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Apr 12 · 311
About Charles
13 Apr 12
reading his work always puts me in a good mood  

reminds me  
of how simple words  
can bear  
complex meanings  

how insignificant  
in the grand  
yet not  
scheme of things  
mean nothing  

the endless cycle  
mistake after mistake  
until the lesson  
eradicates itself  

making excuses  
telling lies  
self medicating  
as though  
vitality depends on it  
/it doesn’t/

infectious afterthoughts  
before you can draw conclusions  
but not after  
you have already submitted  
to the beautiful mind  
that made you wonder  
why nobody listened  
not enough, anyway.
Posted on April 4, 2020
13 Jun 2017
I’ve forgotten the taste of love. The cherished threads that tie people together.
The feelings they profess in supposed honesty, the joy and ecstasy.
I’ve missed opportunities, naturally. Nature played me.
Distraught, I ran from a thought.
I ran a lot.

At the gates of responsibility’s exit, I had another thought. One without definition or reason.
Another ego maniacal ***** fit. A watered down vintage. Faked antique.
Off balance in a world out of balance, yet fools think they cancel each other out.
Sometimes it’s enough to lighten the load — fill the hole.
Usually not.

Escaping reality has its perks. You don’t feel bludgeoned by your actions or burdened by their consequences.
I think of the past as a mirror, when it’s really just a sprightly melancholic, yet gut wrenching, novel awaiting a squeal.
And I’m the only one who can write it. Expecting anyone else to would make the end predictable.
This is how all sad ironies of life must end.
Off the top of my head.

I’ve forgotten myself. I sometimes can’t recognize the person inside this shell.
These actions, thoughts, this ego — I am more than I know or understand.
Not necessarily a bad thing. Most definitely not a good thing either.
Come out guns blazing and paint the town only to apologize profusely — to each and every rotten corpse thereafter — to each and every ***** **** and dripping ****.
I am not your savior.

I make my own hell. I made this bed the day I claimed my throne.
And all your dreams flew into my **** ready to be ****** and multiplied. Progenies of your inner war. The cruelty of your being made thought, sin made flesh, hate made speech.
A victim of the false promise, the martyr of a hollow conscience. I am the end result of my own intentions.
I hate this.
Posted on October 10, 2015
Jun 2017 · 332
Mild Calibration
13 Jun 2017
Break open the center and let it out
this nurtured, confounded realization of loneliness
as it spills. It gushes into the streets,
infecting everyone with an emptiness—unnoticed,
we’re walking amongst corpses that can’t smell their kind
till heads turn at the sound of someone living, screaming, writhing—

Like how we arrange lovers and hearts in cupboards in the mind
murderers and betrayers roam freely, killed often
no room for consolidation and refinement, schedules don’t permit
the need to feel is greater than the need to believe
and no words of wisdom or profundity can replace the hunger
to crave the flesh, the mind, the soul, becoming whole in anger and confusion—
Posted on September 12, 2015
Jun 2017 · 440
Reeling In The Stars
13 Jun 2017
Without a thought, consciousness dawdles.
Here, there, everywhere. In the dark, the horizon’s alight.
Realizing the presence. Forgetting the essence

Feet feel filth. Dirt. ****.
Mucking around. Failing eyes lie.
Lights are a ruse. Shadows are alive.

Morph into beasts, cannibals, men.
Shiver in the shell. Outside, it’s hell.
Outside - The mind. Inside - The world.

Demented faces drift slow. Relishing fear.
Then somewhere, the sky revealed a fragment of a million billions.
Perpetual bliss, inches from fingertips.

Reach out and they ebb. Pull in and they near.
Traveling through space with mere sight.
Contrast poisoned the mind.

Horror subsides and delay catches up.
Cells tingle with excitement. Acute sensations grow.
Silhouettes appear, dangerously unclear.

In the corner of the eye, beings of the night.
Weary vision seeks answers it cannot find. No fabled truths.
It’s all in the mind.

The horizon painted a canvas-
Of dusky mountains and scattered clouds.
Waving and restless - Unearthly beauty.

A carpet of dew and grass, teasing trepidation.
Engulfed by clouds, one by one the lights go out.
Streaking chills up the spine. Freezing. Divine.

Welcome the demons.
The mind is a playground.
Players are illusions.
Posted on August 20, 2015
Jun 2017 · 280
13 Jun 2017
I’ve wasted a good bit of my life doing this.
I am ashamed and chalk full of regret right now, but in a few minutes, all those terrible demons will be driven away.
I am expecting a package to be delivered.
Spent the whole day idling in wait. Lolling, rolling, indolently knolling my attention bell.
Listening, for that fateful moment when the car would ram through the building’s gates and park itself, figuratively, with the desired goods in tow, capriciously.

A few half hours away, in a thatched hut next to the railroad tracks that lead up to here, a sprightly old man impatiently tosses out bags of lush, matured, ambrosia.
He’s ecstatic that we’ve come at 5 am to purchase his valuable merchandise.
A half hour of window shopping later…. Transaction complete!!.
The return is swift, silent. Nervous.
One hundred grams. Enough to have your grandchildren have children without you around.
One moment, the cabin is quiet. Another, and the seat is on fire.
Rabid vibes this early in the day can only lead to one thing.
The Law! Everywhere you look… Eying you like they know… Like they all know.
But they want you to think that they don’t so they let you go. And you’re left to ponder the tragic possibilities of “what if.”

Pacing the room, I see what I’ve been expecting, finally arrive.
Clenching the door’s handle with my eye ball driven right up the peep hole, my heart bursts into flames.
The door is flung open and in it comes.
Squares of lush green, lengths of buds serene.
Aromatic and hypnotic. Retardation and euphoria.
This moment vs. What the hell was I talking about?
In a circle of tyrants and philosophers we’re lost choreographers of affluent lives.
******* slow at the fire inside, that shows us how we forgot to cry.
Delivery complete. Demons extinguished. Attention bell is ringing loud and clear.
Gentlemen, this meeting is adjourned.
Posted on July 10, 2015
May 2017 · 529
Price of a Day
13 May 2017
Turning left triggers migraines
my eyelids graze flaring screens
that discharge cold lightning in to my brain
the asymptomatic essence dissolves in a shade of sepia
welcoming what will become another day in the mental calendar.

Uneasiness will creep into this calmly drifting hour
and fruitless realization will take root
ignoring what has become of the past, the morning
inviting what is to come, the afternoon, the evening, the night.
The following seconds are warped in flow
there is little time to let bygones go.
As light escapes this crystal globe
and sparkling diamonds are left to bloom
I am still where my mind was wrought
when cold lightning to me was brought
zooming out to the grandest scale, the weeks, the months, the years unveil
whole lifetimes in lethargy lost.

