the hands on the clock stall at the center of it all, unmoving
everything , stutters, slides, stammers around them
silences bubble up in the swamps of entropy
in these celestially celebrated serenades.
I grind my heart into a paste
for sealed mason jars
to be opened when
the nights
flare up
yearnings
of yesteryears,
to be comforted
with the tastes that eluded
my tongue, in all the years I left behind,
in the bags I left unopened under the bed,
Straight from the planes I pulled them from.
These are back aches from staying still in the buses
That carry me from one moment to another, place to place
Jan 30, 2025
Jan 30, 2025 at 1:29 PM UTC
Stains trail her fingers
like ghosts from fifteen Christmases ago
Mom's brand new china plates at her feet
taunting her from beneath
She rubs mirrors clean
of herself, hoping to wipe her
gently disdained breath fogging up the
cracked windshield of a toppled car
There's seven shades of shame
Ten tints of timid inferiority
Fourteen flashes of frantic
Hundred hues of hurt
Nov 23, 2017
Nov 23, 2017 at 5:57 PM UTC
..
1. try not to think about it
2. you have it so much easier than so many people
3. You can't help me
4. so?
5. your taste in music is ****
6. I'm leaving
7. what pain do you have
8. it hurts Micah, the universe hurts
9. don't be so depressed all the time?
10. Don't you wish you had gone with her?
11. I can't sleep, I want to die
12. You sing horribly
13. you are paranoid and bitter
14. you are a bully
15. I'm leaving
16. you aren't worthy of being my son
17. there's no life in your art
18. this guy? he's such a loser
19. go to sleep
20. who does he think he is?
21. you don't know the difference between w and m?
22. He's a lost cause
23. You made her like this
24.You made her like this
25. I'm leaving
26. but why does he make them suffer so much?
27. People like him are the worst
28. I was his powerplay
29. you are not good enough
30. I grew up too fast, they made me
31. are you out of your so-called depression?
32. useless
33. She's gone micah, she's gone
34. you can never escape becoming your parents
35. I'm fine, don't worry
36. you can't dance for ****
37. I'm leaving
38. He fell
39. I sometimes wonder, is it my fault?
Nov 16, 2017
Nov 16, 2017 at 3:25 PM UTC
The wheels on my train go
Cowardice Cowardice Cowardice Cowardice Cowardice
Phew Phew Tired
Scared Fear Scared Fear Scared Fear Scared Fear Scared Fear
Phew Phew Paralysis
This journey has me exhausted and old
Useless running away into the desert
Lord it would be better if I were dead
Where is the voice now, I ask from desperation
Speak master for I am listening
please
Oct 31, 2017
Oct 31, 2017 at 2:25 PM UTC
My house has seen too many monsoons
deranged doors shrieking in paranoia
The paint is flaky, lost to the elements
Teacups chipped and dusty, spoons bent in telekinetic fatigue
My fans are fans of decapacitation
But there comes a time that
you would like to cohabit this hostile hostel
With someone who is not bitter at the stars
Someone with doorbells and not medieval fortifications
With smiles that warm the winters and cool the Indian heat
I've lived this way for far too long, hiding from the sun
unworthy of someone on the other side of the bed
emotions unkempt, ruffled thoughts and passions raw
Torn smiles and hands skilled at pushing away
Words that shy from affection and the touch of death
I have a house to renovate, I don't know how to make it a home
So I sit on the porch, waiting, till they have had a look inside
Sit, till they decide this estate isn't real enough for them.
Oct 31, 2017
Oct 31, 2017 at 12:01 PM UTC
The sulking sun
left me some gifts;
a purple dusk and
cool mountain breeze.
golden sundried stalks waving
Grass reeds swaying
A lithe dancer's innate grace.
Such a rich stage
for a wonderful show
I almost forgot
that you were beside me.
It took a while
but it would come, eventually.
I smelt it before I saw it,
Your flannel was ablaze.
You looked on in mute pity
as I cried
and cried
leaning in to kiss
my tear doused face
scattering away
ashes in the wind.
Collapsed I cry,
under a purple sky
waiting for it to end.
and begin afresh again.
Oct 30, 2017
Oct 30, 2017 at 2:15 PM UTC
Do you see the wreckage I walked out of
Braced myself, Fire Flame, Crash landing.
And the smoke of death has reached my flared nostrils
What is the less poisonous of two fumes?
One reeks of death, sadness and inevitability
of blood, tears and the pain of living.
The other smells of green ignorance
anaesthesia.
Take my pain.
So I, I took the path well taken, for I
didn't have the courage to look
at the broken bone jutting from my shin
Dull me, Numb me, Let me waste away in bliss
This existence is my bane, my plane crash.
Oct 30, 2017
Oct 30, 2017 at 1:00 PM UTC
I am starved for light, the sun only touches my treetops
Diving deep in freezing water I search a warm sun
Wading through crowds doing vocal exercises
Getting ready to sing, speak and shout
but never listen
My freedom isn't here yet but if you would be willing to restart
My heart, there would be a lot of poison to pump out
Be a little butterfingered with scalpel
Cut me up in a thousand places
Let my bad blood run
And when I
breathe
again.
Kiss
me.
Oct 30, 2017
Oct 30, 2017 at 3:28 AM UTC
I haven't written at length for a long time now and my maelstorms are worse. I haven't written for my heart and the protest inside has reached a crescendo of violence. The dam is at its limit and I am the explosion waiting inside. My conductor has quit and the orchestra has lost its sanity, timbral destruction and cymbal apocalypse. I watch helplessly the drowning flutist and the bleeding pianist. Whale song rings in my ear all the time, and I am tired of this dismembering dissonance. My nostrils flare in the polluted river and the acid water has reached my lungs. They burn with the intensity of jealous stars and pull me in like black holes. Sometimes the heat is too much and the cold offers nightmarish dreams of death. So I bear the burden of two jackets soaked in ice water. My teeth, eyes and nails feel like they might fall into my food and I won't have the energy to even care for self-cannibalism. The church has fallen on our heads and my life is frothing at the mouth. The madness is finally settling in, violently setting up camp in my soul. My veins pulse rhythmically like the drums in a System of a Down song.
Father why have you forsaken me?
In your eyes forsaken me.
In your thoughts forsaken me.
In
your
heart
forsaken
me.
Oct 29, 2017
Oct 29, 2017 at 2:47 PM UTC
Some years later, they will look back to this time and ask how we did not see it,
What we cursed, ridiculed and cut away would become our only saving grace.
The effects would manifest only as humanity started getting wearier of the destruction it had wrought on itself,
Tired of nuclear winters and oxygen-less atmospheres, water-stressed economies on the brink of downfall
And in those days, stories would come from different and remote parts of the world
Of people made of miracles, walking around in daylight, unclothed in hazmat suits and around whom the world seemed more friendly
And the scientists will run to these 'saviours', desperate for hope, desperate to save their once dominant race,
And then they would study them , hair to toe, and they would find their worst fears come to pass
Years ago, Humanity was crazed by a trend to cut away seemingly useless parts of themselves,
These 'useless' parts would now offer a new lease of life to an historically arrogant species
And they will then build shrines and temples to the Appendix,
The vestigial ***** that pulled humanity from the brink of extinction.
And the people who shunned appendectomy as a sin will reign supreme,
Rulers of a kinder world.
Oct 6, 2016
Oct 6, 2016 at 1:06 PM UTC