You.

A bitter aftertaste is what you always leave behind,
Your evil smile always betrays your intentions,
Everytime you love me just to cut me open,
Again and again till it leaves a scar so deep
That it will soon be impossible to heal,
It will run from my heart to my soul,
Killing me slowly from the inside,
My eyes blank like a corpse,
My smile like the painted mouth on a doll,
My hands unable to render a loving touch,
My fingers stiff and frozen, my arms limp by my side,
I am a puppet trying to cut away from your strings of lies,
Getting more and more entangled with every tug,
Your loveless eyes follow me around,
As I struggle to free myself,
You stand there laughing at my agony,
And then you leave, never looking back,
Leaving me in the darkness tied up in your strings of lies.

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Pieces of Love.

Like the crashing waves try to find comfort in unknown shores,
I try to find familiarity in unfamiliar places,
Strangers look like home sometimes,
Bits and pieces of love found in people,
Familiar things that make me think,
My mind is in a frenzy,
I am addicted to this feeling that makes me feel whole,
Who do I love? Is it the people or is it the moments?
A melody? A memory? A look? A smile?
It’s a fleeting thing isn’t it?
I want this to last a lifetime,
I try to grasp on to it like water droplets on the palm of my hand,
But maybe this is it,
A lifetime of bits and pieces,
Of happiness found in unlikely places,
That makes you whole.

Rainy Days

On days like this I think of your eyes
Like the overcast skies,
They too conceal unfathomable mysteries;
On days like this I think of your smile,
The way your lips curl into bashful assertion,
Always with a touch of melancholy;
On days like this I think of your hands,
Your fingers intertwined with mine,
Like the knotted bows of rain swept trees;
On days like this I think of your laugh,
Booming and crashing over my ears like the thundering skies,
On days like this I think of your smell,
Earthy and fresh like the essence of childhood;
On days like this, when the sky pours down and the earth gets soaked,
I think of you.

The Definition of Crazy

‘I am crazy!’ She says with a lift of her eyebrows;
Oh she must be a party girl,
Great in the sack;
Dances like no is watching,
Oh she likes being watched;
Look at those curves,
It must be Yoga or Pilates or
whatever they are doing these days;
That lipstick makes her mouth pop;
Oh she knows it does,
Cigerette after cigerette, the butts stained dark like her lips,
Impenetrable eyes, cryptic smile,
Blowing out smoke with a fierce nonchalance,
She is Confident, candid and probably a cunt.

When she says she is crazy,
She means that she roams around supermarkets,
Trying to fill the emptiness with chia seeds and green tea,
Goes to therapy looking for an answer,
To questions that keep changing with her mood,
Cigerettes keep her calm; or so she thinks,
Lying awake at night, thinking of ways to escape,
Consumed by the emptiness beside her,
Long tearful phone calls to mother,
Missed meals, missed people, missed life,
Believes love is real, she felt it that day,
Unread messages, unanswered calls,
But she still hopes, she still feels,
Because she is crazy.

Instagram Lives

Highlighted faces,
High heeled souls,
Holiday in Mykonos,
Sponsored promises of happiness;
A click will get you there,
A better smile, a better home, a better love;
‘I love you baby’ gets twenty thousand likes,
‘This is #couplegoals’ comments Bella_0123;
Smart phones, smart words,
Smart lives, death;
‘RIP’ with a heart emoji, comments Kingston_0069.

I like flats, I like the old words,
I like bare faced vulnerability,
Uneventful Sunday mornings,
Scheduled shows on solitary TV sets,
The comfort of anticipation,
Winter sunlight and monsoon clouds,
The bitter sweetness of longing,
Playtime in the cradle of nature,
Dirty hands, dirty faces, untainted minds; unspoken love, presented on a plate at breakfast,
Keeping the nightmares away while you sleep;
Life lived outside a box of dreams.

Unsaid Words

Google says block
Google says don’t listen to the songs that remind;

Therapist says distract yourself
Therapist says work,

Mother says forget,
Mother says you will find someone else;

He says I don’t love you,
He says ours was a short tryst,

What do I say?

I say I don’t want to block;

I say I want to hear the music;

I say I want to think of him while I work;

I say distractions are futile;

I say I don’t want to forget;

I say I don’t want to find someone else;

I say I love you;

I say our tryst was short, but seemed to me like a lifetime;

I say fuck off, when I really mean come back;

I say I don’t want to see you, because I see you every time I close my eyes,

I say I am going away, but I am never really gone,

I say I will not come back, but I wait only for your call,

I say a lot of things,

That always remain unsaid.

The Empty Stage

You there with the sad eyes, I see you, I see your emptiness,

Your sadness is the ornate curtain that hides your vacant soul,

This sideshow is a distraction from what’s there on the other side,

I see your empty stage, where the lights never come on,

I am in the audience, waiting for the show to start,

But this sideshow is a never-ending affair, that goes on and on,

There is too much talk and a lot of noise, and too many people on the wings,

I am just a spectator waiting for the curtain to rise,

And the lights to turn on.

A Cry for Help

She changed her hair, she changed her smile,

She found a new hobby which she didn’t much like,

She wandered off, she stayed put,

She bought new shoes; they stayed in the box and never got worn,

She met a new guy, she thought she loved him,

The guy was bi-polar, she wondered why she loved crazies,

She listened to new music, it gave her hope,

But the moment the music was off, she went dark again,

She talked to her mother, she made her afraid,

She talked to friends, they laughed it away,

She went looking for peace, it was not to be found,

It was all a cry for help.

Comfort

Your old shirt is still the one that gives me comfort,

Hugging my imperfections like you once used to,

Your smell no longer lingers in the corners, it’s been washed out after years of use,

The worn out fabric reminiscent of our relationship, fragile but strong enough to hold it’s shape,

The are tears on the sleeves and the colour faded to a dusty hue,

But this old shirt still gives me comfort after a day of futile pursuits,

The essence of you seems embedded in each fiber,

Your old shirt is still the one I come home to.

My Mind

My mind is an escapist;
Always running at the prospect of something stable,
Fabricating fantasies from nothing,
She loves lies, and empty promises.

My mind is a bitch;
She likes making love to strangers,
Twisting and writhing as ghostly fingers, wrap themselves around every part of her.

My mind is a girl;
Evolving into a woman,
But the daydreams of younger days,
Still plague her as she desperately tries,
To numb all emotions; press delete on those feelings that make her go down the spiral again.

My mind is a song;
That is still being written, the tune keeps changing,
And so does the rhythm, always on the lookout for someone to complete that melody that always is unfinished.

My mind is chaos;
She scares me sometimes,
Makes my waking hours hell, She is that fickle friend who abandons me at my time of need.

My mind is a question;
Which answers itself,
Because my mind is me and I am my mind,
Or is it the other way around?