This is what our excuses dearly cost
standing up is psychophysiological strain
only sleep numbs the pain.
Posted on May 26, 2015
May 2017 · 502
Worthy of Love
13 May 2017
Of what violins and vaginas singularly sing,
Is a creation unbound by the vestiges of sin.

A persona unchained by the compounds of life,
Forever in fury, an eternal delight.

Inexorable, inexplicable, impeding time
A fatal addiction for articulate lies.

Lies, in truth, are not what they seem—
Bold, these words are beautiful, and serene.

Twisted entirely by the sleight of a hand
That would never touch the soul, the thought, the man.

By what dreams and nightmares are haunted—
Red lips that can never be daunted.
Posted on May 12, 2015
May 2017 · 295
Missing Death
13 May 2017
We all want certain things to last forever.

An un-cupped delight in a crowded bus—Spirit of fury rendering you unstoppable—A flash of lightning in your step—A loving embrace—The ocean air—Admiration, unchecked—The fall with no end.
Breakfast… Certain things….

She told me that she liked the way my lips used to taste.
They’re alive now, sadly.
I guess I’m just missing death.
Posted on May 9, 2015
May 2017 · 304
Wishful Thinking
13 May 2017
Let’s not even get to the heart of the matter.
Let’s dabble on the fringes of this childlike fascination.
That overgrown ball of imagination, the undisputed love and wonder,
The fear and reverence, the visual squalor.
Infinite eyes, Infinite lies.
Brushed aside for the sake of absolutely nothing.
Meticulous strokes across an endless canvas—
Ripples of beauty in the mind’s eye.
Wish that it lasts forever.
Wish that you never die.
Posted on April 26, 2015
May 2017 · 823
13 May 2017
I could get used to the silence.

The birds chirping, the bees buzzing, the leaves rustling…
Trivial treasures compared to the screaming isolation.
Louder than anything you’ll hear, quieter than nothing,
Lasting eternally until broken, emphatically.

I could get used to my breath, didn’t notice it before today.
I must have been dead this whole time.
Without a voice, bereft of noise,
That which only feels but never reveals.

I could get used to that.
I could get used to this.
Posted on March 25, 2015
Apr 2015 · 6.9k
13 Apr 2015
I’ve been reading a bit about positivity, this past hour.
I have been trying to project what I’ve read, mentally, in scenarios where I’m under stress to see how things work out.

I couldn’t make peace with the fact that sometimes letting go and keeping quiet is the best course of action.
That sometimes, just sometimes, shutting up and letting things happen is the only way to get over a bad situation.
The fallout can be dealt with. The one percent of our animal nature within helps us rebuild every time.

I can feel an uneasiness settling, making its home in the center of my being.
Writhing in malcontent and uneven distaste, counterbalanced hatred for this feeling I’m riddled with. Where is the good in all this?
Is that what forgiveness is? Swallowing the bitter pill? Turning a new leaf?
Among other euphemisms for being a **** up.
Something that’s very hard to do.

Two minds too blind to make themselves up. Nothing is accomplished in confusion.
One kills while the other cries.
Despair and hope side by side, waiting for one to rise and the other to fall.
Positivity is elastic, it can be stretched to fit over what you deem right.
It can be mistaken for a rush of energy, a thirst for life, a sense of achievement, an inebriated night.
All the while festering, brooding, decaying inside, a heart of sadness, that once did smile.
Posted on February 17, 2015
Apr 2015 · 15.9k
From Meth-head to Madness
13 Apr 2015
No no no, this isn’t one of those commendable confessional rants of redounded reality.
We all know where that goes and what it leads to.
This rhetoric comprises solely of the faulty intuitive comprehension and the ******* behaviour people have while under the influence of the poor man’s ****.
That could be mistaken for a typo.

Xeno-meph, would be what aliens are called if they did this too.
Extended warranty of your sinus cavity is a must.
And a mouth guard so you don’t churn away at the capricious calcium that are your teeth.
Smoke and dance till lungs and legs collapse.
Talk like you’re the spokesperson for an oil company that’s pillaging life and land.
Change your personality in a minute and become the ****** you always wanted to be.
That smart talking, **** wagging, ***** licking, *** *******, back stabbing, self serving, worthless ******* is now you, but it doesn’t feel like that to you.
Rational *******, your only reprieve.
Keep doing the same things over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over again hoping the outcome will change.
But you’re cool.
You’ve done this before, it’s solvable.
A break. That’s all there’s to it.
The itch in your nose has stopped. Your jaw doesn’t hurt.
You don’t feel like ****, but you know somehow that something is amiss.
Things are not what they seem. Sense doesn’t make itself.
The dark is your sanctum. Fast is your peace.
That’s not a typo.

The world cannot slow down for you.
You have to speed up. Another gram, another line, another lie.
Control is what you say it is.
Handles are what your stomach has.
Fast forward a few months and you don’t have a handle on anything.
You don’t feel down, you feel fine. Nothing’s wrong
But just another fall, and you’re straight out of line.
Justify! Justify! Justify!
Listen, keep listening… Talk! keep talking!
Everything makes sense. Everything is a sense.
The difference is that I’m faster, quicker, sharper.
I’m handicapped.
Leverage is my mind, broken and blind.
I wish that was a typo.
Posted on January 30, 2015
Apr 2015 · 17.3k
13 Apr 2015
The hints of a razor gleam
creeping up from behind
shivers begin to scream
a thought undefined.

Crystalline destruction manifests
in shards of failed dreams
circulation and cells cease
I am dumber today.

Clogging and fogging the mind
promises cheat their way into lies
when depression becomes a way of life
serenity is found at the end of the line.

Escaping the cavity
in trails of shame
in vigour and madness
incapable of sadness.

Black hole eyes
cannot see the coming despair
the next morning impairs
certainty is a lie.

Senses start to fail
iron will turns frail
the devil’s sugar and salt
must never be taken so lightly.

Subtle and methodical
killing what makes you, you
another round for old time’s sake,
and you’re stuck to it like glue.
Posted on December 16, 2014
13 Feb 2015
Long and arduous, perilously entwined
Up the eternal ***** of the mind
Strewn the plains of barren thought
Full of words yet intellectually wrought
Descending into the gutters without thinking twice
Words are meaningless tools that sound like something nice
Embodying gibberish and sentences so vile
Drifting from incorrigible to completely in denial
A minute of peace before reality strikes
Exclamations abound for diffident delights
Incapable of containing the overflowing excitement
Alas! begins the journey from indifference to amazement.
Posted on December 13, 2014
Feb 2015 · 612
13 Feb 2015
Methodical apathy, with exquisite precision.
It’s a sin if done intentionally, one of the deadliest.
If only the mind ran the body, inability would become a parody.
Gunpoint motivation.
If you fail that then you are truly exceptional.
You are the impossibility of reason, the magna carta of indolence.
Dust moves faster.

