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Somedays you are the butcher.
Somedays you are the lamb.
Somedays you are the yearning.
Somedays you are the ******.
Somedays you are the poison.
Somedays you are the wine.
Somedays I am the hurt
of knowing, you will never be mine.
Jun 2017 · 701
The faux stars in your eyes is but a dreamless paradise.
May 2017 · 634
All the girls I’ve loved
have been blades
that made me bleed poetry.
And darling, you were the sharpest.
May 2017 · 1.1k
Rooms of the House.
My heart is a rebellion
of splayed foot soldier
cocked in red and white
marching like fire ants,
with drums wisped around necks
mimicking the heart’s murmur,
like a slogan of supremacy.

My heart is a rebellion
against my mind;
too often forgetting
I house them both.
May 2017 · 447
Love Games.
These games you played
as a casual reckoning,
never ceasing
for one moment
to think of the mess
you would create.

Oh, darling
What were games to you,
was an endgame to my life.
May 2017 · 373
May 2017 · 505
Stubborn Heart.
My mind says no;
wanes to let go,
but then again,
when have I ever listened to it.
My heart says yes;
unbeknownst to myself.
Washed ashore, brawny yet bruised.
A casualty of love;
Of our own misunderstandings,
purloined around our lover's lungs,
in forlorn hope to find ourselves
in comet tails
and wisps of smoke.
We will pick ourselves up
and break in waves,
May 2017 · 1.6k
I am the nightsky, you are the stars that fill my soul.
I am here to stay, my old and new friends who are going to be.
May 2017 · 1.1k
Circles and Spheres.
Darling, you were the captor of my heart
and I swear I loved something more than
my freedom for the first time.
May 2017 · 502
Is the futility of life, the beauty of it ?
Is the beauty of life, the futility of it ?
May 2017 · 1.1k
The poignance of a well lit room
overshadowed by impending doom
the effervescence loom
the smoke screen hues
lyrical debauchery of the cacophony of the bees
the monotony of human bee-ings
the trees sway unrest
the roots melt with soot
the oaks bent their heads
raise a white smoke flag in silent victory,
Where are we lifeless or livid again ?
Are we questioning dreams of ourselves?

These veins **** as a toad hops,
onto the gravel of a broken pavement
from a shallow pool of naked warmth,
somewhere deep hidden under these falls,
a white sleeve of corporate piety;
human mirth of bilious greenery,
crackling like bones,
the froth of jealousy pools
as teary eyes roll over
rapid.eye.movement sleep,
it lurks behind crimson bushes,
eyes glinting like headlights,
glitter fury.

You’re an abomination to every blood-poem
I’ve surmised so far, no matter how far.
Your eyes match the size and shade
of my backyard moon orchards.
A satiable reflection of what we used to be,
In a spectrum of green.
I cease to be.
May 2017 · 588
Our hands shaped like cages.
Cages shaped in the deformities of our hands.

Stoic fingers as rusty girdles,
Grainy textures as the bare calluses of our hands.

The Sun.
Our lovers hearts.
Within it’s moral confines.

Casually unlearn the truth that
confinement leaves it absent of light,
rid of it’s senescent glow,
dead to grow.

Our hands shaped like cages.
Cages shaped in the deformities of our hands.
May 2017 · 5.8k
Gender Roles.
Just because I’m vulnerable
doesn’t mean I’m weak.
Just because I don’t cry in front of you
doesn’t mean I don’t have feelings.
Just because I don’t speak up
doesn’t mean I don’t have anything to say.
Just because I don’t react
doesn’t mean I don’t know how to tear you apart.
Just because I smile
doesn’t mean you can walk on me.
Just because I don’t hurt you back
doesn’t mean I lack masculinity.
Just because you say I am fat
doesn’t make me ugly. Not uglier than your soul.
Just because you say I’m feminine
doesn’t make my gender redundant.

I’m more a man than you’ll ever be, choking on your insecurities.
Getting kicks out of putting other people down,
everytime you feel threatened by the vastness of the world.

Just because I don’t stop you
doesn’t mean you can go back to doing what you did.

Just because I am me.
And not the version of me,
You want me to be.
Just because I am me.

And just because
I don’t roar doesn’t mean I’m not strong.
I’m more than capable of ripping you to shreds,
with my weaponry of words.

Just because.
May 2017 · 729
It is only after you lay to sleep every night
that the sun sets, in my horizon of being;
I wander, aimlessly, lost, chasing ghosts
and humming sleepless lullabies to the stars
while I, wait for the beautiful sunrise.
May 2017 · 555
May 2017 · 555
I regret letting you play with my heart
for you were only a child.
With vials of venom racked in deep,
your fangs glisten at the reproach of anything threatening.
I was witness to all the prey you made fall in defeat,
doused in cajole of mockery and lamenting in your spite.
You took pride in your nature of revenge and
I clapped along like a mechanical monkey and
laughed at the joke you made of them.
I loved you.

