Why do I see love everywhere I go?
Why do I seek love everywhere I go?

It’s plain and chaotic
And unique and divine
The beam of her caring
In every tender glance

There is another timeline,
where we are home,
—after a lovely Sunday birthday dinner
of friends

We are thinking of hosting one next.
We agree everyone will love the dessert.
We complain about tomorrow—
Usual Monday’s sorrow
We do our nightly routine.
I ask you if you want some water,
for your bedside.

—Not in this cruel one, no.
Yet in some other, —kinder— it is.

I want to live,

Not just in my scripted mind scenes,

I actually want to live.

call it improv, taking a chance,

Whatever—

I want to be here.

Could you help me?

Get me off my head,

Ground me, pull me near

Bring one of those moments

That sweeps me off my feet

Don’t let me think about it.

Don’t let me ruin it.

Just let me be in it.

No, I am not ready.

But I am real.

And I am here.

Can you imagine all the conversations we could’ve had?
All the songs we could’ve sung?

A word after more words,
Creates other dimensions.
A whole new structure,
Changing entire generations,
Built for different intentions.
Persuading,
Or Emotional expression.
Also for trickier purposes —
Like plain manipulation.
Of an individual,
Or perhaps a huge nation.
So take precautions.
As this is a cautionary tale.
Since you are building,
Each line of yours
can either shape or break.
After all,
Here,
we all are
What In my mind
I like to call:
“Word Architects”

You  added colour to my mess
and me like a painting
you weren’t quite happy with
The egotistical artist in you
thought could paint over

I was ruined forever

I am aware
Ignorance is bliss.

Yet,

I am aware.

I am too awake.

I am fully conscious!

This shall be the death
Of all my progress

I am aware!
Can you numb me again?

My mind is poisonous

I am aware

I am my own

                    worst enemy.

I’m stuck in my bedroom.
There’s a whole in the wall.
That’s figurative speech,
Of course.
The wall is my heart.
I’m watching another show.
It’s about the life of some girls—
I’m trying so desperately to relate.
After some episodes, I finally succeed.
Somehow I make this about me too.
Now I’m imagining how my own life
Would play out for the masses.
Would I be a fan favourite?
Would he be the villain?
Would I be?

I stop.
I REALIZE—
I’m not that interesting.

Just perfectly,
randomly,
average,

             me.

It’s a lovely day. Another lovely birthday. Sadness keeps expanding.. by the 29th, it has rooted in my heart

My brain keeps rotting
But I just don’t care.
the longer I scroll
The more chances I get
Of catching a glimpse
Of your beautiful face

In my headphones
’My favourite faded fantasy’
By Damien Rice plays—
Spare souls— one or two broken hearts
and Me, once again,
Waiting for a bus,
to take us away.
Flickering lights,
And 2 am’s old friend,
Cold.. so cold.
In between a heavy silence,
And pity stares,
I can’t help but compare,
Peacefully silent, you
warm and sound asleep
In your room,
A 5-min walk,
right around the corner.

Evening air and dry text replies
It is a cold winter day,
in the midst of July.

Clear and loud silence,
surrounding her steps.
The sudden reflex to deflect.

A random call. A sudden ‘yes’.
Opening door, a familiar face.
Same old, same old.. exhausting exchange.

Dancing hands,  soulless gaze.
Curious hands, hypnotising embrace.
Rushing hands, the usual regret.

Lust overdoses, her soul feels sore.
Another heart rash. Repeat. Regret. Repeat.
emotional hangover,  

             unread morning-after text.

You thought  I was playing victim, but for me, it was never a game

It’s the spark in my mom’s eyes,
when the family arrives.
It’s the photo my dad is taking, of us
having dinner.
It’s my sister picking her outfit, doing her makeup.  
It’s my aunties singing and laughing in the kitchen.
It’s the cozy and cheesy decoration I picked.
It’s the loveliest mess,
The warmest season of all.
While all the gifts are by the tree,
the greatest, is just being here.
Let me just be here.
One more Christmas.
One more year.

I made a nest in my wounds
Please don’t cure me,
I don’t want to be cured.

After you used my body
My soul was tired
After you put a light in my eye
There was a fire

La galaxia de la que fue parte, colapsó
Con fuerza de mil soles,
cual supernova
Resurgió
Donde el viento sople, ella ira
Creando micro universos,
Al saludar

It was cold in your dorm.
I choked on my silences.
I felt unwelcome,
and briefly— desired.

You walked me to the stop,
Said I was almost running—
As I waited for my bus,
the plastic bench felt cozier.

They keep on taking,

I am already empty.

What else can you strip me of?

My soul is already naked,

My flesh exposed

My heart vulnerable and lost

Have I left it too open, my window
For you to see the inside?
—A room, full of thoughts,
Crafted by my spiralling mind;
A bed, full of love,
Overflowing,
from an oversharing heart

Would you go inside?
Would you ran far?

Tbh I left the curtain half drawn

I saw strength—
Arms that once held me,
Protected me
Turned into fragility:

The weakened shadow
Of the bravest man.—

I saw and I stood
Powerless,
Tears holding,
fears hounding.

I stood powerless,
wanting to give
some of my years
To the one heart
that gave me
Everything.

I wonder
Was it a spell I was under?
I am awake,
And the world seems duller

The scenario in my mind is set,
I’m just too afraid
To say
“action”

The symptoms included:
Chest tightness, nauseas
Laboured breathing, heavy heart.
They say it’s a natural reaction
—I must be allergic—

To

     Bitter memories and regrets.

trying to get a little dopamine—
In somebody’s lap.

Flashbacks.
Shivering.

Hands,
        hands,
              hands.