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Sasha Ranganath Mar 2019
you're gone and the wreckage ensues
you're gone and the heartache continues
you're gone and you're never coming back
i miss you.

because when you're dying,
your body is tired of fighting for
you,
fighting with
you.

the internal monologue is coming
to an end now
it's getting dark now
eyes closing now
mind quiet now.

still
life
no
life

broken whispers,
shivers

i have to go now

i have to go now

i have to go now
Sasha Ranganath Dec 2018
a handful of air separates us,
and i'm trying to bottoms up the nerves.
there's no prelude, no warning -
i'm just a sober drunk.

it's been two thousand days since i felt this way,
and i don't know what to do,
because i always **** it up.
do i force it to go away?
or do i let it stay
a while?

what can i say that'll wash my anxieties away?
maybe you'll say something, but can i wait?
can i wait until the waves are up to my head?
can i bear the weight of uncertainty?
can i withstand handful after handful of air
until there's only a pinch of it left?
can my eyes stay open every time you glow so bright?
can i keep my lips from trembling every time you're near?
can i stop my mind from going hazy?
and can i judge the intensity of things are they too fast are they too slow too much too less too much talking too much rambling too much waiting too much hoping too much too much too much.

maybe i can't.
and maybe you can't either
wrote something i really felt, after nearly a whole year.
Sasha Ranganath Feb 2018
I have never had a valentine.
Yes, I had that one guy, that one time
But to him, it was just a
A valenti---- don't really love you kinda love.
A valenti---- wish it wasn't you kinda love.
And to me, it was a
Valenti---- really don't think I'm straight kinda love.
Valenti---- am SO uncomfortable, get me outta here kinda love.

I have never had a valentine,
Yes, I had that one girl, that one time,
But we were miles away from each other.
4,483 to be exact.
With her I felt great
For a while
Like a candle
At the end of its life
You can see the waltzing flame meet the quiet of night
Midnight
Should I stay up kinda night
Skype call kinda night
I love you but... I gotta go... kinda night.

I have never had a Valentine
And it's not because he didn't care enough
Or she wasn't close enough.
I've never had a Valentine because I'm either too much or just not enough
I'm insecure, so insecure of the way I talk, the way I walk, the way these two strands of hair stick out, the way this one tooth just doesn't stay in line, the child inside me made entirely of antidepressants and fries, the truths, the lies, the incessant goodbyes.
I've never had a Valentine and I'm lonely
As hell
I'm so lonely I'll fall in love before you blink,
I'll pick you up when you're standing still,
I'll spin you around like I finally made up my mind to do the laundry
I'll kiss you good morning and I'll kiss you goodnight
Tonight
Tomorrow
Maybe forever.
You see this
is my problem.
This passion
This raging forest fire of emotions
This racing broken heart of haunted suspicions.
You aren't perfection
You're my perfection.
In my dictionary, your name is scrawled into the definition of every positive adjective, every beautiful noun, everything that's not a frown.

You see when I imagine my valentine, I see stars in the sky
As cliché as that sounds, I see stars in the sky and her nose perfectly aligning with the moonlight,
Her eyes slightly unsure whether to meet mine
Her lips lightly quivering with her gaze falling on mine
Her fingers slowly inching up to the tips of mine
Her smile faintly turning into a garden of lullabies
The place I go to mourn my goodbyes and watch the sun rise.
When I think of my Valentine,
I hear her laugh turning into a snort, laughing even louder, her cheeks turning red, tears in her eyes.
And I laugh along, falling in love with every crinkle by her eyes, just hoping she's not dying inside.
Just hoping she's not just pretending to love me tonight. Praying she believes we're more than just alright.

I've never had a Valentine,
But I'm hoping
I'm really ******* hoping
Somewhere in this crowd
I might have changed your mind.
Sasha Ranganath Jul 2017
im dead
but im dancing.
in a masquerade meant for mortals
im prancing.

adjusting to the ebb and flow
of the uncertain next moment
that engulfs the ocean floor
i stay on my toes
im trying to stay afloat.

the ocean swirls and froths
concocting brain juices
and camouflaging bruises.
the bruises left by unwanted visitors;
a mountain lion on the bed,
**** i left the window open again.

this neon demon nestles in my mind
it comes in flashes at 2:13
when the street lights are flickering
and the old street dog is limping.
it jerks me awake and says "hey there, how you doing"
i say "im fine" and turn to my side
"wont you stay for a drink?" it whispers
"n-no thanks" i stutter
"you look like you could use one" its voice grows louder
i stare in silence and feel it coming closer
"here" i receive a handful of whisky and shards
and with my bleeding fingers and tear-stained cheeks,
i take a sip.
it smiles viciously, "i hope you like it. i made it just for you"
i smile back with a shard making its way out.

