Her kind of rain was the kind that drizzled

Her drizzles were like soft rain,
On grey days, they made perfect sense to align with interspersed clouds hanging heavy on blue-less skies
But on days when a storm beckoned it's calling
I lost her,
She drowned
Somewhere
Where it never drizzled
Always rained.

The crazy demography of death in our minds; our shine-clad generation suggests our invisible escape to depravity
we are Not innocent, we are Not cured-
of whatever disease we choose to hide in our black cages
we are afraid without pure fear; we are a disgrace
And so much happens in the streets at night-
as each man loses his faith in (?)you-name-it, that we breed either
poets, prophets or politicians, vegetables.

I couldn't make up my mind on who she was. Really,
A premonition? Foreboding an inevitable storm
Or the storm's aftermath;
All dull and vivid juxtaposed in parallel reflection
Yet even though debris seemed to follow the destruction around her,
The centre of all the chaos was calm, grey
I called her Grey
She liked it
She thought it resembled a fading, translucent characteristic within her that most people seemed to miss without confirming a second look
"It’s like you lifted my eye-lids with clamps-long and hard enough to gaze and wonder just who I was"
That the easy facade on her outside was just a complex elaborate hoax and her intricacies were much simpler inside
But even with all my sensors of human emotion detection and learning to wade and blend through
derelict sage-nuances
I still couldn't figure her out
For I wasn't sure what she was:
A premonition or an aftermath of new color.

She was always Grey

I want to be the me that I wanted to be when I was a kid who dreamed of being the me that I’ll be when I turn 70
I want to be a race car, a ******* rush; I want to be a daredevil on both
I want to be a tight-rope circus act, and tread daily on loose strings with firm feet and handstands
I want to be a shaman with normal senses, instead of a normal person with shamanistic pretenses
I want to look what I saw, I want to listen what I heard, I want to speak what I said with absolute, immaculate, immovable conviction
I want to be like Jim Morrison, and sail to the moon on a crystal ship
I want to be 25% pessimistic, 25% optimistic, 50% opportunistic surrealist
I want to be an Anti-Christ neutral anarchist, and go on a nihilistic bowling spree
I want to be like Jeff Lebowski
I want to be an unintentionally over-achieving burnout who’s proud of his very human frailties
I want to be my own version of Salvador Dali’s first drafts, Allen Ginsberg’s papers and Jack Kerouac’s path
I want to write serenades about melted ice-cream, burnt sausages…and similar tragedies
I want to be a comedic prophet with bad timing; I want to laugh at a funeral-my own funeral
I want to be a suicide note; an obituary that says, ‘**** Condolences! I’m dead. Now, just let me be’
And although, I’m not half the things I said I wanted to be,
I’m an ancient nutshell with reinforced-concrete casing and recent cracks that show the me that I am right now,
I’m an educated, at most times mostly illiterate kind of bloke
I’m a six feet tall hormonal speck of snowflake on snow
I’m a growing ukulele, dreaming of bursting out an improvised, deafening, soul scathing Electric guitar solo, on an amp that goes up to 11!
I’m a short-tempered, soft-spoken, heavy-breathing embodiment of all I’ve wanted to be and the things I’ll never be
But right now, I am the me, that I want to be
And all the other ‘me’s would be proud if they could see me.

Lost in the scansion of a cool iron box
I struggle for air from the confines of metal that blocks all fresh of life from the cage
Bound in gagged suffocated reflexes
I utter muffled screams of my nights spent in lost days

Held in suspended motion, mid-flight to a descent
I train myself, my senses already know what comes next
meanwhile the art of stillness, in vivid stasis I contemplate.

Sardonically, lightly, he trips around the argument from last night
The night-time affair-morning despair
Whiskey and gin, liquor scented promises
Still droop over the dawn's proceedings
No wonder he waned quick and rose slow last night
His instincts took form, primal release
Inhibitions lulled by the dull lust quenched senses
Now all come back to the brim
And resurface with surmounting terror in the peak of morning
What might have been found ,
In the quiet moments, between the pauses, sighs and naked glances
Has already been lost
No words escape his,
Or hers-
Save for a kiss
Once drenched with wet lust
That now gathers rust;
Hangs in the heavy silence of their confession
Where none of them utter a word,
Yet the verdict rules:
both guilty.