Synapses die, process is distress.
You may wittily reply, but your improvisation is a mess.
Follow through becomes a sporting term.
Creativity hopes to crash and burn.
Rhyming schemes fail to rhyme.
Like so.

Once a writer, now not.
Once unstoppable, now caught
Once an ocean, now a drought
Once a poet, now naught
Level of lethargy: A **** lot.
Posted on December 9, 2014
Feb 2015 · 394
Failed Creation
13 Feb 2015
You know, this is ******* *******,
Sitting to write and drawing blanks.
Inspiration comes from far and near
But there’s no process to make words adhere.
And venting a carcass of a poem is not my idea of poetry.
Posted on December 8, 2014
Feb 2015 · 393
13 Feb 2015
Forced words; scribble desperately
Make sense; not vividly
Impress; can’t
The; end
Posted on November 29, 2014
13 Feb 2015
Come witness the flatulence, the fervor, the glee.
like those who cover their ears and see
the explosions of thunder upon the ground,
delectable delicacies all around.

The one week when we can be
as irresponsible and stupid as we could possibly,
with gunpowder and sulphur in the sky
the night birds could all but hope to die.

Poison the winds, poison the night
shatter the windows as colours ignite,
reduce a religion to dust and ash
for faith is found in burning cash.

Light a lamp in every home
with gifts to enliven the evening’s gloam,
a new year of trash, fire and smoke
colourfully adorned by the promise of hope.
Posted on October 23, 2014
Feb 2015 · 336
What ‘sober’ feels like
13 Feb 2015
Don’t misunderstand, I still douse my senses with alcohol from time to time.
It’s only the green and black that have been phased out of my daily routine.
I have a mental drug problem. I can’t stop over-thinking or even over-smoking, in fact, and I let it get to my head in a way nothing ever has.
Imagine living a life based solely on the acquisition and consumption of a drug you claim to have complete control over.
Sounds like a ******’s ******* to me.
Every action is governed by the need for a spliff and nothing gets done after a spliff.
As much as I love it. I hate it.
The grass isn’t entirely to blame. I’ve started hating cigarettes too.
Can’t stand those little *****. Now, I know there was a time when my love for them was eternal.
Poems, confessions and pneumonic reasoning were customary to express the profound admiration, but it has finally waned on me.
And I’m not trying to sell you on this, but it actually feels good to wake up not feeling like granny ****.
Back to the mental fray.
It cost me my memories, my judgment, my focus and confidence. Bare in mind, this only pertains to me.
It probably affects you differently.
If so, then this must be entertaining for you to read.

Since I parted ways with THC, I’ve gotten more work done in a month than I have all year. I’m clearer. I’m certain. I’m a *****.
There is no fog. But my memories are still lost. That damage seems to be permanent.
But my sense of wonder hasn’t waned at all. The fascinations have actually intensified since.
I think that’s because I have forgotten what it means to be sober.
If there’s anything that can change your world. It’s grass.
Not by much. But you’ll know the difference when you’ve lived with it for as long as I have.
Once again, not threatening your love for it (rests gun at your temple) only speaking my (sober) mind.

Now, I’m going to go get hammered, and be a bigger ****** than I ever was, before the dry week starts.
Posted on October 12, 2014
13 Feb 2015
It has laid patiently in the recesses of my phone waiting for its day of glory. And 7 months of gestation has finally birthed diligence.
Besides it’s high time I tell this story otherwise I’m just going to (intentionally) forget and never write about it.

   * 11th Feb 2014 - 20th Feb 2014.

This isn’t merely an account of my journey to the beautiful south (my native) but also a personal record of my thoughts during my stay there. If things don’t seem to fit, you’re making the mistake to trying to make sense.

[raw/unedited - start of log]

!) *
Getting there
: Last night I opened the compartment door to an old man wetting himself with his lungi lying at his feet. Like a busted tap, trickling down his draws, he stood there in a decadent mix of ecstasy and shame.
I held open the door to let him pass.
I can’t say for sure if he saw my disgust seeping from the lines on my face, but I tried my level best to act indifferent. I am good at it.
Incapable of relieving oneself in one’s hour of need? I’d rather be dead. My stupid pride wouldn’t let me live another day.
The next morning we happened to get off closer to our destination than we intended. So did gramps. The stubborn mule, despite his aged regression and insanity wanted to get to the next platform by walking over the tracks. And like a Saturday night drunk he fell and laughed and drooled until he got what he wanted. **** me to hell if I see the day that I walk in those shoes.
There is nothing else I’d hate more.

@) There is where?: Welcome, this is day one. Boredom.
Stuck somewhere in the middle of ignorance and bliss. Con-*******-fused about my place here. It’s slow. Things are slow here. That much I know.

#) Blend: Sleepless smelly nights with the things that should not be. Asleep at last, half past 3. Awake again within 6 hours, no less, to a breakfast late enough to be breaking bad on me. Ants bit me, indigestion ****** me. Noises haunted, I was daunted.
Literally, everything is coconut oil. Last night it felt like a coconut took a crap in my mouth and its byproducts came out my rear end—or did they?

$) Relate: So I have a cousin sister here. Two actually and a handful of brothers too. I finally know something of the other side. I’m strangely liking this. Just knowing is enough it seems. I’m not a good brother.

%) Drift: A dead, calm, quiet night. The silence is almost overwhelming. Even the crickets can’t break through the static. [Sitting under a waxing moon on a lush green lawn surrounded by trees and vibrant silhouettes of the night sky] Such natural beauty freely available without demand. Who wouldn’t be lazy? The mosquitoes.
During the rains, the visual quality of this place reaches heavenly heights. And that should give you a fairly good idea of how stunning this place is the rest of the time. It’s only February.
If I lived here I’d never be the same. Good or bad? I choose not to wonder. But while I’m here, I’m going to soak all that I can in. I suddenly see so many different ways life could go by stepping out of my own comfort zone. It’s Ironic. But then all good wisdom is wasted upon amateur blabber that only soothes the soul momentarily. Nothing profound or earth shattering comes from the realization. Ah, there’s that comfort zone.

