I often wondered why people like love stories as a child
In mild amusement I used to rebel love
Used to play with it like my hands were shaper of this reality in youth
Until I found love and soon lost it to suicide.
And this is not the sad part my fellow readers for the day was red
It was cloudy and red, but I cared none, i didn't emote
Didn't even cry properly, didn't shread tears when I need to
I tried to **** myself but I couldn't cry for heaven's sake
When that little child has seen such things he forms a dome of invisible walls
No one closer and no one deeper to really hold my hand and talk about my broken heart
But when time "healed" me I thought I was done with this
And then I found you, as funny as laughter and as cute as a bunny.
First conversation I asked for some notes and you said to ask it like "ask nicely mommy" on your phone
Back then I knew you were as weird and as funny as anyone I have ever seen
Everyday I feel in love more, when I kissed you first and held back you said "can't stop now baby" and kissed me again
Everyday felt like a new version of me was born to love the little child in you
That smirky smiley face so adorable and so beautiful
When we crashed our cycles when I got a new one
And we didn't think twice after we fell down and just kissed
And how you took me to the hospital after I injured my finger for a tetanus(that was not in the *** btw)
I loved how much you grew each day, how much love you shred with me
And in time how much you grew and how many friends you made.
When we were having that picnic on hillside and I held you close, i swear to have seen you forever and ever
When you slept with me for the first time and didn't tell me that you got the deluxe room, I was so attracted
When you were sat with me in the garden and we talked for 3 hours straight about absolutely nothing and everything at once.
How you made me feel so loved when you held me and didn't let me go
How I made noises when you used to eat and you used to get annoyed
How pretty you looked in that white dress that has little holes so the sunlight could kiss the ground
How amazing you looked with your bangs and how beautiful you looked during freshers
How many times have I said I'll gonna be ****** for this exam and you assured me not to worry
How amazing you looked in that saree for Diwali and garba when we took pictures of us kissing
There are a thousand things I can recall but nothing is as sweet as that first "I love you"
All of this yet I never showed enough effort not because I didn't love you, but because I was dead inside
I never healed from that heartbreak 3 years ago
And if I did we would be something so beautiful so precious
But darling I'm an idiot, I thought what never enters my brain could never hurt me
But it poisoned me made me stiff, made me less into showing effort not because I didn't want to
But because I was subconsciously always scared of not letting myself die if you left me like that last time
But I forgot that this is no solution and that's all I should apologise on
And you were no better with your emotional baggage of not being able to confront people and hurt them
Something that stemed from your harsh childhood which never gave enough feedback to change
So honey we're just two ****** up people, and I wish I can read you this poem but I know that it's too late
And with grace I'll say you have taught me so much about myself
Given me so many happy moments that I think you're one of the best things to ever happened to me
I don't think I'll be able to find someone like you but that doesn't mean I'll stop trying
I love you no more romantically then as a friend.
We accept the love we think we deserve.
Ps:I didn't make a playlist because the last time I did, I almost jumped off a bridge listening to it. I didn't want blood on your hands :)
Feb 27
Feb 27, 2026 at 10:55 AM UTC
When you're feeling better than yesterday
The liquid sugary syrup on your fingers dries before you wash it
And the feeling of nothing feels like an old song you heard somewhere on MTV
Or somewhere hidden behind a magazine same as the one you read yesterday but different
When you are not saddened by the dead in people
Other times when it's not unbearable to hear them sing
When you feel free to ask, and borders are clay that the child in you could tear apart
Yet you sit tight over distance, hovering your eyes over the dry wall
And counting sheep or rage against some machine without feelings.
Feb 9
Feb 9, 2026 at 3:45 AM UTC
...Look out kid, there is a theatre down the alleyway
Get hitched, get wasted, get high, fall in love
When things are simple everything is words on someone's diary waiting
And hungry to be true, and truth is hardly born under control
It's what we feel, and to feel is to be human must've been written by some poet
And off the coast of some city when the handles of our bicycles collide
And when all the stupid world shrunk to your eyes and your dyed blue hair
I was not in control and how can I only think of that poet?
As roads felt short, time was waiting, space was yearning to be filled, the wind begins to shake the dozen trees that held up against the cold which was out to **** me
Everything was a poem and I was that poet.
I'm sure your heart is just a little poem I can read.