I regret playing with you, let alone letting you play at all.
You run amok on people’s vulnerabilities like they’re tiny green foot soldiers on the ground, but I see the rawness of their wounds, you tore open what was closed.
You toyed around with their **** lives.
I was disillusioned by love,
this heart of mine fooled me into believing your selfish lies.

As my heart lies a victim to your poison,
like a fish out of water prancing on the wood board gasping for breath, on the edge, between a death he once knew and the life slowly rebuild,
I retreat into the abyss away from the torment of you.
It’s still hard letting you go, knowing that I love you.
But letting you knowingly abuse me is like self harm.

I love you, but I love myself more.
May 2017 · 393
May 2017 · 387
Fear is the speculum that keeps your jaws open,
while the cherries roll down your throat.
May 2017 · 387
Inkwell of my Heart (10w)
May 2017 · 930
A Metaphor.
Imagine a warehouse of apples with their individual conciousness.
They are labelled and categorised.
They are segregated.
The apples are gathered and put into boxes marked
by what they want to be known by,
their commonality/mentality.
If a bushel of apples are a stigma, they are put into boxes marked by what the other apples tag them by.

In a self-marked box, by the name of “surat zayifa” an apple lays at the juncture of the pyramid of analogous red,
maggots eating away at it’s heart.
The apple turned crimson hued to an evangelist blood maroon. Smouldering; festering like an open wound.
A stinging aura besieged it,
suffocating the air like sharpnel stuck in the throat.
The apple, consumed by a dark resurgence and a devilish resolve,
spoke in tongues of the serpent and supplanted seeds of pestilence in the hearts of the apples who joined his brooding virtue.
A collective conciousness was supplanted among the fruit,
imprinted with the face of death.

The world of apples, thrive on each other and face the forebodings of life together in spite of their marked differences in a state of throbbing dependancy.
The apples feed on the apples.
Another self-marked box, by the name of “khalas” were set to consume the apples from “surat zayifa” to continue finity,
unwary of their poisoned souls.

The apples fed on the apples and almost every other apple rotted and perished.
The apples that survived were the ones who consumed the apples unblemished in spirit.
All the others apples from all the other boxes blamed “surat zayifa” as a whole.
Even the apples purest, were tainted by the sins of the other apples,
the ones to take the blame for the misdeed of their creed.
The box was now marked in disgrace, a vehemence, a scourge.

The last remaining poisoned apple that was set to perish from “khalas” did something morally unhinging before it’s spirit departed;
the apple smeared it’s tan blood with words on the cardboard and dropped dead.

The singular light bulb flickered, the pulse strained.
Everything fell silent.
The words read “ We are ourselves. We **** ourselves.”
This one goes out to those falsely persecuted in the name of religion and to those who give their religion a bad name and to the ones who suffer for the sins of their brothers.
May 2017 · 397
May 2017 · 382
I detach from the world to sleep,
but I’m still attached to you in my dreams.
Hey Guys. I've been away for a while, I was going through an existential crisis, now I am back up on my two feet fighting the fight. I'll be posting all the poems I wrote during this time.
May 2017 · 232
True love is walking in opposite directions to the same destination.
May 2017 · 277
She said that one day the ghost of her
will smoulder a bridge with all the buds
of the cigarettes she smoked,
from her phantom heart to his;
until then she belonged ardently to (her) life.
Feb 2017 · 286
The callous of you flail like the moon and you used to set every morn between these arms, now muddled with grease and sweat,
Every time I blink I see bokehs of you, ramming straight ahead at every juncture,
sans collision.
I’ve left notes to forget us and
I’ll rummage through every broken channel in search of my soul.
I feel a taste of my teeth in between the skeleton of leaves, the aftertaste of reminisce and a new found deep.
The skies have woven a path and lead to where the gorge stooped over the balaclava of the Earth.
I felt everything and nothing, a conch kept close to the heart, tidal waves jugular with your half moon eyes crashed against my chest, a chill travelled down my spine reinvigorating my sense of purpose.
I felt alive for the first time.
After you.
I know I’ve strode far towards the shore, the light piercing through every pore, an insatiable waning for ever more,
my lungs throb and my hands strife in the direction of the uprise.
My heart beats on, repeating a song of redemption, playing
“I’ll learn to swim in these lonely waters, at every horizon where I met me,
where the sun swallowed the sea.”
The wind exhaled with me, in unison with the spirit.
I was one with the wilderness,
the wilderness one with me.
Hey guys. I'm sorry for my disappearance for a long while. I was just caught up in the pangs of life :)
Dec 2016 · 635
Dec 2016 · 417
Unrest, Easy.
The dreary demise
of my somber past
will not be mourned
But, will be a vivified
deconstruct of
future cheer.
Dec 2016 · 453
Ombre - II
What is love,
but a permission to
make a home of a heart ?
Dec 2016 · 663
Dec 2016 · 808
Botany 101
Dec 2016 · 451
The temple that we laid down
in our past is in ruins,
the goddess has evanesced,
I lay flowers at the feet
of our devotion,
I still pray, with silent hope
that you’ll come back
So we can rebuild
this religion,
that was
You and I.
I have figured out why
I always want or need somebody,
or be in a relationship
with someone,
and it’s not because
I’m lonely or desperate,
it’s because I’m too fragile
to take on this harsh world alone
and I need someone
to be strong for,
to be strong for me.
Nov 2016 · 328
With the close of each day,
and after every heartbreak
I come to the same realisation that,
You were the one and I let you go.
Nov 2016 · 574
An Outage.
To describe depression would be like,
a power outage in an entire district
and you are the singular light bulb
running on the inverter/generator
glowing in the dark room,
keeping the darkness at bay.
But as time progresses
and the inverter charge starts to recede,
the light bulb starts to fluctuate
and the dark takes up more room
as the light trys it’s best to keep burning.
It fades in and fades out.
The filament dimming with time.
A never ending battle with the dark
until the electricity is turned back on.
Nov 2016 · 510
Cosmos - II
And she whispered
"I never comprehended
The Universe to be tangible"
as she held him in her embrace.
Nov 2016 · 422
I sighted the first dimension of the world when I first opened my eyes and saw my family, when I crawled on my knees and bit my little sister on her cheek, curiously peered at the galaxy that hung above her cradle.