^) Halt: I can see why they call Kerala ‘God’s own country’, Because everything stays the same as though that’s how it was meant to be. 40 years or 50, makes no difference. The natural order of things here stays unchanged. It’s the opposite of how Bombay works. You can’t turn a blind eye for two seconds in fear of losing something that won’t alter your life inconsequentially. Yes.
Here, I could leave all my valuables outside the house for a week and no one would even bother. I may have exaggerated but not by much.

&) Eggo: This ‘person’ I’m with is insufferable. Good, great and jolly when HE chooses to be but a first class ******* the rest of the time. Makes me wish I wasn’t born to choke on his arrogance and idiocy. Whoever stuck that tree trunk up his *** must have had reasons I could relate with. This is all the love I can express. It’s hard to admire someone so narrow minded and primitive. I won’t lead, neither will I follow. Ego will meet eggo.

) No excuse: So I can be left at the table alone for as ******* long as it takes for me to finish, but for this man’s tantrums, for the impolicy his *lonely dinner creates (which he prefers, DAILY, back home) I have to oblige and start when he says so, only to have him leave when my plate isn’t even half empty, with a casual, “take your time” mental punch to the back of my head as though there’s nothing wrong with this whole ******* scenario.
Thankfully, all of this was succeeded by a full, beautifully bronze tinted moon floating in a cloudless ocean of sparkling diamonds and weeping crickets still struggling to overpower the silence; failing miserably.
I wouldn’t mind sitting here alone forever but alas, not all things are this easy. And this night will again wilt into day and the sad fight will spoil or be forgotten, conveniently. Eventually you learn, they all fester.

() Sugamano? (how are you?): My bowel movements have yet to reach an agreement with my diet. My cousin is going to teach me Malayalam through mail. Somehow I approve of this despite the several offers that I have declined from my friends in the past. Maybe I’m glad that my family just got bigger. It’s very important that I realize and cherish my ties. Who knows? I might end up being a nobody and moving here when I’m all withered and choked up with regret as a failure in denial.

!)) BAA BAA BOO BOO: My cousin’s kid. He looks a bit like me when I was that age. Wait, he isn’t even of age. He’s freaking 9 months and he’s crawling, rolling, slapping, pulling, strangling, screaming and imitating words people say around him that he can barely pronounce. I want to eat him. He’s cuter than anything I’ve ever seen. He’s gonna be a lady killer if he doesn’t go black (like most mallus do).

!!) Bliss: Classical night sky… Twinkles dance to the grand tune. Fireflies fall like stars, confusing senses to enthrall with exquisite precision. Feel the cosmos swallow thoughts and words as they mean nothing at all. If the sky shifted now, gravity would take a hike. And sooner than it takes for realization to set in, this world would become peaceful again.

!@) Role playing: The elephants are sight seeing on the backs of trucks. Humans are the escorts for these mammoths here. No more show business for these executives. They make sure the men serve as the slaves they own.

!#) Saving memories: I am a man who has forgotten how to smile. Even my tears can throw on a better performance for the mirror that breaks me. I have to force and instant’s glee to burst one out. I cannot hold joy as tightly as I do hatred or sadness. Family photos are the worst. I have to conjure a series of mental comical disasters only to maintain a smile that is fit for a *******. And that is on my best day. Every other day, however, it seems as though I’m constipated.
I spent the most awesome day today with my cousins who I barely knew 5 days ago. Although I haven’t spoken to them freely due to the language barrier it nevertheless feels like home. They’ve been thinking about me all the years we’ve been apart. Now it’s my turn to think about them. And it’s going to take quite a strong blow to the head to erase these wonderful memories I’ve had the pleasure of creating with them in my short stay here.

!$) Reasons: Valappad beach. If there is any place I would love to go to relax, to party, to be lost in thought and marvelous beauty for hours, to ******* OD and die, that would be the place. The beach stretches on forever. Horizon to horizon of clean white sand and foamy water. You could build castles as tall as skyscrapers in this sand. Gorgeous plantations just before on the shore line. Goa fails in comparison. With an enormous sky looming overhead and the ocean that appears to fall off the horizon you can’t help but wonder how such a natural work of art sustains itself. It doesn’t. The locals here do. All the trash from the beach is brought back inland so that there are no compromises with respect to visual ******. The ****** grains hug your feet and as soon as you hit the water you’re done for. It brings back a surge of euphoria that only your first spliff of hash would give you otherwise. I would give up the stash in a heartbeat for this fix. I wouldn’t mind being this high for the rest of my life.

[end of log]
Photo album -;=1&l;=95d4f52703
Posted on September 29, 2014
Feb 2015 · 544
The forsaker
13 Feb 2015
Creator. Creation.
The ******* of sentiment and pride.
A stye on the natural dye, spoiling all but the eye.
Appearances deceive the meek and kind.
The rotting essence of this one’s heart just won’t die.
Another day of silent abuse, welcoming another smile.
If ignorance had a role model like this comedy would never die.
The arrogance of prejudice stains thoroughly.
The absent hours come alive until the inevitable return of the inherited honor.
The squandered respect, the virtuous dishonor.
The forsaker.
Posted on September 2, 2014
Feb 2015 · 362
Errant Noise
13 Feb 2015
'What ifs' and 'why nots' why do you exist?
You’ve grown ever so cumbersome
Please cease and desist.
Your wants, no more virtuous than your promises, superfluous
Enslaved by your whims
We’d never be remiss.
Dancing in the shadows, stepping on toes
A million different reasons to watch ambitions run.
Depriving, contriving, playing with hope
Becoming the moon of a forlorn sun.
Fueling contrition, admonished shame
Created an ego unlike none
Alive beneath despondent veins
Ruining what’s left, and then some.

Your abhorrent fallacies, your coherent lies
Bending truths that seem hopelessly divine
Spurring tongues to whats and whys.
Still, silence speaks louder than the wine.
Doubt destroys everything it clings to
And therefore, so will you.
Simplify our misery into love and hate, we insist
Scribbled upon a clean slate, why do you persist?
Running short of derision for your provision
Regrets live as apparitions
Behind the veil of your cajoling voice.
Convince me that joy is merely mistaken sorrow,
That everything I’ve said up till now is hollow,
And maybe your words just won’t be errant noise.
Posted on July 7, 2014
Feb 2015 · 428
13 Feb 2015
The early chapters spoke subtly

Of a great divide in natural born chaos.

