I loved you whenever your eyes light
I loved you most when I heard your mind
I loved you most when you stripped your exterior facade
Your icy, critical facade.
Even then I loved you so, quietly, from a distance.
I loved being around drunk you - simple you.
There was so much warmth and honesty. You were even slightly giddy.
I want to remember you that way.
The night wore on and I cleaned your wet hair. Your wet cheek.
I loved you then, when you were a mess on the floor.
All I wanted was to take your hand and kiss you, but instead I took care of you.
Even so, I loved you then.
I love you less, in the open light, when we stopped communicating.
You've hurt me to bits, without even realizing. You don't realize how much I really love you.
Stab me in the back and I'll still look up to you.
See me tremble, see my stomach swivel in knots. I've cried out all my heartache, so there is no more mascara to smudge. It's worse because I'll still whimper in the dark.

Even through these nights,
god,
I'll always find love for you.

dating a writer
is like guessing the weather.
you think you know what you'll get,
but you never do.

you never know
because

she'll create a hero
from your weaknesses

and she'll write a great character,
from every last flaw.

she'll create a thousand plots  
from your worst nightmares.

she'll take every last thing you hate
and create something you'll love.

she'll turn your anger
into confessions of adoration,

and she'll make you,
everything you're not.

but worst of all,
she'll leave you wondering-
is it you she's in love with,
or things she's created from you?

but here's the beauty of it:

if you date a writer,
you'll never die.

The world is cruel and sinful
Full of sinners condemning sinners
For sinning differently.

My lust, my thirst,
Day by day happen to increase,
But the truth is it darling,
That my life till date has been cease (d)

The sun is dull.
Its absence depleting.

Exhausted,
Yet up all night.

Numb to the rain.
Desensitized showers.

Pained,
Yet without feeling.

Spices are flavorless.
Tastebuds waning.

Hungry,
But always full.

Eyelids are heavy.
Yet never resting.

Blank,
And tainted gray.

Ive stared at the flashing lights
As cars sped hurriedly pass
below the deck of my balcony,
Like I didn’t exist.

Ive awoken to the smell of indian spices,
As my neighbours cooked away chirpily.
As their voices filled the hallway,
Like I wasn’t there.

Ive stared as people crossed the roads
As the lights went from green to amber
As the cars failed to halt
Even as I stood, rooted in the middle of the road.

Ive slit my wrists,
In the hopes that you’d notice me.
As I cant think of nothing else but you;
But you pass by my side every morning, like I do not exist.

So im seated here,
Boats being decked
Fishermen going home to roast and feed
As I prepare to leap to my own demise.

Mass graves breathing,
like beached jellyfish.
Ketchup packet pastels
painting a diner dish.
I sit and imagine
so many things and more.
I smoke ribbons of grey
that dance around
the diner door.

The people move
and have so much to say.
Watch them scurry and hurry
through the invisible day.
The sun's colors bounce off
weekly washed windows.
And I suffer from the certainty
that my fulfilled dreams
will fulfill me,
as I flick ashes into the world
for the wind to carry away,
dragging shadows.