“I . . .feel now”

This is that once in a lifetime kinda love… The one you read about when spiraling through a romance novel when you’re 13 which either leaves you in anticipation of that overwhelming wave or perceiving it as meaningless. This is that 17/19 year old love which is predicted to cling on to you till your last breath, that even when you tie the knot with another heart, their name still ties a knot in your belly, that regardless of the affection your current significant other has bestowed on you, their flaky memory will always present itself at the note of “first love’’. The person whose cry will make you decline all of your commitments to rehash that trip to the past which you’re unable to overlook. The reckless kinda love, where it’s bad, jeopardizing and risky but it brings that shrill through your spine, that jolt through your nerves making your every vein and cell feel. When ‘’loving you with every piece of me’’ has never made more sense. The rush of calamity and calm which safe love is unable to fathom. The rebellious kinda love, where you resist your parents, culture and faith and every barrier in existence is stagnant in your path but you endure and keep up because the goal is priceless and those hours of laughter and that glance of beaming eyes is worth deserting your identity. The barbarous kind of love, one you lose control over, the gentle swaying demeanor being nothing but a façade while the intensity of your sensation claws your organs out. But that roar of emotion, the mastery of that wild love is unlike every tame affection you’re yet to witness. The justified kinda love, where every sin is pardoned . . . from misleading your guardians to stripping off your modesty, where desires become deeds, where emotions become fleshly. The type of love which makes you gulp an extra bottle the night he/she confesses, the sort of feeling which makes you cross a rotten line at 3 am yet the moment is as ethereal and limitless as the pre-dawn sky. The paradoxical kinda love, where nothing is right yet everything is flawless, something as light as an unsinkable cloud yet with the weight of an anchor that even the sea is helpless.  The kind of love where every sappy love quote is a little relatable, every sacrifice is understandable and every compromise is doable. When there is no wall between who you are and what you seem like. The kind of love which plants flowers over your war ridden heart, the field filled with debris of skulls, dried out blood and sizzling coal, remnants of your destructive past. The kind of love where you crave a touch so bad and no, not sexually, just a squeeze of an arm, the stroke of a thumb or the caressing of finger tips and somehow it miraculously changes your day or eradicates your skepticism. When those features are what you hunt in masses of undesired acquaintances.

The kind of love which breaks you or makes you. You either hail together or you don’t. You either fall more every day or you never fall again. Both ways, that special someone whom you seized close and had the best kiss of your life with or who floated with you in oceans of theories or whom you dozed in on extra shot of heroin with . . . somehow squeeze themselves in the tales you narrate to your grandchildren. The kind of love that was meant to be even if it wasn’t meant to last. And if or when you retreat, you depart as two halves of the same mind, the same heart.

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Like a Sunflower

‘Tinges of friction, there burns a spark,

 What is to be glistening and yet is so dark,

Unchained flesh, under no monarch,

Fruitless are their words, omitting all remarks.

 

Not to be misguided by that insincere smile,

 Got the hourglass running, it’ll only take a while

When the debris is all piled, igniting his profile.’

 

All so great, with the sun soaring high,

Not deadly, but a good guy

Your gentleman, in a bow and tie

Until the stars rise, sipping the bliss dry

Not a rascal, just to clarify

 

Needless to panic when alone

The ichor I lust is my own,

 

Strength shifts as the crescent swells,

The bodies’ en route to where they dwell,

So I rebound, to my own shell,

Haunted memories, rusty smells

 

Perceptions transpiring, seclusion pervades,

Spirit changes, sanity fades,

All my discipline quickly strays

My promising vows, all betray

The beaming festivity, all decays

My fostered rival, even I’m afraid.

Decisive bloodshed, no band aids

No compensation, victor invades.

 

Repetitive musings coming alive,

Smothering night falls that I battle to survive,

 

Failing to know what lies ahead,

Will the clock repeat, or will I be dead?

Or is it all real or are these ghosts in my head?

Everyone knows, but none comprehend,

Efforts are made, they do pretend

Nothing to undo, nothing to amend,

An eternal journey, it’s a dead end

 

Still have kin, cease to question how

Kudos to them, to not disallow,

 

I belong to them, I fall and bleed,

Atrocities like them, sadistic and greed,

An open book, just difficult to read

 

 

 

enforced // school essay

I have failed to envision myself as anything apart from buoyant, invariably joyous and cheery because firstly, I prefer to be an epitome of bliss and secondly, because I’ve progressed it for a span too long to be borne with its absence.