Panic broadcasted to the living infinite

A predator’s portrait of the steelbath suicide,

And a chainheart machine stabbing the drama

In figures of number five.
- Inspired by the band, Soilwork.
Posted on June 7, 2014
Feb 2015 · 683
Everyday Bullshit
13 Feb 2015
Let’s cut away the ******* for once.
Honesty may not have it’s reward but it sure as hell feels good to the ears it falls on.
More often than not, we’re selfish for others.
And more so for ourselves.
It’s not as though we find the day when all cheery bright things would miraculously weave their way into our dull lives something to look forward to.
But paper cuts and medical buffs might take you there sooner.
We’re professional liars for our own companies.
We get paid with insolence and envy, which we spend on the ones we truly love.
Look, laugh and pity the fool who gripes and moans.
But let’s not forgive him for being wretched and miserable, and not completely insensitive.
Don’t ever realize how much mass ****** has helped you balance your daily routine or how easy your life has become since the fall of justice.
Cherish these moments of obstinacy and revel in the fall of man to mere beast, you might never know such disgrace, cloaked in pride, again.
The definitions given to our own villainous deeds are such elaborate deceptions that sometimes I wonder if the one they call God was just a man who thought to prank this world with a promise of salvation so that other men could **** each other over a system of faith that has no foundation.
I would bake a cake for that guy.
So, these long sentences putting you to sleep yet,
or am I too pig headed to get through to your blooming pride?
Maybe you find this funny, maybe you’re a terrible friend.
Maybe I don’t care about you and your perfect life.
There’s a chance none of that is true and you think we’re all good of heart inside.
Ahh, that mystical hidden power within everyone!
Makes me wish I was a non-gay looking He-Man.
Makes me wish for a lot of things that you would find offensive (so I’d hope) and enthralling (so I’d doubt it).
You collect high horses for prancing ponies and jewellery boxes full of ring fingers, alongside cushions and compliments so tight that not even gangsta-wrapped truth could split open.
Minds full of right wing liberalism and perks full of questions that exonerate reason, lead you to believe that ending friendship is a walk in the park.
Years of trust and respect lost in an instant, but that doesn’t affect you. It won’t now, nor ever.
This will all be forgotten like a really bad book that reminded you of your child abuse days.
Because, accepting hardship is a waste of time.
Acknowledging pain and moving past it is a bad decision.
Let’s keep one day apart from our indifferently vehement, opportunistically coherent and beautifully disconcerting lives to make all the bad decisions we love to.
At least on that day, no madman would feel alone.
Posted on May 11, 2014
Feb 2015 · 264
13 Feb 2015
The surge and swell, oh hell!
The grinding steel, the cheeks don’t feel
A right hook that never was
like the anesthesia that thaws.

Kissing my jaw, making it’s way
The agony that stems from root to vein.
I scream and groan with every breath
As life returns to this mouth of death.

Piece by piece, all was lost
A week of pain is what it cost.
Quarter of half is out of the way
I pray the others will come to stay.

Wisdom is grown, not gained.
Then lost, as the mouth that spoke it waned.
This glorious day of pain will not be forgotten
But revered, profanely begotten.
Posted on May 9, 2014
Jul 2014 · 671
To make an effort
13 Jul 2014
There is nothing at the end of the rope.
Only darkness below the smell of rising disgust.
Impassively lingering in the cheap caricature of the comical impasse.
Big words yield big emotions.

The wine launders tilted sinuses with spurious empathy
While distractions become anxious attractions.
Dull is the blade that slits the wrong end of the vein.

Trying to try is commendable by failure and loathing.
Living in denial will bear sweeter fruits…. Still,

A broken man’s death is something to forget.
Posted on May 3, 2014
13 Jul 2014
This is a rant, a whine, a lackadaisical, lackluster, lamentable account of the mind’s log.
Past the brick wall of restraint, beyond the fields of tolerance, on the banks of instinct and affection, it erases itself every 2 weeks.
Rewrites memories and feelings as fickle as capricious rain.
Makes people sad, makes people happy. Leaves them unsatisfied, unwanted. Makes them whole.
Here, where troubles are also accounted for, heartbreaks, trials, emotional noise, psychological inconsistencies, all live under one roof. Imagine a chain reaction inside your head that won’t stop exploding.
Beautiful yet devastating.
But depression is the worst. Like a virus it infects all moods and modes.
Coax and calm are pins and needles. Persuasion is desertion and truths are lies.
Liberality becomes morbid and grim, while conservation craves death.
Breaking continuity for a moment of weakness, purging will and doubting strength.
Cling to the vines, their hands keep you afloat.
Above the sea of screams and cries the mind inflicts upon itself.
The damnation, the lunacy of being alone in your head when everything inside you is falling apart is worse than any prison.
Friends become enemies and goals become shackles.
Up is a little to the left of center’s right and down is where you are.
Welcome to capsized reality, where pain is exalted and peace is taboo.
Where the hands don’t reach to save but drown.
Then you know it is time to restart, until the system fails again.
Till the next time the levee breaks.
Posted on April 16, 2014
Jul 2014 · 425
Excuses are a million
13 Jul 2014
"And then some,
Food for thought that wouldn’t think,
Working the wrought unto the brink….
Where slaves define a generational plight
A martyr is born out of infamy and blithe.”


Rotting, still, in a cancerous shell that knows no health, nor godliness
Ever convincing the pompous mind of the frailty of determination.
A ghost of the day lurking in the shade,
With no deeds worth doing and nothing to bate the erosion of taste.
The asylum of words spurred to life, tongues turned black with hate,
Cheers of death and laughter that bled followed suit.
Lethargy arose with a grimace and swiftly overcame perseverance.
Metaphors broke at the sight of trepidation, A byproduct that shouldn’t have had side effects.
Incompetence was not gained, but found in the core.
At the center of immaturity, locked in the doldrums of nothing important
A million excuses were made not to write this.
Posted on March 25, 2014
Jul 2014 · 262
Life is killing me (rant)
13 Jul 2014
i want to give up writing. inspiration doesn’t flow from me anymore.
there is too much pain to vent and not enough words. with my limited vocabulary and terrible concentration how will i ever express my truest feelings? even voicing my own thoughts seems hard these days. when i sit to read all my past work, i feel alien to myself. i can’t recognize the person who wrote this.
i realize this because i don’t know who i am.  i have questions but no answers. i have means but no will. i have goals but no hope. all i desire, leaves me. all i cherish, dies and all i keep, decays. i did this to myself. my crooked arm of evil twisted the levers and swung the fulcrum. savoring the regret. i have a million. one for every scar, stab, spit and more. they will pile on until i’m crushed under the weight of my anguish.
everything this world has to offer is wonderful. i don’t care about any of it now. all wonders are paltry. all laughter is forced. only pain feels like home. married to despair with emptiness on its way. as of now, the chaos of thoughts will only entertain the conscious mind. soon thoughts will freeze. words will halt. i will go mute. incapable of even speaking with people. walls will be built. prisons of self hate and apathy. this will become my habitat.
nobody will bother to remember my name. incognito, i will chase the flame in my dark maze of tears and drool.
Posted on March 1, 2014
Jul 2014 · 1.3k
13 Jul 2014
A quarter to one at 3 in the night
could ideally be fun, not without warning.
Sitting alone in a room full of one
waiting for clues that glue the hour,
Fluidly spacy in the psychedelic lull
of drifting silence just half past none.
One and three quarters align
magically, weeks have just gone by.
Poetry is depressing to some.
Cheer up now, the waning comes.
Posted on January 18, 2014
Jul 2014 · 1.4k
Left-handed mistake
13 Jul 2014
My fingers have ribs
directed inward, the squiggly lines
that make up the prints
on the walls with eyes
face to face with the mindful trees
nature listens to my shriveled cry
as morning breaks into an evening sky.

