she breathed in yet another drag
rolling the silvery blue smoke
down her rasping throat
just so that the voices in her head
would stop telling her hands
to wrap around her stuttering pulse
and **squeeze.

and the sheer beauty of life is,
even as you live,
you *die.

what if we're just
disembodied hands
clawing at a smokescreen
*the illusion never shatters.

locked between land, skies and sea
the rhythms of the world call out to me.

so many kinds of writers;
some with stars in their eyes and
souls on their sleeves;
some, with stony stares
and a voice that thrives in silence.

if there's only one thing I could do all my life;
it would be to know you - *all of you.

your words like little raindrops
sliding down my shivering skin
settle into my navel's twist,
freeing the butterflies.

only you've had it so easy,
tearing me apart and
throwing me back together again
with a single touch,
the softest whisper,
the deepest ******.

my recipe for happiness is simple -
smoke-filled lungs,
chemicals in my bloodstream;
head buzzing with ideas,
a heart thrumming with words.

one more word I swallowed
(the fear too great to let the words go)
and the hollow person I'd become
shattered with a resplendent crack -
ashes to ashes, dust to dust.

Diss the rainbow, show a finger to the parades,
the many words of happiness and encouragement to the
LGBTQ community; grumble as much as you please
and go rot in your little cave of solitude while
the rest of the world celebrates
one small step for humanity;
a massive leap for us all.
No matter what negativity you have to spread,
(especially all you shameless people grouching about other countries
while you do absolutely nothing to make a change),
your hate makes no difference, for
*‪#‎LoveWins‬.

always the lurking spirit in a room bursting with life,
always the voice sewing together the silent screams of the night.

She,
who vowed to him she didn't love;
she,
who broke her word for the first time.

Everywhere I come from,
Everywhere I go;
I am a part of all that I have met,
And all those I've been with
are a part of me.

You're a living story,  
a flesh and blood sculpture of experiences
scattered in the cosmic stardust, you're a
naughty amalgamation of mischief,
fun and twinkles in the eyes that one can't quite decipher,
(you're confusing, you know),
you're this humming strumming dreaming
thriving energy of body of energy,
you're fairy dust and bundles of lust
exploding with the elixir of love.
*you're all I want to live with,  
you're all I want to want.

Your words are the kind of words
(with the rhythm of a heartbeat)
That I'd want
wrapped around me at night
and
filtering through me at dawn.
your body is the kind I'd like to
spend some nights
writhing together in pure ecstacy,
crazy in love *
and others cuddled up and cosy
each touch a *hey hello I love you
as together we enter a universe
that's just *ours.

i am a writer of fiction,
not a writer who tells you how to write fiction.

i wrote our names over and over in the sands.
who cared that the waves of time washed them away?

here's to when
everything in life had a
solid beginning, middle and end;
or so it seemed.
here's to when
I love you meant the same
whether to parent, lover or friend;
or so it seemed.
here's to when
honesty, bravery and loyalty were
a part of of everyone
or so it seemed
here's to when
life made me belive in making
every passing dream come true;
**or so it seemed.

the night runs beside me
her cat-like eyes occasionally lighting up
a hidden stone in my path
but mostly cocooning me, letting me
stay blind in her comforting dark
it's what she's best at, anyways
loving me blindly
the roads thrum beside me
lulling me to sleep with stories of
travelers on the highways, of
discovery and treachery that lurks unsuspected
the night and her children try so hard
to draw me over to the other side with
their gentle seduction
but me,
I need to have my ear pressed against your chest
lips making love to yours
the steady thumping of your heart
my cold body enveloped by your heat
and the sheer knowledge that
you
are
with
me
near
me
to be able to
**sleep.

i see fluffy rabbits, kittens and elephants
shapes that tickle the imagination
a celestial playground for the clouds of the
starry starry night.
i see shattered dreams and broken promises
whispered prayers to reverse death
written in the cold stars of the
**starry starry night.

of childhood vice
of ice and spice
of whisky dreams
fermented schemes
but in the days of lore
I'd promised me
no liquor no powder,
no smoke-paper-and-wool
i'd lose myself to dreams weaved from words
but lately all the colour in my skull comes from drugs
because when i went from sweet sixteen
to a sour twenty one
all i did every day of the month of the year
to **** you all off,
every single promise,
one by one i killed you,
darlings.

when I'm broken
I like hiding in the dark shadows
but then again
*so do you

and i still can't stop beating myself up
for all this pain i feel.

i want to make love to you with my words
whispered temptations floating from my lips
to the hidden crevasses of yours ears, tickling.
your low gentle groans licking the fire at my pulse.
i'll drag my nails across the smooth
marble of your back and remind you how
very **** seductive you are, you're irresistible.
kiss the plunge between your thighs and
utter your name a thousand times as I
hold you close to me, closer now.
i'll rub myself delicious as i remind you
that i'm the very best you're going to get,
love.
with an arched back and scathing tongue i'll
demand you to take my flesh in you hands and
make love to it like only hands can
while my words are the only part of me touching
every single part of you.
i want to make love to you
like only lovers can and lovers do;
with words.

What I said:
"Hi."
What I meant:
I've missed you.
What I said:
"How was your day?"
What I meant:
I wish it had been with me.
What I said:
"Want a smoke?"
What I meant
Want to lower the smokescreen a little, love?
What I said:
"I'm hungry. Do you have food?"
What I meant:
I trust you despite my immense security about my body.
What I said:
"Meet me?"
What I meant:
I cannot sleep when I'm not in your arms.
What I said:
"Hi."
What I meant:
*I really, really lo-like you.

Bipolar is not just
swinging madly across a spectrum
of deep blue to fiery orange without
being stained by the indigos and greens, yellows and reds in between.
Bipolar is not just
a season blessed and a season cursed
on a cycle of happen, rinse, repeat.
bipolar is not just
Loud uncontrollable chatter
laughter that bounces off the insides of your head
Or
earthshattering sobs that give way to
teardrops that are waterfalls.
bipolar is not just
wanting to rove our hands over the
planes and curves of
every body we happen to find ****.
bipolar is not just
an amalgamation of wounds
in various stages of healing
each with an ugly story to tell.
Bipolar is just
so
hard
to deal
with,
(sometimes).

So I’ll tell you why I write.
I write because I’m the protagonist of my own stories.
I write because in my stories, I solve the problems that invariably creep up between people and I
In the most heroic ways possible
I write because in my world,
Not every rainbow ends in a *** of gold
But sliding across its multicolour will be the happiest memory in your mind
I write because my stories are clouds that do have real silver linings
I write because 3 am is time for chai, and childhood stories
Impromptu bike rides to greet the sleeping night
But all I can do is write.
I write because I’m angry and frustrated but
you asked me not to turn my anguish onto my body
and leave battle scars for the world to question -
so I write instead.
I write because sometimes,
the tumult in my head comes from
words that are struggling to spill forth from my brain
and stain empty pages with their loud meaning.
I write because
Writing is the only way I have to make sense
of this messy world we live in.