the covers, call in sick for the n-th time, and just lay in bed wishing I had the words to shroud my helplessness. The smell of you is gone. The wrinkles on the sheets are gone. You're gone. And I'm still here, longing for a place, a person, a version of reality, that I know doesn't even exist.

Unfulfilled wishes ...

Here it is,
A body without a soul,
Just flesh, blood, and bones.
Here I clutch in this greased scabbed fist
The sins, the wrongs,
The overburdening guilt.
For whoever dares to love this filth
Will ash up and flare
Like tiny wish lanterns
Carrying unfulfilled wishes in lost air.

Strange mind ...

I have a strange mind of stranger times
Shameless is my speech
Conscious of my bodily crimes.
I drift like a leaf of Autumn's fall
Wired black, white and colorless
No sound made, no noise, no call.
I am the true fear you bury in you heart
The anarchy you want to let loose
So tell me, when do we start?

Neon lights ...

I want to be the neon lights that buzz in your head in the blinding light of day and the distorted version of reality that keeps you up at night. 
I want to be that chaos that glows in your brown eyes when hit by sunlight, expanding and dilating.
But more than that, I want to be the secret you hush under your breath because you know you can never understand it yourself.

Promise ...

Daze and glaze through darkened hearts
The ribs that break and tear
Weeds of agony that grow under skin
Mulch of melancholic fear.
Now I hold you in my arms
Here forever you shall rest
Turn to dust and dirt and grit
No more will your heart explode in your chest.
Here tonight, beneath the gray
You'll nail scratch the sky to bleed
I'll gift wrap a coffin of moonlit covers
With a promise that it will be all you need.

Hulo ...

Look at us, we're a mess.
We both like those Christmas lights because rolling around sheetless beds while they twinkle sends the butterflies already fluttering in our stomach go on a crazy ride. We are clumsy, repeat clothes after sniffing them and have no sense of dressing for an occasion. I sleep too much and you destroy your eyes on the laptop screen. Sometimes we cook like we mean it, but mostly we just put whatever we find in the pot and eat it like it tastes exotic. Yeah, we read, but rarely. We have new books that lie around the room, ignored, but who delves into pages when we hardly ever have time to finish learning each other's stories. I tell you about the fat kid I was and you tell me about how you swung on the home windows while refusing to eat. We laugh a lot, mostly without legit reasons. We flick through social media in search of boys for you and girls for me and get high on conversations that drift far from reality. And on stormy nights, we lie under the plastic cup lights drinking wine and talk about how we'll miss each other. You sometimes pull my hand over your waist while you sleep and probably don't realize it and when it's 3 am, and you're literally snoring and I'm awake, I kiss your forehead like it's the last time I will do it. You don't know it, but you twitch your nose and sometimes, just sometimes, you turn and kiss me back.
We're a mess of unfelt emotions that float so comfortably without the weight of tags that we often forget how limited these sunsets are.

6:45 ...

I woke feeling like 6:45 pm.
Strange and disoriented from a sleep that wasn't quite peaceful, not because I had bad dreams or anything, but from all the fuzz in my head. I woke up to half a cigarette hanging from her lower lip, a power cut that had gotten everybody pretty jittery and a sky that was a strange shade of blue. I sat there and for the first time in a long time, felt nothing. Nothing at all. And I suddenly remembered how familiar feeling nothing felt, how light and how hollow; the kind that slowly drowns you into your own self. That was what 6:45 felt like: a stretched figment of time that seemed to have lost itself somewhere. But she sat beside me and we smiled and before we knew it, the clock had lived its moment and all was real again.