the hardest thing in waking up
is forgiving who you are
forgetting what you're not
and putting to rest your dreams

i've seen the wings of coughing angels,
bent, snapped off between fingers,
like wishbones.
i've blanketed them with burlap rags
of red and blue, so neatly stitched,
only to discover they were
bewitched
by men on ships.
and with death on his lips,
he laughed
at their ****** backs and spotted foreheads.
and he never bothered
to cover his tracks,
when sneaking into their beds.

I miss the black hair that you hid under a wool cap,
Or the smoke that left your mouth
and replaced your words.
I miss your silences,
And the gaps I had to fill,
And the hour train ride I took,
Just so there’d be time to ****.

On my way to see you,
filling my body with wine,
and little yellow candies,
I miss the fact that you’d never say anything.

my head is back with you
beside you,
warm on your lonely pillow
of torn cotton and women,

when you grabbed me,
with hands calloused from strings
and steering wheels,
and brought me back to life,
i thought you were god.
i owed you that,
anyways.

and when im floating in our universe,
let the seawater of your body
rush in,
i have nothing but love.

my love, the azured skies
they are too bright for me,
it burns my skin
like the pepperspray
of protesters
fighting to walk alone.
when i look down,
my love, at the sand,
bright yellow specks, slowing to dust
my world is turned
upside-down.
cover my eyes, no,
tear them
out with scalding knives,
and i will beg in the streets of
new delhi because
my heart cannot take the view
of both
the merciless world
and you.

all the magic mushrooms and popped pills
all the heart-racing clubs, and sunsets,
laying on dew, high,
seeking out foreign planets.
never amounts to anything.
for any substance
or celestial body
trying to satisfy my soul,
couldn't bring me closer to you.

I didn't care to lose it,
it was a paperweight to me.
And i was lifted into different corners of possibilities as i was freed,
I was no longer caged in the idea
that I was young or naive,
that no one could know me.

And still no one knows me,
for I'm not just my body.
My soul;
it's own entity.

And though I curve towards you,
I know your warmth,
and I shiver
under your chest,
You are no different
than the rest.

i am as constant as an open door,
twice broken down,
no lock to shelter the life i've raised

i am a harbour of selfish psyches,
who write lyrics on my walls
and sleep in tiled stalls,
drunk,
on the promise of an eternal home.

i am a church of unbelievers,
idly bowing their heads
to no statue in particular,
the low hum of an absent mind,
dried up of answers.

*i leave them blind.

i used to be a tower
the sun, steady and stubborn,
behind me.
i was the light, i controlled the night
but i became the night

the webbed crystal moon,
she is my mother,
she brings her candlelight glow
peaking through the blinds,
through my bewildered eyes.
illuminating the stars in this sundown,
late sundown,
but sundown nonetheless.
saturns rings still glow
miles away
stars, birthed and killed
but she is there

i should have jumped
they tried to push me over the
edge but I
pulled the thistles that broke through
the desert cracks
and clung to them like a starving child
to a mother
I was starving too.

your touch
like a lit match,
your tongue,
a forest fire,
And I should have run.
But from afar, you were my sun

take me for a broken porcelain mug,
used one too many times,
used because every other glass was gone,
stained with coffee left cold for too long.
pieces and parts chipped away
they cut corners of your lips
and fingertips.
perhaps i was like this when you took me home,
perhaps you didn't notice,
perhaps i didn't either.

i've never felt so weak in the knees over someone who couldn't stay
i asked myself
what was stopping you from anchoring yourself to me
the moldering wood who could never keep us afloat
the winds, so spirited and sudden,
would tear us in two.
but it would be a privileged to see is my last breath in you.

the howling winds snap whips in my face
and i wish i'd taken the train back to yours
its cold
its cold
its cold
all of his rain-checks and missed calls are getting old
i cant use nails to pick the locks on broken doors
its getting old

i've done this day before

felt these thoughts
these shivers
your mind is a world
each vein is my river
the waves of your voice
are lapping against me,
ringing,
this murky shore is inevitable

i've been there before

How could we look the other way?
As each petal,
from the top of your head,
wrinkled and brown,
feathered to the floor.
Your stem legs,
kissing the sun,
like it was lost behind the sea for years.
We were pioneers
of our bodies,
and I saw it before you;
the willingness to fall,
when it turned to dusk.
And in the winter of our lives, so unforgiving,
like a knife, twisted slow,
you slept under the snow.