Nov 19, 2025
Nov 19, 2025 at 1:04 AM UTC
Rip apart, tore apart every shread of this hour
The blackness is misfit for every color is a crime
I swear the celling is an art I can't touch
The concrete is a question I can't answer
And I'm fully unaware of what I feel and I wait for something
As I empty this hour in retrospection
Aug 15, 2025
Aug 15, 2025 at 3:02 AM UTC
Clarify my boundaries in shapes of barbed wires
I speak often nothing of you
When the greyhound bus collides
All the angry people rose in deny
Such is the loveless beakoning of our demise
I speak often everything to you
And yet my soul shifts to the mirrors
I touch, yet never get passed the reflections
Of that bus and all those who reside
"He's mine" I spat to thin vacuum of my listening
But the bus was all such a ruse, for the ambulance to drive by
Petrified of the boundary we shaped
In the forms of barbed wires
Jun 10, 2025
Jun 10, 2025 at 1:48 AM UTC
Did I lose a pound or few?
Running away from the tyranny of my self hate.
Infectious and contagious,
My touch is an early spring flu in summer,
Uncertain and cold.
Strings of quiet, play over a course cough from my unwell,
That how every day is cut from every night that I spend waiting for the next.
And the touch is lost in cold,
Stark realities that merge and imagination that falls below critical temperature,
And all i wonder apart from the white concrete is
Did I lose a pound or few?
Apr 6, 2025
Apr 6, 2025 at 5:41 PM UTC
Turning a tap clockwise, a mild annoyance of our creed.
A fever grew, and its meaning was lost to you and me.
Losers won, the writers pen cribbed some far away death,
It comes and goes like flowers growing near peppermint.
I long for that fall, which would take the heart of me,
entirely, to write some words about our destiny.
Love is the grief of all things wrong with me.
Countless sins, yet still hunting those winds of sweet.
Lost to me, Lost by me
Aug 26, 2024
Aug 26, 2024 at 2:14 PM UTC
there is a fire hydrant
a few meters away from my car
it screams fire like it saw everything
like a child playing seek with me
and hide in a corner above the clouds
and hid there for a thousand nights
and I scream and scream, but nothing creeps
but the emptiness in the shape
of a frat child's school drawing
locking the suitcases, going to places
but it's like the spring of the coldest
where my eyes hover on your shoes
maybe my autism for I never took that test
But I snap to the pretentious smile I give
as it breaks like crumbling bridges
over dead breeze and dying waters
there is a knife
a few meters away from me
a particular joke I must always make
about knife, and the art of self-worth
a knife so distant once that only the moon
hit her twice a month, her soft and gleaming glow
her unwavering, free ecstasy on a Monday
coming from an angle, so inclined it feels illegal
"but nothing is illegal in love", the knife said
the moon changed its angle, on a Tuesday
and the knife died by cutting himself
there is nothing
a few meters from me
Jun 15, 2024
Jun 15, 2024 at 12:47 PM UTC
idealism is dead on the kneel, gleaming mile-high glow
but leaking some blood, desperation, realistically
the ideal road is twisted and melted into the bars
to walk past till sundown and turn left to the county
turn right to the world of the corrupt, leaching, and thieving
maybe you'll get a life son, like that man right there
that man in a white hat wanted to buy the world, whole
he blows on his tambourine like he blows on this world
a dark shroud of a man covered in green, a mountain of it
the next day, a long night in Arkham Asylum, a lil' Johnny Cash
an old man was traveling that bleak road, smoking and smiling
when he turned right, he saw the man in his dim eyes and asked
"my blued son, where are my valleys and the mountains?"
"Where are my swans and rivers, birds and children playing?
"Where are the mothers, drunks, and the lovers?"
"Where are the commies, the reformers, the queers?"
"Where are my space rockets, satellites, and science stuff?"
"Where are the trees, those green insects, or flowers, it's near spring?"
the man said,
"Old man you're insane, that was all in your head.
dipped and planted like a seed, the moon was a joke, and the sun too.
You need to be electrocuted and controlled till you're better, this is the real world"
he turned to some corner to say
"come, writers and critics, invite and incite some distinct pain
don't block your mind with senseless meaning, be blinded today
come, ladies and gentlemen, curse some distinct verse of words
struck together by your vision of hell, spun to heaven"
Future Is A Bleak Piece of Music
Jun 12, 2024
Jun 12, 2024 at 1:47 AM UTC
a tale of the broken man
passing undecided
he said it was under plan
but turns out he was blinded
oh the sun is setting down
and the land is growing dark
"do I just sit and frown"
and leave it to lonely mark
a tale of the broken man
like a bottle in the sea
a gambler and his greed
boiling to thoughts of flee
oh the moon is shooting light
and the land is cold and dark
will he sulk all night, tonight?
or will he defend his lonely mark'
his lonely mark
May 13, 2024
May 13, 2024 at 3:39 AM UTC