im wiping the blood off my chin
im wiping the tears off my cheeks
im hollow but im trying
not to cave in.
"it's great" i take the last gulp.
"goodnight my love" it sinks back into its abode
now with a torn throat and mangled face
i make myself comfortable;
"goodnight" i whisper back.

and suddenly it's 7 am.
the wounds are gone
again
the mountain lion played its trick once more
and im left here all alone
detached
where is my head
i drink up the ocean anyway;
i'd rather lose my mind
than find it in shambles.
i'd rather it run away
than keep it in shackles.

you see
my mind isn't home to me.
im in a mangled mess of
a confused gender identity,
a fluid sexuality,
depression and anxiety,
panic attacks and sobriety,
juxtaposition and similarity,
emptiness and mortality,

and the neon demon inside of me.
i saw the movie neon demon and was very inspired
Sasha Ranganath Feb 2017
drifting in and out of wakefulness
feeling everything and nothing all at once
that lump in my throat
but i can’t cry

i shut my eyes and press against them my palms.
i see swivels and vanishing spirals,
i see everything and nothing all at once
and i’m begging for it not to stop.

i scream into a pillow leaving traces of saliva
i still can’t cry, i still just can’t cry.

my head hurts like a hundred fingers flicking at it
it tingles like ants crawling underneath.
it feels sunken like the titanic with all its people
and i’m jack in the freezing water.

my eyes heave and try fluttering shut
i say no, not now.

it’s strange how my brain is a different entity,
almost like a guest that is always “going to leave”
but ends up staying the whole time.

maybe if i slit my forehead open
the ants under my skin will stop
maybe my head will finally feel light
even though my hair has been gone for days.

dear disheveled mind,
*******.
Sasha Ranganath Feb 2017
black can be two things:
nothing
or everything.
black can tell you stories
or stare at you in silence.
black can be the depths of hell
or the limitless universe.
you can get lost in its darkness
or be found in its unparalleled dimensions.

black can be cold and idle
or etch an agonizing fire in your heart.
it can invite you for dinner
or devour you whole.
you can hear your blood rushing in its quiet
or be haunted by the resident banshee.

you can fall in love under the swirls of black ink when your tears touch the wet brush strokes
and you can lose yourself in the intricacy of her black pupils at midnight under the moon.
but you can also look death in the eyes and submit yourself to it
you can feel your heart blackening with the poison of heartbreak and grief.
you can feel the raging sun and the crumbling constellations if you close your eyes hard enough.
thunder jolts through your body like lightning on live wire
intensity builds up leaving  you breathless but begging for more.

black can be the moment you took your first breath
and black can be the moment you take your last.
Sasha Ranganath Feb 2017
screaming at the top of my lungs won’t help anymore
because i’m always going to return to a home
which waits for me in a spectrum of disappointments and crises.

what good is a blade to the arm going to do
when blood won’t erase the permanent scars that already exist
and my ears ring with screams of my abandoned past.

i believed i could indulge in trustfall
but that only made my trust fall
even further down the vortex
of mistake after mistake after mistake
am i incorrigible.

am i incorrigible i ask my reflection in the mirror
and the mirror breaks.
it crumbles, shatters and breaks
and tells me to go away.

another year of existence goes by
my existence that’s caught in a cobweb of broken promises
and hands that were let go of.
“happy birthday”
congratulations, you’ve lived to see another day.

you’ve lived to see another day but in what way
in what way will you move
in what way will you rescue yourself
from love across continents,
four thousand four hundred and eighty three miles away
how will you save yourself from drowning
in the width between your stretching fingers and the blade
how will you stop hurting yourself
by assuming responsibility and clinging on to false longevity.
you cross your own limits too ******* often
too ******* often to even notice that the line exists.

take a ******* break
you don’t need to keep polishing
your heart of gold
you don’t need to keep ripping
your sanity apart for a couple of approving nods
you don’t need to say yes to everything
you see because you need to be free,
you are not in a pod
and you are not a pea.

you’re hearing voices, noises
uncontrollable, you’re not okay
and that’s okay.
but how do i survive
when the one i love
can’t even look me in the eyes
and say it’ll be fine
how can i live in peace
when time moves so ******* slowly
and the me that loved the sunlight
is craving for long nights
that dim light in the corner
is the closest i'll ever get
to loving the sunrise.
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