There are a hundred reasons for me to leave
But I don't?I stay
?And I don't know why?
It is so exhausting
?Knowing that I break you
Am I a coward;?
Or am I just confused?
?I should let you be
But I can't
I stay

Why are you so heartless;?
You leave without question
You do just fine
Did you ever care at all?
?What did I do;
?To deserve this mess
I must confess?
I have never felt worse?
As i burst?Into tears?
There's nothing more to fear
?It is already there

Take me to an exotic country somewhere
in a foreign land, where humid jungles create
misty vapors and sculptured dunes arise from sand
take me to that unknown continent
of untethered, love-soaked lust
weave within me slips of words
like prayers within cracks of an ancient wall
like garlands of fragrant, knotted trust
where the only language spoken is our eyes
locked in soldered magnet pools a world our own
where permanently autumnal air brings unlimited breaths,
our heat soothed by the coolness of stone
Wander with me inside caves and canyons
skip through flowered valleys of green
I will soothe the ache of your loneliness
in the twilight's sunset sheen
and in the rivers of me flowing
pure pleasure gushing rain
soaking up our glowing, as we purge all
poison's pain
            One subtle touch of heart
and I am floating way out into grounded space
I ask you, kindly, to slowly take me apart
in cinematic rhythms of timeless, zoneless pace
all the while the licks and drips
between the moans and sighs
as we travel landscapes of our skin
across maps of muscles, lips and thighs
Our mutual body knowledge comes in pieces that are whole
sweet chasing out of bitter as we ****** forth our souls
I  will pour my light into your dark
most blackened, wounded chasms
turning lava into stream
dark quakes in gentle spasms
So just take me there, over the edge
to that other country, distant world
as we undo facades in one quick impassioned rising
so unknown in this plane of routine and steady
I have my ticket to outdo our hunger
                     under stars
My luggage and passports are ready

he comes out of the woodwork
every five to seven years
(maybe he's a locust)

usually when he's lonely
or *****
or wants to blow his brains out

he kicked the drug *****
out of his trailer
(he overheard
her cheating thoughts)
and so
she went back to his brother

it was a nice visit
he complimented me maybe,
he said i'm not man crazy anymore

I think maybe
he's made his last appearance
in my story

if he doesn't know me
in twenty two years
well, I don't have
the experience to compete
with his latest conquests

After fifty years
I slipped into the school.

Madame Bela was visibly pleased
The classroom was too empty
Now I've one to do maths with

No less happy was Auntie Aloka
My favorite student is back
She lifted me up and said with a kiss
So vacant felt my class of English
Without a boy from olden times
Sweetly singing nursery rhymes

My eyes searched her and before long
Miss Jaya spoke in her softest tongue
I'm so glad to see his face
Sans him Bengali class was all emptiness

And there he was the only Sir
Amiyo Baboo the sports teacher
Isn't this the boy never won my trust
For always being in every race last

Fifty years haven't changed a bit
Either their age or their spirit
And surely the fun was doubly more
When I stood before the school mirror.

"don't grow up too fast
you still have time
to be a child"
you say to me

The difference between us
is that you wish to be a child
whereas I
never want to be one again

your childhood
was playing foursquare
and lava monster
and avoiding the cheese-touch
with your three best friends

my childhood
was being kept out of foursquare
ignored by the lava monster
and being the untouchable object
in my class's game of "Beth-touch"

your childhood
was a playful push and poke
with your classmates

my childhood
was getting my front tooth chipped
and being pushed off of the monkey bars

your childhood
was seeing your parents argue
then make up

my childhood
was hearing shouting upstairs
and seeing my parents sitting apart silently for hours afterward

your childhood
was hoping your mother's flu got better

my childhood
was my mom falling and twisting her arm
on the way to a meeting with the principal
hard enough that her hand still isn't the same size

your childhood
was learning weird new things
through rumors, friends, and what you could find

my childhood
was being left in the dark
on all but the basics

your childhood
was fun elementary school trends
like lunchables, messenger bags, and chocolate calculators

my childhood
was having a different style
and having no common interests with the other kids

your childhood
was a playful time of learning
that you wish to return to

my childhood
was the role of the playground's pariah
and I'm never going back

is it just me?
I don't think so..
Is it just me
that's what I've been told
Im getting real sick of all this *******
all this dull ****
Im real sick
if you don't love me then be on your way
you aren't a necessity in my life today
I don't need you if you wont want me
so  if that's the case
you can be replaced
is it just me?
I don't think so...
Is it just me?
That's what eve been told
But that's ok if that's the case
I don't need fake friends in my life today

normality isn’t the same as the chaos we evade.
The truth is, normality alludes us,
we are formed beyond our minds declination.
Somebody stole my freedom,
using outside of the box thinking,
in your mind and mind.
And I was minding my business,
just trying to take my own sweet time, again.
and deja vu came through the window, again.
the repetition of the rain
cool calm and collected,
the pain subsides,
when i lived in my hiding place
and the raindrops made the gutters flow.

obviously,
yet never expected;
is it you? is it true?
the juxtaposition of you.
but they stole our souls before they attacked the weakened body.
We didn’t hear them coming through the car crash TV;
Are you and I the zombies?
Is your mind in control,
do you mind if they take control,
or do you not mind at all?
When the mask falls the I hide behind isn’t alien in dreams.
not who i saw in the soul.
is it true, deja vu.
so benign in idyllic lies,
a million miles away.
tribes hide behind nothing but a little something to be unique,
maybe a little something else
to be discreet.

But other than that,
food and air,
and company.
there’s not much else we need.
Make up?
Make up your mind -
who decided who you needed to be
it certainly wasn’t you.
Lost in the illusion of choice,
like deja vu,
like Descartes knew,
in collusion with the muse of normality,
by what is true to you,
not actually the truth.
it’s the perfect ephiany in alliance with deja vu.
but what came first ?
my mind, or yours,
through closed doors of inspection;
deception - they let them tell them.
inception - they let them tell them
And I know this fact to be true,
because I’ve seen you in dreams before
and I couldn’t believe my eyes;
or change my view.
I couldn’t believe it was you,
deja vu,
deja vu.