I was unaware of the sinking worlds behind the word ‘’alone’’ until the past year when I fell victim to loneliness, despising it and caressing it with affection at the same moment.

Being around people diverts my musings, the other person being the focal point, learning and observing and disregarding my trembling muscles. The laughter conserves me from the calamities that I erupt inside, safeguarding me from a feeling that outruns all that is to loathe.

I HATE sadness, I hate melancholy , I hate its worthless existence,  I hate how it engulfs my head and heart, I hate how it swallows my piled up joy and mostly I hate how it’s out of my control.

And so when I’m among respiring frames and myself isn’t all I got… I’m genuinely happy. My assassinating musings, my overbearing scrutiny, my apprehension, it all lapses to the back of my head, a dormant sanctuary.

But as much as I lust an ambiance pervaded by bodies, as much as I love exemption from my slaying confinement, how fond I am from my hovering chest, after a certain duration, my body craves solace, my heart sinks and my inner neglected-self begins opposing, rebelling against ignorance, screaming for attention and I surrender to it before the anguish grows, becoming so piercing that it carves gashes on my wrists. But either my pain masters me or I master it, allowing the blood from my veins to flow like ink on my paper.. and so I compose, I pour it out until my realm of words is free, until I’ve depleted, until I’m void, until I’m ready to commence another round, until the paper becomes a pavement of scribbled ichor.

After the blood runs dry, people regard it as a masterpiece, but I’m there, worn, alas free, like giving birth, joyous that it’s blooming and beautiful yet empty inside.

‘’I need people to fill me with merriment, I need time to tell me that it’s not me, I need solace to find myself and I need blood to be a writer’’

Some tears will never dry

‘’Damaged people are dangerous, they know they can survive’’

It was vulnerable, powerful and it was what couldn’t be denied, I was too delicate and not in a way that was feeble.

She had been given birth in a cave during the hunt of her misplaced father, fed and untamed in the wild until her adolescence flew by and she unrolled her own red carpet and advanced on it with scarred bare feet.

From an interval, it couldn’t be identified, she was a mark of glory, of joy and she’d plant blossoms in your life, but again, only from a distance.

If you entered the spans within her inhales you’d see the buds she planted in your heart were torn out from her own, they didn’t grow in you, they were replanted. She had no lust of rays of festivity and luminosity. Her eyes had opened to darkness, foreseeing darkness only for the vision to extend, so darkness is what she became.

If you sneaked behind the glinting eyes, you’d discern the dead ones clouded by the smoke of tobacco, hazy and lifeless. Moody at times, they’d carve into what was expected of them.

So what had built that 18 year old? simple. anger, danger, scrutiny, goodwill, betrayal, hope, death. Hatred.

Compounded by brick over brick, she became a barrier impossible to conquer, one so well built that it couldn’t be stirred, yet painted by smears of blissful expressions. With a wall so robust, you lack choices. You either let it stand in its place or you demolish it to the last piece of clay.

And this was what her people couldn’t decide on. She was a step too heavy on their light weighing spirts. Her kin was all about merriment and each dawn would commence and each sunset would sway with murmurs on the same argument, her mother trying to inject beautiful verses into her daughter’s poisoned veins.

You could choose to be on her good side but the second you scrape off her surface with a slight scratch of friction, you would smell the ignition, and eruption of an inferno inside that tiny frame and it would be time to find an escape. Yup, she’d bud flowers on your garden but she’d own the power to convert it to fossils.

A demonic phoenix, she could guide you in the woods or she’d set your entity on fire and no Holy water could ever exhaust her flames.

How rare do you find a paradoxical coalescence of paradoxes in a single breathing soul. That was her. Sadistic when joyous, stoic when gloomy, the Dead Sea, let you float on death and suffocate you with the same water. Construct a mansion herself and explode it if she feels confined. She’d spice up your life or she’d burn your tongue. A blend of fantasies and logistics.

 

So what makes me worship the footsteps of this fiend? It’s winter and it’s snowing and I own nothing to lose, so every day dig into the ground up to her house, an embodiment of my memories. I see through her windows, the frost a, veil harboring a replay of the 1970’s and I hear the screams and rehash my past.

