You’re like hot coffee on a hotter morning,
drinking in the details of every summer day
wishing you were here on unwritten postcards
from towns you promised you’d visit;
and all those little cafés we promised we’d go to
are all closing down and posting promise signs on their doors
that they’ll reopen soon.
You’re like out-of-date serotonin
and medication that I keep forgetting to take
telling me that it’ll make me better if I keep coming to appointments in my pyjamas
and visiting my house to tell me that everything will be okay
and I’m in my dressing gown mumbling along that sure, I’ll believe you,
can I go and finish my book now?
Neither of us spoke French,
but you used to call me ‘mon ange’,
and now I’m just an outdated postcard that you couldn’t even be bothered to turn over
and maybe I should speak to you in a language as dead as we are –
saying ‘please take me right here and now’ in Ancient Greek
but I’m Patroclus,
and yes, before you ask, I’d die for you.
Find the line that I drew and erase it
and boil the kettle for another cup of hot coffee
but leave the water stagnant and never pour one out for us;
I’ll go to a bar and drink whatever
and dance to whatever
and flirt with whoever
and go home alone.
And you’ll reply to me two days later
and we’ll talk meaningless talk
without a hint of French.
I’m not asking you to save me,
I’m just asking you to acknowledge that I exist,
that I’m alive at the same time as you;
I’m a pre-packaged bomb and you could set me off
if only you’d turn me on and let me burn.
And you’re hovering over the trigger
saying “not yet”
and I’m just waiting;
because we’re not dead yet
but there’s all the time in the world to fix that.
sun-starved flowers sit on the windowsill,
yellow daffodils wilt. petals litter
the turntable—balanced precariously beneath,
needle tilted and askew. a record spinning out of tune.
repeat. repeat the same refrain, a lyric
trapped and contained within a cage.
a melody at once profound, but it’s grown
harder to find the harmony now.
breathe in the decay, a forgotten bouquet
left alone and in the shade. a gift
better left behind, “the patient, cut-flower sound
of a man who’s waiting to die.”
And so she sat there,
watching the sun set fire
to the bright green trees,
feeling the window warm against her head,
as frizzy hair brushed her shoulders.
Music flowed through her earbuds,
the scent of orange bloomed
in the gently chattering bus.
Fridays couldn't be better,
and life was beautiful.
Too bad she'd have to leave it behind.
Screeching stung the lovely afternoon,
spinning, and spinning, and spinning.
A cocktail of chemicals rushing,
flushing out the floating happiness.
Black, and tears, and tragedy.
The most beautiful of souls had to pass before all others.
I've never been so sick as when I do not understand.
Evidence is of no value to you.
I don't care much for my thoughts so I'll bury them in sand,
And they'll be part of the raging sea,
And if we were to separate,
It'd be like splintering wood,
With my hate sprouting flowers as in Spring.
And while the bee may seem so lovely as a part of nature's plan,
It also tends to pack a nasty sting.
i was making observation on this
" what is death ? "
"what is the relation between death and life "
once i saw ship
when ship left the seashore and hardly could be seen
" it went "
i thought there would be a port on other side . and people will say
"it comes "
it is the name of death
"end of one old life , start of new life "
I'd die in my sleep just to dream again, breath again
I would lie to myself just to pretend that I could move on
Its only as hard as you think it is
Only around till the season ends, and I know
I wish I understood where I go
In the moments between, when I'm defined
A map of me, written down on a stereo
I've only got enough change, to make it somewhere close
Where do you want to go?
Days that bleed together come up so unclaimed
Rising out of nowhere
And falling just the same
Stretching out before me, I see sleepless nights
And a lifetime filled with pain
The storeroom full of daydreams is looking rather forced
I've used up every fantasy, and still I'm still staying the same course
But here comes the refrain
The mantra I try to entertain
Famine is a constant flame
That burns down to the core of man
And lets you understand
Just how this life will end
And there's no real way to win this game
I think i understand when people talk
Even when there's nothing good enough to say
Everybody's lonely on this road, and as we walk
They just want to stave off the silence
My heart is broken
My soul is torn
My spirit has woken
My body all worn
My bones have shattered
My eyes are closed
The vultures have gathered
The deads aroused
My heart now bleeds
My soul deliberately shivers
My spirit helplessly feeds
On the flowing rivers
I was hated by many
Loved by few
I never owed a penny
But who knew
I was stabbed in the heart
On a cold drizzling night
Awfully broken apart
No, I wasn't in a fight
Left to die with so much pain
My life in complete vain
Dragged in the stormy rain
And shoved in a clogged drain...