She scans his face for familiar lines
But in the face of her lover, meets a stranger
Taken aback, she closes her eyes, urges him to whisper,
gently, her name
'...' the word is same, he pronounces it exactly the way he used to
But she hears the name of someone else;
Someone new.
Struggling for old shape and sound
She reaches for his arms and folds herself an embrace
But feels no familiar touch,
Her ears quiver no more
At the once-soft breaths that gently nudged and tugged at her hair
She gradually breaks down;
Forced smile by smile, by frown,
And steals a final gaze at his eyes
And in their reflection,
Sees a stranger-smiling, shivering, unfamiliar
A stranger.

And before I extended my claws onto your hearth,
I dwelled within a secret passion: I brushed up on sneaking and marking the spot for my next apocalyptic arson
And yet I could never spout the rage that fuels my husk of a being onto your haven
Your abode stinks;
The reek of naïve youth and ***** lust at night
And yet I could never expunge the puny shred of mercy embedded on my aortic psyche
You win this round
For now,
my claws will try to cut the life you absorb from the air that pervades your hearth
Before they turn to fingers, before my wrath subsides in mortal disbelief of its own vulnerable
                                      humanity
I shall incite fresh fear and death inspired odes within me once again

And on a fateful humid night,
I shall let myself perspire at the sight of infant wreckage burning with fervor and life
Your abode in flames of red and azure
And if you burn,
Apologies.
I merely hope your ashes will spark the flame bright for at least a little while
Ahh...such sweltering warmth

The day you went away,
I looked at the wisps in the forest to search for your secret grave but they just turned to me
and faded away.
I searched the sands for your parched remains and i knew when I'd find you
because life would spring from where you'd rot
and the oasis you'd bring would flood the desert floor
with our memories we spent a lifetime trying to endure.
So I built a ship for two,
to guide me through the storm
to the next beckoning light that calls- another rock to crash upon,
my foundation?
lies in pieces of micro-organic emotions and concrete
unhinged delusions.
The seat next to me is taken,
I know she's already...dead,
but still, I remember her presence and I'm not mistaken,
I'm waiting to pass over
so that when it's over,
we'll start again
and row through the waves- together.
Sure, it looks weird now: a young man who looks old,
and people say he looks dead but
thanks man,
I try,
I just can't drop down at the last
breath,
to rise up in depth,
so I feel I can never drown...sad.
The only drug is your gasp as you frown at the last glimpse of my face-
enraged? alien?
sadder still,
I don't remember,
Everything happened in a beat back then;
metronome swings of fervent passion.
Our nights were tunes of harmony and disarray,
we swung them together and stitched new holes
in places we liked by ourselves;
defunct from casual belief
and such times!
People strained to find insanity, androids in love looked for guidance upon us,  
who dreamed of mortal sleep.
Our dreams,
were nightmares we always woke up from a second earlier
before it ended.
Waking up was more real at times,
and at times,
I couldn't tell the difference
but I dreamt nonetheless
and so, we decayed beautifully;
so used to it anyway that we didn't stop for a moment,
to look at the skin beneath our bones.
Everything in angles and shapes and simple motion
bent to our rules of private physics and the laws
of Fatal Human Attraction.
I knew the science
and knew the value of distance and its measurements:
too close and it pushes back, explodes
and leaves
absolution,
the aftertaste.
So I tasted implosion- time and again,
just to keep
our crosshairs fixed.
If one of us moved closer,
our bullets wouldn't miss,
and now, I can't smell you
if I did, I'd touch you,
but I can't hold my breath yet,
my lungs still keep me
dead awake.
Till then,
I'll just hunt you,
keep dying,
and see.
Till then,
don't
come
back.
I'm ready, haunt me.

Wrapped around with a thick burgundy caress, Night-time sheets enclose your love tonight
In the confines of our playful backdrop Ensconced in the near-dawn cusp of night With only color blind kisses
And ****** touches
I like the way the night around feels grey tonight-
Save for your face,
The features catch light from all directions from the simple moonlight grace, I like to see the way your eyes lock with mine tonight,
Quivering, with your touches, your lips, for a kiss;
Burgundy kiss for a grey night.