no abnormal  amount of sleep could cure
the tiredness that rests inside my bones
fatigue fills the hollow cage that
dreamlessly becomes my hellish home

no obscene quantity of food could satiate
the hunger residing in my soul
my heart is empty, craving for something
adventure, fire, or the great unknown

no blinding light could truly dim
the shadow living inside my mind
whose darkness overthrows all I do
drowns my pleasure in endless night

no sins of the flesh and gloried closeness
could still my desire for intimacy
to just be held, finally feel wanted
and like I mean the world to somebody

*© Tara India.

failing,
as standards go
definitely...
            u
         j      m
                   p
                     e
                      d
wayyy too soon
wayyy too reckless
tsk, tsk...
with my eyes closed at that.

destruction sequence: initiated
brain, raw and grinding
the gears are still turning
but haven't been oiled in millenia
once upon a time, i was king
during the great serotonin shortage
when everyone shuffled about the streets
listless and dull
a slave to their own routine
and to deviate would spell certain disaster

i was so good to them
i would burn down villages
and point a finger at our "enemies" to the east
how else would they trust me to protect them?
it gave them something to live for:
it gave them hatred
i was so good to them
i would give gold to prostitutes
so they'd lower their prices
and the men lost inhibition with every lay
it gave them something to live for
it gave them them release
i was so good to them
i have donated to the performance arts
enthralling and subliminally conditioning them
because active, free thinkers are dangerous
it gave them something to live for
it gave them complacency
i was so good to them
i issued a currency
so i could tax their earnings
as a comfortable king is a happy king
it gave them something to live for
it gave them labor
i was so good to them

enter, the great savior of none
the fearless leader who led not a soul
morally just and fed up with control
he was not unfit, but not their fit
as the masses loved their debauchery
and the unwavering protection of their master

i was so good to him
i wrote a decree
that he be found and thrown in the dungeon
to save him from himself, as free thinkers are dangerous
i gave them something to live for
i gave him his sacrifice

For the Picasso-trees as I soar by,
The blurring edges under a new sky
And feeling as though I could fly

I could just float away and drift
Or dissipate as summer mist;
Oh, what kind of existence is this?

Only content when on the run,
A craving for a different sun
To light my walk, I am one

Who is only happy while moving
Seeing, exploring, and using
Travel to convince me I’m not losing

They call it wanderlust, but
For me it’s deeper: this strange love
Of escapism, forever on and up

Will leave no hollowed out space
For me to disastrously contemplate
The oblivion echoed in my face

If I fill my days with new sights
I can ignore my night-dark eyes
And somehow sidestep the fight

To stay alive, to ignore their call;
Distraction is louder than the fall,
I am only safe in unfamiliar walls

Stand still too long and people will
Learn my darkness, the pain that fills
My heart and they will want to ****

The hollow ghost, the shadow-girl
So I keep moving around the world
For safety, will I ever learn

To be still, silent and proud
Without voices tearing me down?
Or the thought I should do it now?

So I go in search of new destinations
Lose myself in some exploration
Try to **** my mind with fascination

I’ve been here for far too long
I need to wander, let me move on
Before my soul sings its swan song

I’ve used up all the distraction here
This is the cave, the lair of fear
And my nights are filled with spiritless tears

I seek something new, some unknown;
A perhaps that could finally bring me home
Or maybe I just don’t want to be alone

So with music, and books, and trains
And friends I make just for the day
I somehow push on, the only way

I know to make this seem worthwhile
Is to keep tracking the miles
And cities, behind my glossy smile

Is desperation and a need to survive
Although daily I long to die,
I am wandering, to stay alive.

*© Tara India

A mother's lap, all downy flesh
Or a bird cushioned in the nest
Softness, light, and feather-white
We all seek our respites.

Warm bathwater and soothing scent
Sand, sun, and sea perlescent
In lover's beds and lover's rosy minds
We all seek our respites.

All beings crave some sweet affection
The relief of a loving connection
We seek home and it's delights
We all seek our respites.

We deserve love so we hunt
For feelings, closeness and trust
But do we really all live for light;
We all seek our respites.

What happens when we only hate
Ourselves, our bodies, and our weight
Can we allow relaxation and smile
We all seek our respites.

Some feel unequal to pleasure
For them, pain is to be treasured
More comfort in screams than sighs
We all seek our respites.

Some beings have to hurt to feel
When only pain and blood is real
A friend, your razorblade at night
We all seek our respites.

When the brain can be so cruel
Deprivation, denial, and their rules
Don't feel wrong but beautifully right
We all seek our respites.

For those of us in isolation
Undeserving of self-preservation
It's easier to suffer than to fight
We all seek our respites.

*© Tara India.

I like poetry and cigarettes
I like to pretend there's nothing left
Of a heart, of my beating brain
I like to pretend I'm still the same
Girl you fell for who likes the light
I like to pretend that I'm alright

I like sunrises and late sunsets
I like to place my calculated bets
On the possibility of numbers, pounds
I like that I feel time running out
That my hours are counted and dry
I like to pretend I don't ache or cry

Or shriek, a banshee to the moon
I like to say I'll get there soon
I like to think I'm like Liz Taylor
In diamonds, not a rotting failure
I like to say I still dream of peace
That I'm not insane or craving release

I like lists, planning, and cold style
Brandy and whisky and travelled miles
I like pages filled with art
I like to think I'm still in her heart
I call myself a golden-age fighter
I like to pretend it's getting brighter
I'll say I love these things till I die
Because I've no clue who I am inside.

*© Tara India

It howls inside me like a frightened child
Waking from a nightmare and shaking
The fear, the failure, the darkened eyes
All crying as my mind is breaking

It screams at the stars, their majesty
Is godless and unforgiving
My petrified gaze another call for help;
A supplication to those still living

It whimpers in the early hours,
This emptiness – this unholy void
Of desperation within my skin,
The shell I have so carefully destroyed

Its frenzied cries echo from my mouth
My lips form its endless request
Aching and heavy, it sits divine
Rests in my throat and hollow chest

It weeps – a hellish caterwaul
Of desire and perceived deprivation
My ball and chain, my hair shirt,
Symbol of my long damnation

It grovels at the feet of greater demons
Satisfaction sought in a lost soul
It drives me mad and pushes me higher
Too weak alone to achieve its goals

It screeches that with one more push,
A little further, a little longer
I can find my nirvana and my
Shangri-la – denial making me stronger

It whispers so believably and so
Trustworthy is its feeble disguise
I fall for deceit and stars and tricks
I lose myself in cunning lies

It howls once more, a victory cry
On a throne made of my heart
It sits – I am lost
Once more back to the start.

*© Tara India

think your worst thought

and throw it deep in the pines
to get caught on the vines

then go there at night
when the light of a bone
colored moon makes shadows
rattle and bite

and hold that thought

tight.

r ~ 9/11/14