you, pierce the organ of my every being with a fork, unknowingly.
i, with tears meant for rejoicing that it is you it belongs to.
this heart swelled by a metal piece, will glorify it’s God, unabashed.
for i, shall celebrate even if without the very reason of this celebration.
love.
the littlest ones. we know they equate a big deficit.
will that prove worthwhile. never before.
yet deeper i go. into this ocean i’d soon tell about.
a tale so epic, attention given before it begins.
till then we should at least know
i and you; is i for me too. to put this simply; unsimple indeed.
though gladly, i realise
it takes two wills to pave our way, as did the pairs of lips that sealed this fate.
i once dreamed
of a drunkard cycling
grass
a hill
recklessness
looking at myself
in the unfamiliar east
on the verge of insanity.
episodes are ugly.
you just count your blessings at what lingers afterwards.
i’m tired. i’m really really tired.
it’s not a good time to be tired. my best friend’s leaving in two weeks. there are many things coming up.
but my mind. my mind.
i hate this. thrown back to the time where i had less than a 12 year old.
to have many things shoved in my face, as a sick starving child being waved bread in front of him. expected to grin, be happy for those more than self-sufficient. to be gracious to harshness. to have been better. much better.
haunted by so many pasts. anger, utter regret, violence, fear, aggression. having to fend off remarks of how small they are compared to, them. expected to be there for these very people themselves.
remember flying away alone for the first time, pointlessly running away from mental exhaustion. stupidly turning to the arms that opened before even coming back. to come back to insults and mockery by once loved. to trust and be betrayed again. not just by one.
to come out of it months later to my own friend’s remarks of how minute these are. to be compared to. to be misrepresented. to trust and be betrayed yet again. still expected to be there through the thick. to be thought as having the time of my life. ultimately having to ignore judgments. from all over. more than anyone could ever have thought.
while. while fighting the underlying condition. to the point of doubting myself. i forget about the dementor that’s inside of me. maybe it’s the only one that exists.
needing someone so much. and. needing to sustain sanity on my own.
i’m tired of being nice. i’m tired of being mean.
when melancholy fades jadednesses sets in.
even after the light creeps in, to be painfully reminded that this dirty feeling will be with me for the rest of my life. being doomed that way.
you know it’s always a little traumatic when i talk to her.
one of those who we do not speak of.
the conversation goes on innocently enough. then the after effects set in – it was disgustingly innocent.
just tiny resemblances of how it was – the black phase. the plague that haunts me till today.
so we’re gonna have to meet. imagine where that’ll leave me.
i want boo.
i dreamt of the dementors tonight, in the form of dementors themselves.
in slumber’s fantasy
i’d imagine to be saved by an angel
one i call my own
but there’s that light
watching the bridge collapse
from underneath me
brighter than it’s, ablaze
burning nothing more
than my heart
catharsis for thee
after all what am i, but his performing monkey.
do you know that ugly feeling of the moment after you discover what you faithfully believed in, is an utter lie.
don’t let it fool you further
into believing you’re the victim
for blind faith could destroy
more than you had ever imagined
like one of those tales with a righteous enough protagonist, which twists right before the end to unveil the detestable reality of his own antagonistic existence.
in ultra reality though, things aren’t as simple – ironically enough. one has to draw yet another line, to distinguish whether the soap opera of the mind is based on signs clear enough that he translates from that microcosmic life of his. the line between too much thought, and thought itself.
juggle. all that’s being benign to him. weigh the worth, worth of their weight on him. also, whether they’re worthy of his existence.
sign. seal. sick.
i want a fucking drink pronto.
how conceited I was, thinking you’d bend your wings
run to me
give me the hug
show me love’s prejudice
as i need so much
immediacy
thinking it was apparent
when the familiar world has become estranged
