I lost a friend last night
because my poems are too dark.
She said they scare her,
and make her cry.
She said she can feel me slipping
with each verse,
and that she'd enjoy them
if they were written by a stranger
she never loved.

She said she feels her heart going out to me
but she had to pull it back
because she needs to keep it
for herself,
so she can see though her own issues.

No one ever stays
because once they see me naked
of my walls
they stare into my sheltered world
and see things that would make even the Earth
cringe.

It's too late to destroy it,
because my thoughts have evolved
into a race of beings
far more powerful than myself.
They'll be the death of me,
but their empires will stand
long after I'm gone, before my time.

But every once and a while
I can hear one or two of them praying
to me,
begging for me to bring peace to this world inside my head
that I have no control over.
They don't realize
that I'm not a god,
and that their whole existence is nothing
but the product of years of abuse
from a universe they cant comprehend,
that I can't comprehend.

So I sit nailed to the couch, suffering for their sins
while pointlessly checking my phone
for a text from that friend that says
“I'm sorry”

I took a walk today
and listened to the birds
choking on the smog,
broke my mother's back
with every step
and outran a stray dog.
I picked you a bouquet
of dandelions from the field
because flowers can't grow
when the sun's always concealed.
I put them in a vase
and filled it with water from the tap
they died within an hour,
now I know for sure you won't come back.
I always swore
I'd never own a broken home
but it's hard not to when the only one's who stay
are the garden gnomes —
but someone's been smashing them
in the middle of the night,
or maybe they're blowing out their brains
to escape my company
and the blight.
There's no magic left
in this city, so chronically gray
storms are always passing though
and the rainbows are too scared to stay...
I wanted to run away with you
from the hood and past the burbs
to somewhere where the air is clean
and filled with singing birds.
But instead I'm stuck here on this couch,
microwaving Ramen
while I search for words.

Hieroglyphs on my ancient soul
foretell the end of me,
they say I'll die by my own hand
when I’ve reached god status
and every knee has knelt
before me
and I have nothing left
to achieve.
This prophecy has been written
on me for many lives
each ended by a pill,
bullet, or brilliance  —
I can feel it.  
My fingers are my slaves
who type a pyramid of words
that'll hide my body
in a maze of *****-trapped metaphors
that no thief
would ever dare explore.
So shut me away
with my mummified poetry
so the gods in the next life
will worship me.
Let me hold the empty orange bottle
like a rosary in chalky hands
folded stiff
into forced prayer.
Let me rot away
and be forgotten
while my poetic pyramids
stand for thousands of years
in the sun.
Let tourists stand under their shadows
in awe
while my bones turn slowly
to dust
somewhere deep in the chambers
of their brilliance.

I was detached
so I could wander
hand in hand with the wind.
Who am I now?
I feel so frail
and my flowers are long gone.
“Look what I've become”
I say to no one
as the buzzards cry.
Their shadows circle me
like dark moons in a galaxy
starving for life —
am I not alive?

I've never seen flesh
that was still carrying a soul,
but the wind tells me stories
of slinking through their hair
when the world was young —
I can smell their skin on its breath,
its breath that’s carried me
to the edge of the earth a thousand times
to find only stars
that those ancient, mysterious people worshiped
before I was even a seed.

Am I qualified to pray
to those stars that have lead us
to a thousand sunrises?
Will they even hear me
with this voice that is only a rustle
across rocks and dirt,
this voice that is literally nothing but a ...

my soul who shapes the clouds
who possess my dry body, and countless others all at once
interrupts me
and whispers yes.

I smell the gods in its voice now.

The painkillers in my pocket rattle
with each step
toward the unreachable moon
in strange harmony
with the untainted snow
crunching
beneath my feet.

Two or three
aren't enough to numb me
anymore,
no longer enough
to shut my brain off
for a little bit...
to quiet these thoughts
that stalk me
and whisper
how no one would find me
if I just lay here
on this nameless road
with a mouth full of pills,
face to the stars,
and die in the arms
of a snow angel
who'll carry me away to a heaven
I only believe in when I'm high.

I squeeze the bottle in my pocket
almost to the point of crushing it
as I turn away from the wind
and look back at the light of
my grandpa's cottage
drawing my attention
away from my midnight daydream
and the moon
that hangs like a sliver bullet
stained with the blood of monsters
from my mind.

How many times
have I walked this path high
praying to God's gleaming eye
for death,
as it winks slowly
with darkness
as if indicating something
beyond my comprehension...

All I know is
the cottage is warm
and I should go back.

The chase ends
when you stop running
from yourself.

She informed that there are no rules in this game…
I’ll be the chaser and she’ll play my aim…
She said I’ll find her at the exit of this maze…
After seconds, hours or million and one days…

I thought a lot and contemplated…
Her charm and hallow predominated…
She said that I could have her forever…
And that became my only endeavor…

There were two paths towards the left and right…
The mirrors on the walls were gleaming bright…
Each one of them had her reflection…
I took a while to make a selection…

This maze was a very tricky one…
My task I thought had just begun…
It had twisted turns and walls so high…
There was no one to hear me or reply…

Then there were times I met a few other men…
We fought for her most often…
She was all I desired for…
All’s fair in love and war…
Leaping the hurdles became a colossal task…
But fortitude touched the brim of my cask …
I fought my battles like The Samurai’s…
Made more foes than allies…

I constantly looked out for a short cut…
Few doors opened and rest remained shut…
I walked and walked as fast as I could…
Crossed rivers, valleys and the woods…

It got really dark, lonely and cold…
But I decided not to withhold…
What would they say if I now resign…
And if I won then she would be mine…

The sky turned coral and the birds sang a song…
I could see her waiting and couldn’t prolong…
But wait… this is the place where we parted…
I was standing right there from where I started…

I grabbed her in my arms and planted a kiss…
And she reciprocated without amiss…
Like children we guffawed together she and I…
I lived my life again, in the twinkling of an eye…
The game was over and I looked at her…
She stood by my side, my past began to blur…
But where did she come from and what was her name...
Like an enchanted temptress she began to proclaim…

My name is happiness and I am hard to keep…
But if you want me I am dirt cheap…
You hastened inside to lead life without a clue…
Exit was where I stood, right beside you…

You chose to enter in pursuit of me…
Leaving me behind when I stood next to thee…
I am not a trophy or a reward for any game…
Neither a picture that you can photo frame…

I am a feeling, a desire and the madness in love…
I am in freedom, in patience and in letting go of…
Don’t run after me, I'm omnipresent…
Just learn to live, laugh and love to your heart’s content…

~Kathaa Kirti~

After your death
I'm rummaging through the drawers
for your bottle of Vicodin
hoping your ghost
isn't watching.

Why can I never stay clean?
Is it because I'm weak?
I see myself like your husband
in 20 years
a tired young drunk
sick of feeling old,
who died before his grandchildren
were even born.

I hear footsteps in the kitchen
and wonder if it's you
hiding them from me —
but I hear lots of things
when the floor beneath me
crumbles
and I'm left dangling
from my barbed sanity
with ****** hands.

I swore I'd keep it locked away,
this heirloom of addiction,
but right now I need to hold it
and feel it
because I miss you
and I'm not strong enough to accept the fact
that you're gone
just yet.

So far this is the only moment
I've told myself you're not here,
when I find and swallow the last
three pills
that couldn't stop your pain,
then wash them down with gin
that wasn't enough
to stop mine.