Like an omen,
I'm free now,
Body yearning for it,
The vigorous tenacity of love,
Whispering its promises of blood, soothingly singing.
-
Well animated, atmospheric,
He never arrived home,
The strange figure that pursues,
Question how a man turned red.
He can't get home,
Make it rain, make it rain sad man.
-
Bring back memories hidden inside the shell,
Earlier attached,
Unmodified.
The rules are simple: win.

~March 25th 2013

Many live to love
but love is killing me
I can not seem to fill the hole
where my heart used to be
I wish I was oblivious
from knowing it exists
as i did once before
all those little trysts
My eyes gazed upon beauty
and all its majesty
now I can not seem
to focus past the ugly
I can only plea
for naivete
Not even time can free my mind
from all of its bindings.

Its a phantom in my conscience
that haunts my evenings often
but is gone when the sun arises
where the tortures remain constant

I am not what you see
these were not my dreams
a cartoon buffoon for you
to point and laugh with glee

This isnt why I did this
I didnt know the expense
I put my heart for all to see
to verify my existence

Trying to exorcise my insides
by the tears that I cry
but it doesnt wash away
the pain within my mind

When most of these people
only see me for my alter ego
they want the struggling of my soul searching
to always remain feeble

So sorry Im untrusting
all I wanted was a friend
yet again when I have nothing
theyre all gone with the wind

Hollow another bottle
heres another *****
be our joker of sorrow
expose your madness some more

Youre here for our amusement
you have a gift so use it
split your personality
give us the one that self abuses

Why are you so quiet?
its not the Jeremy that I know
isnt it time to riot?
where is your red nose?

I once viewed the world in black and white
Good and evil with nothing between

As I grew older a space did grown
between the white and black

As I examined, it expanded
Until a gradient was formed

Now I see all shades and hues
Without the guiding line

What once was certain is now a question
I can only guess on this chart

Never sure, always cautious
It was easier with just two choices

By seeing everything I can determine nothing
The punishment of insight is ignorance

My best friend died seventeen days ago.
I was strong. I was the lone strength in my family.
I mustered my muscles and carried his body to its destination.
And laid him down.
I paid the fees associated with death.

And I walked away.
Strong.


But in the last moments of seeing him being carried away,
My father reached out to feel his hair one last time.
Fourteen years of life, and this was goodbye.

I broke after that.
I let it out, all of the sobbing, the retching, the mourning.
My face was wet, my heart was wet.


And then I grew strong again.
I threw on my face of man,
And walked the world again.

You could say i have the heart of a miser, but you can't say I do not have one. For it beats in my chest, threatening to sweep this head off my neck with tsunamis of sickening blood. As if i had infinite emotions to gnaw at. My soul seem to be a bottomless pit, eternally craving to be fed. And I never knew how to satisfy it. I seem to be different from the others. Void of emotions. Speaking only to stir trouble, on the sorry excuse of giving myself reasons to feel. I had no clue about the inability to communicate with my mother. We hardly exchange words, and those that escape my tightly sown lips were only to spite her. But they were words from the very end of this bottomless pit, which all sums up to "I lost all I respect".

I've stated in the beginning, I have the heart of a miser; I have not forgotten the words she told me 30 odd days back. If elephants never forget, then I guess I have these ivory tusks made to cut like a hunter's spear on anything that's alive. Cut off anything that's okay. Turn everything that is okay into something that is not. Explosive cars and houses set ablaze are akin to fireworks; the only thing that seems to catch my eyes anymore. And the smoke that lingers smells like a house freshly painted; addictive. That is until they smother my skin. I can't help but cringe at the monster in the mirror. I wasn't like this. I don't know how I've come to this. I don't know why.

The words that mothers say are lessons taught to their children. So i suppose I've learnt that I am a ***** and that I'm better off dead. 30 odd days. Are you proud of me, Mum? I have not forgotten what you taught. Today you screamed. I would like to say the spit that landed on my skin burnt like acid. But truthfully, I don't feel a thing. You asked for the wrong that you've done. You screamed into my face, DO NOT CALL ME YOUR MOTHER. I AM NOT WORTHY, as yours contorted so much I could almost feel something. Mum, I'm not worthy to tell you what you've done wrong for I don't feel a tad sorry for what I turned us into. It was a mistake to give birth to me. I'm not even sure if I missed what we used to have. I can't remember what we had.

I'm sorry if this house ever burns to the ground.

Mum, I wish I wasn't a monster.