This is her replicating my deeds. My mind too was an obscure path of a labyrinth of thoughts, too massive for me to tolerate, igniting my pulse, boiling my blood until I erupted, my dwelling on fire and my kinship as ashes. Every time I see her smile, it reflects on me and every time a rivulet flows down from her eye lashes, mine do too, every bead a remembrance of a souvenir.

I have found my blood and it fills me with merriment I didn’t know existed. And one day when she abandons home, I’ll follow, I’ll be there hidden in her astray shadow like she has been harbored in mine for the past 18 years, yet I never showed her my profile. I am the cause of her combustive explosions, I am in her veins. I am the missing father.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Lethal notions

So now, what do you do when your own blood loathes you?

You pierce yourself open, surrender all of it, every rivulet in their name, as they always did believe it was theirs, and like a rascal, you allow them to suck it out of you. Your every aspiration, your every merriment, you let it flow in their name and then wait, you and all of them wait, and wish, that this wish will be your last.

Excerpts from life

 

How quickly can the world fall at your feet?

When one day during your moments of success, you discern that you have attained everything a breathing soul could desire and you have no one to savor it with.

When you realize how that one person is the layer of caramel above all of your sweet victories and now they’re not there and your festivities don’t taste the same anymore.

When you loathe how that one person was the cacophony in your clips of overwhelming instances and now  your life is a film on the big screen with failing speakers, something so lifeless you don’t want to see, but something so huge that it’s impossible to ignore.

*This is really an excerpt from a story I’m writing, I will upload it as soon as I’m done with it*

A Good Morning message

He remembered how he used to hate to wake up in the morning. That heartache doesn’t leave. It stayed in his chest like cancer, and he always knew it was there, slowly sapping his strength. But cancer doesn’t always win. sometimes a stronger force wipes it out.

Who knew she was the cure? The was she renewed his interest in life seemed impossible. The kinship they felt was subtle at first. Scary. Unfathomable. They were skeptical. This couldn’t be real.

So ensuing months were a chess game. Each of them trying to think moves ahead, protecting their respective King and Queen. Little did he know she had studied the game for years, had become a master. His concession was inevitable.

So now she owned him. He was willingly her pawn. She, his queen, For the rest of their lives.

But now he wakes up with a smile.

 

 

 

A look back

That infant in her arms had all the hearts won,It was a birth of a seraph and had to be dealt as one

But times change, for all that we can bet,
From a future so bright and an itinerary all set,
to a deplorable mistake and a birth she regret.
And so years went by with it’s  consistent berth,
The prejudice unaware of it’s falling worth
as now it’s aging years had to be prepared for girth,
suffocating it and it’s loved mirth,
it could scarcely breathe and caused it’s own birth.
But that infant…. now a young one could not be seeped,
it had grown and pride had creeped,
it separated itself and now her soul shrieked,
the chains had then been broken and her thought she freed,
and within no time, her desires became deeds
the angel once worshiped had now become a fiend
and no amount of Holy water could get her sins cleaned,
Her tongue guarded her mind and she let no one intervene.
purity flooded their veins but she didn’t understand,
and a sprinkle of sanity made her demons a free man.
she knew she had lost, she had become weak
the thoughts that screamed had narrowed down to a squeak,
the devil she freed, still gave occasional peeks
but she was long, defeated by critiques
lost and torn and far from done,
 yet that fatal energy she was still their favorite one
The fear of her punishments that were yet to be received,
aware of all the hatred soon to be achieved……
‘tears rolling down, she lifted her arm, and indulged in the relief that we label as self harm’

A rough conversation with myself.

Remember when you were young, weeping over a broken toy and your mother told you “you are all you need” ..  you should have believed her.

Remember when you were young, stressed over some issues with your friend and your mother told you “you are the only one who can hurt yourself’’ .. you should have believed her.

Remember when you were young, overjoyed when your favorite characters had a successful love story and your mother confiscated all your books and told you “There’s no such thing as love, it’s only deception’’.. you should have believed her.

Remember when you were young and you offered all your lunch to a beggar and your mother told you “ you have too good of a heart to survive in this world’’… you should have believed her.

Now look at yourself, the things she forbid you and you did anyways… did they ever bring you joy?

You unlocked your heart to temporary people and permanent strangers. How did that go? Not so well.

You allowed yourself to be vulnerable, sensitive to the people around you. How did that go? Not so well.

So for the future, open your eyes and close your heart for that is the safest way to live in this hell called earth and its devils called people.