Christmas is done with
the new year is gone
boredom sings its sadistic song
frozen beneath the empire’s lies
the truth is fading in the mire
smoothly set in place
set pieces are falling away.

If this won’t sustain
I can find my way back again
I won’t be blinded by illusions,
indifferent to the calendar’s milestones
and get away from this confusion
for once, I’d like mourning to feel
not like another gloomy dusk.
Posted on January 14, 2014
Jul 2014 · 768
Laze (limerick)
13 Jul 2014
Another lucrative year of waste
Sordid hours of tasteless taste
Quiet evening in stupor lay
Hung suspended in the new years day
With witty demurrals and ignorant chaste.
Posted on January 4, 2014
Jul 2014 · 1.0k
Burn (triolet)
13 Jul 2014
The wicker man was right
Like him we all shall burn
Ask the darkness that weaves the night
The wicker man was right
Daylight has brought us spite
The dusky Rubicon shall never discern
The wicker man—was right
Like him, we all shall burn.
Posted on December 14, 2013
Jul 2014 · 1.9k
Killing the competition
13 Jul 2014
To the one who hosts competitions…  
Which ******* gave you the right?  
I wouldn’t listen to your rules even if you paid me.  
Nor would I let you tell me how I would write my poem.  
I could write something totally not related to your competition and submit it.  
Maybe I’ll **** your girlfriend and let you read about how it went.  
She didn’t take your name when she came(just so you know)  

Who said you could take such liberties?  
I’m gonna bash your head in with an exhaust pipe  
And when it dents and gains a sharp edge I’ll scrape your eye with it  
Just one, because I want you to see…  
You wanna host competitions, do ya? Meet my little match  
Ever wondered how a lit match feels in your nostril?  
If I sparked it and let the gunpowder catch flame in your nose, how wonderful would that feel?  
Listen here Mr. you asked for this by hosting it… there’s no backing out now…  
I still have a few things to run you over with.  
**** umbrella? no splash guard? ugh… too messy…  
Ah my favorite! the serpent’s tongue.  
For that I’ll first have to break your jaw, then hold your tongue out  
Then I’ll stretch your tongue out with clamps and slice it right down the middle  
Such a fitting exercise. For you.  
You have become what you really are.  
I’ll leave your manny parts intact… I know how we are when It comes to those.  
I will tell you though, you won’t be able to use em ever again… sorry about the irony.  

Lets get down to business, shall we?  
I hate you. You know why.  
I’m gonna inject you with a pain enhancing serum.  
Then I will administer XXXX ***  
It’s an ancient technique of entertaining someone.  
Dating all the way back to almost 900 AD  
It was banned, sadly, in the last century.  
Anyway, you’re lucky I have knowledge of this  
It won’t spoil our fun… lets start with the obvious places  
Eye lids, lips, ears, finger tips, toes, arm pits, the *******, the wrists….etc….  
You shouldn’t bother keeping count, that’s my job  
But I highly doubt you’ll even live past number 233.
Posted on December 14, 2013
Jul 2014 · 3.2k
13 Jul 2014
Ordnance of the wealthy, corrupt
Sculpting the public image.
Garnishing with admiration, cloaking gall.
Mass ****** and grand larceny
Have to, in some way, come clean in the books.

Money is fabricated out of thin air.
Know that you don’t know anything.
When debt is created, pockets are lined
This is the white way in a dark world.
When the receipts are missing, the cash is stashed.
Black must then become white for the sake of tax.

All of this ultimately boils down to charity.
Deplorable or reliable, evil or honest
Easiest way to wash the attic and eyes of the tax officers.
Feigning effigies and respect in the face of media
As they donate to those they’ve stolen from with a hearty smile.
Neither will recognize, but be eternally grateful the other exists.
Just another excuse to wake up in the morning and not feel awful.
Posted on December 10, 2013
13 Jul 2014
I can’t make out what he’s saying  
Why is he speaking so slow?  
A drug coursing through my veins?  
I want to retort  
But, this lengthy pause in my throat….  
When will my first syllables reach the air around me?  
Is it air that surrounds me?  
I can’t feel it on my skin, my face  
The sky appears to be motionless  
How long as it been since the clouds moved?  
It’s been months, no, years,  
Centuries since I felt my heartbeat  
So much time to think, to dream,  
I can’t remember the last time I took a breath  
Am I still exhaling?  
Am I even?  
I feel old  
Far older than I was when this battle began  
As old as time itself  
He tricked me, it wasn’t supposed to be like this  
How long has it been since his blade pierced my arm?  
When will I feel the pain from this razor’s edge on my palm?  
How much longer before it reaches my heart?  
I can’t take it anymore!  
**** you, Stop torturing me!  
Hurry, hurry, hurry!  
Hurry up and **** me!
Posted on December 10, 2013
May 2014 · 4.2k
13 May 2014
A mere trifle, this thing that troubles the lid.
Forever in fear, unable to compose
Vision stoops to comprehend this failure,
Pride doesn’t.
A glimpse of blindness,
With the ardor of helplessness.
De facto, it is in the eyes of another
Where you were mistaken.

The red in between
Defining ties of the wicked, wise
In stupor and pain, in insomniac lethargy
The poisoned gaze, returns quietly.
Sun shades, remember
Anger cheats as much as it destroys.
The flaming ash of a cigarette,
Another excuse for a Gimlet.
Posted on December 7, 2013
May 2014 · 5.7k
13 May 2014
Ah deceit, you wicked *******
creeping up uninvited, as always
no one sees you coming
none will know when you’re gone
your delicious lies stay but for an instant
and here still, you find a cue
to salt the exposed wounds.