I spotted the second dimension of the world when I felt a familiar hand pulling me up after
I fell down on the ground, leaving blood trails in the sand.
Waiting for the dust to settle, we assembled, the bell rang.
Tom foolery and first taste of success and defeat.
The first ***** of betrayal
and liaring practices.
Tom foolery and  a million hearts-crossed. Ageless friendships and lesson of life that wasn’t in the syllabus.
That abode that was school.
A remarkable reminder of the simple times.

I saw the third dimension of the world when I laid my eyes on your beautiful face.
Sep 2016 · 422
The Sea of Broken Hearts
As we nose dove into placid waters,
time and the sea froze in remembrance;
silhouettes of men, women and children
paraded towards the horizon,
their bodies, limbs and organs made of
the sand that made the beach
with each step taken west
they dissolved,
the air was thick with salinity and tenderness.

The Sun grew with warmth,
at the exuberance of this melancholic loop,
a helpless witness;
it etched this moment in time into their skulls,
a back-lit memory to never return to what broke them.

The Sun grew louder,
with omniscience.
Time and the sea unfroze,
and we delved deeper
into the mystic in search of ourselves.
The waves retreated in reprieve,
promenaded caskets of their past to the shore.
We realised we were more,
than just survivors in the sea of broken hearts.
Sep 2016 · 446
Like moth to flames, I am to love.
But I often mistake a spark for a bonfire.
Aug 2016 · 440
Head x Heart.
These constant intersections,
bilateral contradictions
between head and heart
is just like any other war
just like any war
both sides
just want to stay alive
more than the freedom
they’re fighting for.
Aug 2016 · 431
I like the anticipation
as the phone rings to
the sound of your voice.
Aug 2016 · 590
She was an unfamiliar visitor to the heart of sadness.
But I knew it's coordinates by heart.
Jul 2016 · 356
Darkness is a riddle
muddled by light;
chanted at night
by your twinkly eyes.
She was an unfamiliar visitor to the heart of sadness.
But he knew it’s co-ordinates by heart.
It was dark and sweltering with emptiness,
an infinite void of melancholy.

He knew how lonely it was over there
and how addicting it can be.
He did everything in his power to
lead her away from it’s ominous grasp.
To keep her in the starlight of another dawn of hope,
give her another day to save herself.
Be there to save her.
Because she was there to save him,
eventhough it was too late.
Jul 2016 · 399
Jul 2016 · 487
If you want to know a person’s current mood,
eavesdrop on the song they are singing in the shower.
Jun 2016 · 776
A True Antagonist.
Real grief is not shared nor uttered.
Real grief is bottled and fermented in it's host.
Jun 2016 · 370
The Magician.
You're the only one
who can make me
the happiest
the saddest.
Jun 2016 · 588
We might be of different races,
the colour of our skin
might be different
maybe our hair,
maybe the language
our tongues speak are different.

*But our hearts all beat the same.
Jun 2016 · 711
Dear, diary.(10w)
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