and she wrote poetry
listening to the moonbeams crash at her feet
while the stars exploded and died before her eyes.

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.

if i were a poem,
i would wallpaper
the walls of your heart
with my words;
that way,
every time your heart beats,
you’ll hear me sigh;
i love you.

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

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

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.

dear twenty-year old me,
the storm in your head will settle and
the debris will remain down for a few minutes longer this time.
(and then you'll learn to hold down fortresses in the
hurricanes, instead of being the ragdoll that
the torrents play tag with).

dear twenty-year old me,
there will be a moment when no amount of
poisonous smog clutching on the every molecule of breathable air
will be enough to block the clarity of the sun, the moon,
even the little stars that seemingly do nothing but give you a carpet
of diamonds to cut your feet on.

dear twenty-year old me,
this is a test. this is a phase. if life has taught me
anything, it is this -
it
always
goes
on.
**so should you.

maybe the fact that you know
(the truth)
is the reason you're staying away -
(please come back).

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

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

they say everything ends.
shall we prove them *wrong?

freedom, you wild thing
coursing through my bleeding veins
*pulling things apart.

and despite the hazy monsoon
in my eyes;
i plough on,
trying to write.

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.

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.

every day, speak a little less
reduce the number of words you say from half to
ten less, and then none at all.

Don't forget to be soft.
Kiss your mountaintop goodbye for
one last sunrise and descend
into the night
where it's quiet
like you should be.

one by one, pull back towards yourself
the orbs of energy you've left
bouncing around you in the
atmosphere.
be their chalice
one last time
and watch them burn out.

and when you're reduced to
dying ashes and deathly whispers
a strong voice will suddenly falter
and they wonder -
*didn't we once know a ... ?

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.

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.

there are too many hours of the day that I am awake for;
twenty-four is a number I have come to dread.
I hate that I'm rolling around for hours and hours,
watching the colours shift across the sky
from one agonising hour to the other
when I'm trapped in this body, this brain, this mind,
this me.

i hate the fact that an empty echoing house
is all that I have to come back to
and that my worst nightmares
are my every day realities;
just me, awake, all day, all night,
all alone in this ******* world.

i hate that the warm body and warmer soul I want to make love to
in whose arms I want to spend every night -
wants nothing but return to the comfort of his own bed,
leaving me to battle another ****** night
with the demons that devour my brain.

i hate that for every twenty seconds of sleep I sneakily ******,
i'm made to pay through weeks of wakefullness
that settles heavily into my muscles and my bones
leaving me aching and restless, making survival
a struggle and not a goal.
I hate this.
there are too many hours of the day that I am awake for -
**i want to be awake for none at all.

broke, scared, high, uncared - ******.
too in love with love to let him go.
hands ripping skin around fingernails to shreds.
contemplating the existence of religion and of ambition,
(remember they say work is worship,
your purpose you cannot shun).
fingernails scraping the desperate bones between which a beating heart once bled.
in the shadows of the darkness you see the past -
another second passed, time flying so fast, one cannot last.
treading tip-toe across a tightrope
stretched thin between your rising expectations
and his fla(il)ling patience.
nature’s infinite scream tearing through dimensions, leaving you haunted.
there’s a lot you hoped you’d never be in your twenties.

slow, shallow, low, hollow - stop.
diaphanous landscapes leaking into memory’s slippery crevasses.
no longer aware of the here and now.
battling desperately against reality’s sting.
questioning the bitter metallic aftertaste that punctuates
every seemingly-cheerful conversation.
self-worth slashed into strings of cynicism
hanging around a sorry neck.
inhaling air thick with the dregs of a life
suspended between conflicting timelines.
the past and present collide angrily to disfigure the future.
the past and present, two words that cease to exist in the future.
glassy eyes staring proudly at shattered crutches scattered around cut feet.
there's a lot you never thought you'd be in your twenties.

bold, bitter, brave, better - ready.
ready for the solitary walk,
a lifelong talk with only the voices in your head for company.
ready to dance to the vibrations that distort carefully laid plans.
ready to survive stormy seas on stormy nights
with no lighthouse waiting to shine on.
ready for what's incredible, what's impossible, what's magical;
only not for what's mechanical.
ready to face more no's and less yes's
no heroes and angry villains  
but carry on anyway.
ready to say yes when your ego says no,
ready to say yes when your brain says no;
never ready to say yes when the heart says no.
**there's a lot we've become in our twenties.

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.

a thousand years from now exists
a world that thrums purely on the energies of nature.
a thousand years from now exists
a world whose stories you now
create.

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.

1.
looks are blushes, the summer skies burning
across the curves of my cheeks;
something deep down inside stirs.

2.
'I want to get lost in the
mountains', you said, and i
immediately wanted to get lost
in your eyes.

3.
Electricity -
n.
that feeling of sudden power
coupled with the sting of vulnerability
that sets your nerves on edge
the first time he touches you.

4.
(the first time he touched me
i forgot what my hands
even felt before
they met his.
they struggled to let go)

5.
one day our eyes had
enough of waiting, our
hands got greedy for
naked flesh and we longed
for moremoremoremore.

6.
we never admitted it
not to each other, and
especially never to ourselves
but baby, you were my manna
and i, *the one who perhaps
could have.

7.
and to this day i have
not stopped longing
to wake up wrapped
around you, wrapped
in your arms,
iloveyou

lovelovelovelove
you.

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.