You were never missed
your many forms, vibrant faces
the infamy and calumny
stories unchecked and forgotten
buried under the moniker of bygones.
Yet the scars remain,
deep cuts betrayal, but never fills.

The entrusted deceiver
your snake in the grass
silence is deadlier than a sharp tongue
this venom cannot drown a writhing heart
hope, kindling another tragedy
the reasons are always above par
emotions run amuck behind bars.

The tongue blackens every time
you sever the threads which bind loyalty
leaving the void to **** away the remains
into a crushing dark abyss
the face carries a smile that never fades
the heart has long since withered to naught
now, it cheats itself to bitter death.
Posted on November 23, 2013
May 2014 · 1.1k
13 May 2014
Seated high on the throne of infamy
His smarting embrace envelopes pure desire
From the water you drink to the air you breathe
From the riches of kings to the rags of beggars
Your freedom, your mind, your possessions, your obsessions
Craving greatness and gall, everything and all
Senselessly slaved to the poisoned yearning of his core
He is avarice absolute, he wants the world and more.
Posted on November 22, 2013
May 2014 · 697
A New Face (Edit)
13 May 2014
This city has changed
People are strange, perceptions, deranged.
Its inhabitants stained, weak minded and frail.
broken hearts going stale.
Promiscuous minds wander the streets,
frivolity calls, idle minds weep.
Blazing past the anguish,
the glass persona of society creeps.
Selling soul, for a moment’s grace,
to shame that tattoos without a trace.
Withering away into another day,
humility sings songs of disgrace.
Ignorant and blind scurrying to find
a companion to vivify their lonely day.
Drowned in blood in alcohol, in mud,
stripped to the bone, they cry in vain.

Never was this the way it is.
A new face now hides the bliss.
The shadows are hollow, destitute is joy,
inhibition has blown it’s final kiss.
Dead by day, ***** by night,
used and abused in all their spite,
torn between what’s wrong and right.
Sin wreaks from their skin,
lust and avarice, the envy of hubris.
Lost in profanity, autonomous reality
still cursed and proud, still unknown.
Beats of madness and colors insane
rekindle debauchery, revive the pain.
Controlled by debt, everything is a borrowed lie.
Alive they are useless, life is a disease
living is horror, only death brings ease.
Posted on November 12, 2013
- Edited by Harish Nair (
- Original Posted on October 31, 2009 (
May 2014 · 888
Bloody-eyed Mary
13 May 2014
Now is not the best time to explain things
I've only just started piecing it together and I'm already growing impatient to let it out.
We all dream, keep your defenses.
It doesn't matter if you can't remember, or you simply choose not to, your mind works while you're asleep whether you want it to or not.
Monks are lying *******.
They dream of more **** women than Hugh Hefner dreads to.
It's a cognitive world within your own. You control its limits, you rule its boundaries... you bend reason. Your very own simulator. A poetic response to your inner turmoil and imbalance. Capable of flow, direction and evaluation. Something to teach you while you're sleeping or entertain you while you're easing.
But more often than not I end up on the dark edges of my mind's shriveling synapses, desperately trying to make sense of the erupting chaos within. A strategic backlash of reality with grim undertones. Void of logic or pertinence to anything even remotely related to my life. Almost senseless.
Dreams are for the innocent. Nightmares are reserved for the wicked, or so my elders said. But when you grow up, your nightmares grow with you becoming darker and bleaker with experience and knowledge that you've consciously or sub consciously gained with age. A cacophony of thought igniting every mental nerve until the shock reels you from your hell.

Lately, my dreams have been lucidly obscure. Irrationally dim.
Two, three, sometimes even seven, one after another. Within the span of a couple of hours my mind is thrashed by the recurrent horrors of imagination. Uncontrolled and violently debilitating, I lie weak and drained in bed every afternoon. There is no mourning in my day. Enveloped by its melancholy I am forced to reset my train of thought. The overture of this madness spits on the spark that would otherwise lighten up a new day. It's become a chore to wake up and lie staring into space trying to recollect reality and separate newly forged memories, that shouldn't even exist, from those that should remain. I'm unsure if my eyes are even closed when I am fighting this sub conscious war. Fever dreams are a walk in the park. This is the real deal. A reverie on acid in the river Styx, and Charon is Jesus.

What follows after the liberation is a mess of things. Disorientation and apathy subtly set in. A million questions with no answers and no one to ask but the mind. A mind who's whim even I myself can't fathom. So my tasteless day is decorated with deja vus I shouldn't feel and nostalgia I can't. If I don't pull myself out sooner than I do, I'd be lost in limbo til dusk. Then in the dark I will find more demons running astray. Some at the bottom of a glass bickering away, some in the crevices of the walls preying on consorts and others in the harsher solitude of unsought company wearing smiles to their dismay.

Whatever be the case, I will ultimately find my way back to the bed and into my head, and once again, this motion picture preview I will dread. Another page from the book of agony will then be read leaving nothing unsaid.
Posted on November 12, 2013
May 2014 · 2.4k
13 May 2014
gender has a big *** problem
we think with our *****
because our brains are in our *******
a nicely curved rear
a subtly protruding chest
imagination always adheres
and the hands do the rest
in our teens we’re rabbits
in our 20’s we’re wolves
by 30 we’re lions
and 40, owls
psychologically volatile
emotionally detached
physically competent
spiritually mismatched
understand, we’re arrogant *******
when we’re trying to save face
we are also capable of shame and regret
not every jack holds an ace
the exterior is tough
showing only what ruses the eyes
true that a man can bluff
but even crocodiles cry
the next time a **** tries to be one
fret not, you can still have fun
start by questioning his masculinity
and move on to “you have a tiny….”
yes that’s right,
go ahead spite ME.
Posted on November 5, 2013
13 May 2014
It consists of this,
all of it and none
I found solace in that
which I could not hold
but only cherish as fond memoirs
of a terrible moment in time

Never full, never empty
it turned into an addiction
derogation of the unwise, with no premise
bawls and shrieks have no place here
this is silent lucidity capsized
hundreds of expressions explaining one thing
one thing that explains it all

Destination: lost
with no means to propel the self
into a promising new day,
pray tell, what will break down the wall
self loathing and misanthropy creates
alone in a crowd, here, but far away
none of it is that important anyway

The smile stealer, grin eater
mood killer, running short of edification
It's never alone; in bed with misery
the smallest things distress
the grandest of thoughts
wanting reprieve, searching escape
as if you could
die and stain pride?


