A Mad Heart’s Plea

My heart is a steady soliloquy of drumbeats banging out the same tune over and over: I want it to be you. In a million languages, dead and alive, in Morse code, in the language only the stars understand. If you tore my chest open you would find it written in the Braille of Longing, punched all over my ribs and heart, spiraling across every bone. You would find it etched in hieroglyphs and Arabic calligraphy across all my neuronal pathways. I am a dying girl and you are the antidote to death. If you could, would you be mine forever?


Image credits.

Stars And Smiles.

I’ve been looking for you for so long, my love, and I’m sorry if I can’t see you even if 

(when) 

you stand right in front of me 

because my eyes have been sewn shut so long ago 

I cannot remember how to open them anymore, even when the wire that held them 

lid to lid 

shuttered close

has melted away.

I still only see galaxies painted on the inside of my eyelids

but somewhere between the stars, I once saw a comet tail of your smile 

and I’ve been looking for it again ever since;

I’m afraid if I open my eyes I might never get to see it again.

so I stand here,

eyes closed, face to the sky,

I stare right into the hearts of burning stars 

as I try to find what makes them burn-

I’m not sure if it might not be you.

I mean, I’m not a dying star but I have iron in my veins and doesn’t that mean the same thing if you have been setting my insides on fire over and over again every time your absence dampens it?

so that must mean you exist, right, that somewhere between these swirls of light and color and dark, you really do walk,

tightrope the threads of time between now to then,

that you live, you breathe, you smile and laugh

that it is your warmth that travels through to me,

right across this vacuum of space that swells up 

between my fingers, 

my ribs, 

my spine-

between the empty spaces on my bed that have your name across them.
it all must only mean that you exist, that you’re on your way to me right now,

that fate is weaving around our threads until we will be stories that won’t be told apart anymore, 

so I stand here, eyes wide open but not, and ask

who can blame me for forgetting how to open my eyes and see, when I’m so caught up in remembering pieces of you I know from before,

from when our atoms came together for a brief moment before they were ripped apart again;

even Zeus feared what our love could do to this world.

                                                                                                                                         

Image taken from: Tumblr

The Search For Madness.

“It was a hot summer night, right in the middle of July, the day I decided to run away.
I’d had enough, you know? Didn’t want to be pushed around by anyone anymore.
I knew what I wanted in life, I knew I was different, and I was ready to go satiate my wanderlust, find my destiny.
And what was that?
It was to look for madness.
Pure madness.
The kind that is untouched by greed and untainted by grief.
The kind of madness that is alluring and heartbreaking at the same time, the madness that exists in the stars and in the stargazers, in the moon and it’s worshipers, the kind that only increases with the coming dawn, fueled by the golden of the morning.
The madness of the waves as they reach out to kiss the shore over and over again, of the ocean as it tries to caress the moon in vain.
Sweet madness, filled with melancholy.
I thought I had it all figured out, how I’d catch the morning bus out of that sleepy old town, off to big cities and adventures in the pursuit of madness. But the stars has their own plan for me, because sitting in the long green grass of the park I had played in all my life, I found you.
Eyes closed but facing upwards, you were the definition of peace; you looked as if you were a part of the grass and flowers itself, rooted to the ground and so, so still, but then you opened your eyes and I fell headfirst into their grey chaos. Your expression held such agony, it clenched at my heart, and yet I was mesmerized, enchanted, cursed, unable to look away.
That night, I went looking for madness and found it.
But what I didn’t realize was that madness could ever be so beautiful, so dangerous, that madness could ever be you.”


Image taken from here.

 

 

Off-track Musings.

I’ve always been able to tell when a thunderstorm is on the horizon, even up to a day before it occurs, and I’ve never been afraid of thunderstorms even as a little kid.
But tonight I am.
I’m scared, and I’m terrified.
The thunder resounds in my head until my heart is beating hard enough to match each peal, and I clench my eyes in an effort to calm down the erratic beating but tears leak out in torrents more furious than those pouring outside, the dark clouds I so adore have covered the beautiful full moon and it feels like I have no guidance tonight without the moonlight and the stars.
My room feels strangely lifeless without the moonbeams entering through the window and dancing in elaborate patterns on the rug on my floor, the one you bought from an old woman who could see auras, who shied away from me and my colorless void of an aura; you brought it from her anyways, I remember you calling her delusional under your breath; after all, how could I, of everyone out there have a colorless aura, I, who couldn’t live without colors, who couldn’t bear monotony and blandness?
Little did you know at the time that she was right. All those colors I surrounded myself with were nothing but a desperate attempt to obtain the colors I lacked inside, but oh, I wasn’t supposed to think about you at all, I get off-tracked so easily these days.
Ironic, isn’t it, because if I could focus on one thing, it would be on getting you out of my head, my system, my life, but it isn’t helping, I can’t sleep anyways, so I get up, and despite my fears, climb out of the window to the roof, the rain pelting me with your memories with each raindrop hitting my bruised skin. I sit on the roof edge, trying not to think about how you’d always plead with me to get off the edge, you were afraid I’d fall down.
The rain makes it hard for me to light my cigarette, but I try again and again, and after countless unsuccessful attempts, I fling the pack and the lighter off the roof into the grass below, and with nothing else to do, I just sit there, I sit there shivering, soaking and drowning in your memories.


Image taken from here.