Untitled.

Listen, it’s been too long now, okay? Too goddamn long, and you need to leave. You need to get out of my heart because I won’t be letting you stay in here anymore, not when you’ve smashed every glass window and every mirror into a million shards and ripped every door off its hinges, not when you’ve left coffee stains on the walls from still drunken rages the mornings after. I’m boarding it up now. Maybe someday I’ll find the courage to renovate this house that you’ve destroyed and turn it into a home again, but for now I’ll board up the shattered windows and doors so that the splinters and the words we never yelled at each other don’t hurt anyone else. Maybe I won’t. My sixth grade teacher once told me that sometimes places never recover after they’ve been hit by hurricanes. Maybe it’s the same for people too.

Of Nostalgia And The Night Sky.

Even if everything else falls apart, the moon will still be exceptionally beautiful on dark nights. The stars will still glimmer, teasing you, reminding you of the naive dreams you once had to capture the night sky into a glass jar to keep by your bed side- dreams that you have long since labelled ‘impossible’ and discarded. The night will bring with it nostalgia and memories you cannot escape from, memories of the boy who smelt like lemons and winter, frosty to the touch, or the girl with autumn leaves in her hair whose dark eyes showed you light the sun never could. Try all you might, squeezing your eyes close so tightly you see galaxies on the inside of your lids, but you will not be able to rid your mind of images of the people who gave you their all, putting their hearts in the palms of your hands, only to have you throw them all away ruthlessly. It’ll come back to haunt you now, how you broke them into a million pieces, but you’ll still feel no regret, you’ll feel no pain.
So climb onto the roof with your pack of cigarettes and a lighter, and try to smoke away the emptiness in vain, because the worst is yet to come.

Grey Tiredness.

A tiredness hard to imagine

Dwells in the sunsets of your eyes,

A tiredness hard to imagine

In an eighteen year old,

As if you still carry

All the burdens of your past lives.

There dwells

A resignation to fate,

A resignation to whatever life throws at you,

A never-ending monotony

That seems impossible to get rid of,

No matter how hard I try

And it gets to me,

It pulls at the strings of my heart,

Makes me want to rip

All my skin off;

I want to scream,

Hit you hard,

Anything

To save you from drowning

In this grey,

But nothing seems to work

And I just watch helplessly

As you sink deeper

And deeper

Into the quicksand

While I stand

On cracking ice

Myself.


Image taken from here.

 

Temporary.

Light strobes flashing;

Purple, blue, red and green,

Cutting through the haze,

Gray with pretty colors in between

Closed eyes, slumped bodies,

Worshipers in the temple of euphoria,

All in seek end up here;

This is the end to the exalted quest

Of happiness, of purpose, of lost innocence,

And what better way to gain all these,

Than lose yourself in blue euphoria,

Cut off from reality,

Even if just for a short while?


Image taken from: Tauba Auerbach

 

New Beginnings.

Life is more than mess ups, and it is more than heartbreak. Life is all about the choices you make, and I plan to find out each one of mine.

So adieu, darling.

Maybe we’ll meet someday on strange lands that haven’t been tainted with my mascara stained tears, around stranger people who will just see us as silhouettes on a street and rush past. Maybe we’ll be wiser and laugh over how stupid we used to be, maybe I’ll be able to bear the sight of you as a stranger and stand for a moment of small talk or two. Or maybe we won’t.
But I will hold on to the idea that this is not where the story ends, I’ll put a semi colon on this sentence and start a new chapter, hoping that some day we’ll get another chance to write the ending, and even if we don’t, I’ll hold on to this idea forever, keeping it folded close in the dusty cracks of my old heart.

Someday, I might be able to let light into that part, clean out the boxes upon boxes of memories you left, which lie there, along with this hope that never seems to go away but that day is not today.
For now, I will focus on every breath I take in, and every breath I let out; I will focus on each step of mine and try to put one foot after the other without stumbling as I walk away from the smoldering remains of what we never had.

The fire still rages on, but so does this old fool, my heart, and it holds on too, and for now, I will keep writing and re-writing a tragedy unlike anything this world has ever seen before.


Image taken from here.

A Modern Tragedy.

We were our own kind of story, our own kind of disaster. We were Romeo and Juliet without the love, written by a sadist Shakespeare where Juliet stabs Romeo in the back herself as he sits there, filling the room with the gray haze of hash infused smoke, where the two turned into enemies before they could’ve ever been anything more.
So don’t talk to me about fear and don’t talk to me about madness, don’t talk to me about recklessness when all of my worst fears have finally come true and life is a nightmare, peppered with moments to make it feel bearable, when it’s anything but. Nothing is worth it anymore and do not try to convince me otherwise.

The sadness really does last forever.


Image taken from here.

 

A Bad Day.

A bad day

Turns into a few

And it’s a bad week

Before you realize,

Now its three bad weeks

In a row;

A bad month

Succeeded by brethren,

12 of them,

A bad year now

And you feel so helpless,

Wondering every moment,

If you’ll ever feel the sun again

Or the peace you felt

Every time the sky lit up mauve,

Sliced by lightning;

The detachment is getting

Too much to bear,

The quiet is

Too eerie now,

Oh how you long

For noise of some kind

Even if it were

Your own strangled screams.

 

 

 

Tragic Beliefs.

For the longest time, coming across the words “nostalgic for a place you’ve never been to” was a joke that I’d laugh my heart out at. The whole notion was ridiculous to me, how could one pine for a place they’ve never been to, yearn for something they’ve never experienced?
But as they say, with time comes wisdom and now, I know.
I know that it is possible and that this itching in my soul, this discomfort, these incessant, erratic fights that my heart puts up, these are all nothing but a calling, a remembrance of a place I don’t even know, of arms I am not sure exist, but on long cold nights like this, I am reminded of desperately, and my sadness finds a way to condense and drip from my lashes as I sit on the roof, drowning in my agony, unable to decide what to make of this, the tragic belief that somewhere out there exists a person, the antidote to my misery, only I am unaware of when we shall ever cross paths, if we ever do, if we ever have.


Image taken from here.

Daytime Ponderings.

They say everything we do,
Everything we say,
Is but,
An echo
Into the void,
The universe
(maybe they’re both
the same thing?)
And that it will
Come back to us one day,
But has any of us
Ever given a thought
To what if
We don’t want it back
By then?


I realize this is kind of ambiguous, so I thought I’d elaborate a bit. I mean to allude to the phenomenon (for lack of a better word) which most of us experience at least once in our lives (if I’m not wrong) that something we spent a long time chasing after comes to us of its own accord when we no longer desire it, no longer run after it.


Image taken from Tumblr.