Cowardice is lower than this
not worse, just pathetic
but please, ignore my terrible advocacy,
everything is half off today
I'm feeling generous.
Posted on October 28, 2013
13 May 2014
Fortissimo -A
The great fall,
into eerie suffocating darkness
piano pianissimo
leaving smiles on faces inverted,
frozen tears that never rolled down.
The menacing overture
grim and heavy,
crushing fortitude, grief and joy
clawing each other out,

Agitato -B
The angst builds,
wrenching the mind from its rational gaze
chromatic disorder seeps in,
another descent begins.
Agitation bleeds
into rivers of melancholy
flowing fervently to the ******
where famished ears await
the soulful drop of anticipation and girth.
Seduction, no heart could withstand
submission, no slave would surrender.

Coda -A*
Returning to where it began,
the exposition of extremes
a collapsing sky, a violent dream.
At the edge of belief,
madness is melody
poignantly orchestrated.
Fingers that questioned doom
have retorted swiftly.
The closing is at hand;
it ends quietly.
Morceaux de fantaisie (MDCCCXCII)
*Prelude in C-sharp minor, Op. 3, No. 2.*
Posted on October 25, 2013
Apr 2014 · 2.2k
I cannot impress a poet
13 Apr 2014
You were amazing, I’d like to think so.
While you constantly scorned your finest poems
I’d squander on the disincentive ruins of a thoughtless mind
coaxing my envy to calm.
I longed to see what you saw and how you saw it.
You became the conquest,
the prize of my eyes, to affection’s surprise.
I started playing with words and sentences I had never read nor said before,
reading Plath and Baudelaire to join in your mind’s conversation.
Always striving to surpass your expectations of me, expecting nothing.
I gazed at you often, marveling at your squalor as if it held great significance.
Infatuated with your capricious mind, your pathetic whims, I craved for your approval.
For you, were the idol.
A far cry from the adolescent shell of a man that I cocooned in.
Jealousy would eventually consume me.
No manner of abuse or lust could explain
this psychotic affection towards your promiscuous apathy.
I started writing poems because of you, they were never any good,
I feared my crudity; you liked them all.
You always knew what they spoke of and I could never imagine yours.
But to you every opinion mattered.
The truth was still writing itself in your mind when you chose to fritter away
fornicating on all fours secretly, desperately, looking for the one.
Would you give it all up to write again?
I apologize for not telling you,
you were my first poem
I couldn’t impress you.
Posted on 20th October 2013 9:29pm
In dedication.
Apr 2014 · 3.1k
13 Apr 2014
There’s a time and season for every reason
no cookie bakes itself
cherries don’t burst on their own
cherries don’t burst *******!
a bottle doesn’t empty itself to full/fill
breaking clocks is a wonderful way to **** time
ironic glory hole of blood and glass
running out of test tubes, the ****’s too tight
****… reason!

Admiration is the state furthest away from understanding
pawns don’t need details
******* with teeth make ******* meaningful
smashing the cow softens it, …digest it well
meaning is derived from screening STD g string
of a starry eyed jail-bait that drowns in a sea of ******
obtuse and absolute are the only submissions
failure to comprehend results in *******
cuckolds worth….

Lexicon laxative
this antipathy won’t last
stimulate thinking with cankerous drinking
***** ***** need no season or reason
to drown ****** who never show
the tears of heaven that understood
misled admiration and adolescent aberration
that silently candle deplorable fornication
time stays unchanged
counting doesn’t prove progress in this game
falling short… half beat hesitation
Posted on October 19, 2013
Apr 2014 · 863
In all seriousness...
13 Apr 2014
I should start being serious for a change
it’s not everyday that I get the chance to make my mark-
an eruption of countless warts- figuratively of course
they’ll remember even if they don’t want to,
like the stye that wouldn’t die despite surgical excision.

then there’s you
who wants to forget me
my girl, who did you **** last night?
I know we agreed to stop seeing each other
but I would love to hear your stories, inside you.

I’ll be gone in a few weeks
all this talk of seriousness has condensed on me
like the cold sores you leave me with
eye sores for coke ****** with daddy issues
I’ll be your daddy, I’ll even be your brother if it gets you wet.

Don’t slit my wrists yet
I can still manage a compliment some days
give me a hundred reasons to abandon my ways
and you know I won’t do it
you know I won’t even try.

I want a good **** before I go
maybe a cigarette after that
I quit smoking, but I’ll bump the easy one without warning
and ***, I won’t settle for anything less
I want you to watch as I take shots off your *******.

Wasted days that count down
quicker than your menstrual cycle
have left me wanting for time
I wouldn’t waste any differently,
probably, worse.

Preparation is turning out to be quite a grinding ordeal
late nights, empty pipes, lungs dry and well past ripe
tendons screaming for respite, finger tips peeled
your tongue- lets me know it’s time to sleep
If I wasn’t serious, I’d be picking up where you left off.
Posted on October 17, 2013
Apr 2014 · 1.5k
Of art and articulation
13 Apr 2014
Indolence always gets the best of me
I feel like a jab
painting images without metaphors,
avoiding the intense visions of the lot
Indifferent, inebriated.
All demons slayed. Spread eagle.
Life seems to be a hassle,
in two ways on the same street
I am the attention *****
who wants to be left alone
Pushing them back only draws them closer
Today is no different,
a muse, a good laugh, a realization
my schedule is full again.

I just want to spend my time
anything else lacks luster
Goal: (noun)
1. aim, 2. end, 3. target, 4. purpose,
5. intention, 6. objective, 7. ambition,
I have none.
You can't force me, try as you may.
What does pique my interest is art
If I ever get over self indulgence,
which I will market emphatically,
I may consider starting a career
Controversies are fun, so is ******
to balance them both in one hand
and collect with the other
that is art.
Form, the world has never seen.
Abstract ambiguity rewriting itself.
Displeasing parents and loved ones around.
The one the perverts idolize
the critics would bow in awe to
Ah yes...

I feel so lazy.
Posted on 14th October 2013 9:27am.
Apr 2014 · 1.0k
Shelf x-planet ore (e)
13 Apr 2014
I'm terrible at times...

I try and salvage what verve remains
after curbing the chaos of my thoughts
to make up for the atrocity

that is me.

Then, I'm not so terrible.
Posted on 5th October 2013 11:37am
Apr 2014 · 2.3k
13 Apr 2014
Betrayal invites itself for dinner
when the murky air won’t lift
revealing the shattered facade
that's rebuilding a fallen idol.

There are pieces scattered afar
of resolution and calm that wouldn’t stay
choking on the whims of forlorn affection
the rope is cut, the fall is long.

Down at the bottom, strangers are friends
sirens are lures and the moon has a heart
quietly lay sleeping, anger is dreaming
marriage is the fury of destiny’s wrath.
Posted on 13th October 2013 00:48am.
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