i'm sitting in this car and for some reason i can feel my heartbeat
throbbing in my back,
i think of the last time i thought about you, and how
i wanted to die because i can't be with you; how
melodramatic and filled with these unavoidable clichés
i am

i love
you, tenderly
         totally
         tragically.

my window rolled down, and the weather is dry
as my eyes in this night
but it should be monsooning because
inside, my heart is a river and i'm just trying
to stay afloat.

i'll never look at my hands the same way again,
not after i saw the way they looked interlocked with yours
and my fingers are tainted by your lips, the way
you kissed them so gently and told me
they were beautiful.

i see things that remind me of you
- stripes, for example - and
i have to stop for a moment
because i'm shuddering under a crashing wave
of you, you, you,

smilelipsteethtongueeyeshairvoicehandssoftroughmeyou
my mind doesn't hold memories; it holds moments of
perfection, and
you are my perfect moment.

"I try."
"You don't have to."

It’s nice to feel
    Not-so-alone, although
        My friend, you don’t
             Quite know it yet
                   And I cannot tell
So for now I’m alone
    With only the thought of you
         Of you to count, and keep me

I want to hit it hard, not romanticize about the blood ya feel me?
As you read that first line,
when you cross over to the second,
your nose will start to bleed just before my fist connects with your face.
I often dream about it, being feared.
The only reason that you're on the ground is because I put you there.
Quite frankly I'm fearful of myself.
My throat still holds the ache of the alcohol going down.
I swear to you I'm doing better.
I swear.

I can't swear in this house hold so I will talk so quickly creating run on sentences without punctuation or breath because I'm panicking over nothing in particular.

******.

Add some shakes to your vocabulary and you've got it right.
My medication puts stray dogs under my finger nails, that's ok because dogs are happiness.
That's supposed to mean I'm happy.

I made myself write this, its horrifyingly scattered just like my head.

That's not right.
That's wrong.
Something is terribly wrong so I must fix it.

That's what I do,
I fix.
I'll just look at this as art.
Some persons trash is another ones treasure.

I'm too scared to write anymore.


This is garbage.

Is it normal to think, just because my head is aching, maybe just maybe there could be some blood that's not ment to be there or a tumor or maybe its cancer. The head ache will always go away.
Is it okay to pick at my freckles until my nails are filled with skin? A scar can cover any blemish I've learned.
Is it odd that I hear voices in my head and im convinced I have schizophrenia but I've figured out it's just me myself and I trying to get my two cents in, or maybe it's just cancer. I always end up finding myself talking to just one person at the end of the day.
Do you think its weird that I have it planned out perfectly for when the Koreans come? I practice fighting in my head until I fall asleep. I know they're coming so we're all ok.
Would you leave if you knew I diagnosed your family?

Inspiration please come to me,
I will lose it if you don't come to me
I wonder is it cause I hold the wrong company,
that makes sense that's why you run from me

Don't make me chase.... I hate to race but if that's the case I'll win first place
Inspiration do you hear me,
I said first place!!

I think you should really fear me
but if not that's seriously okay,
Someone just help me!
Who the hell do I have to pay  

-V.v.V. Ds

I wasn’t born to write
With every bent petal,
and every fallen leaf,
my ma’s sweet kisses
And papa’s gentle smile
I learned to write

A five year old me was once fascinated
by the loop of an ‘e’
and the playful swing of an ‘m’,
The wide smile of a ‘d’ delighted me
Words were powerful and mesmerising,
now they lie discarded and ignored
in broken stanzas of self proclaimed irrelevance

I watch the black ugly marks
That taints countless sheets of paper
They surround me in a sea of ink
That once flowed carefully and slowly
A thousand thoughts with each single word
Drained lies my mind, my breath’s not a whisper but a plea
My heart pumps blood not ink, I’m not a poet, it says
Incoherent scribblings mock me with their existence

As a child, confined spaces scared me
But now, a confined mind petrifies me with just a glimpse
A pen stays gripped in my hand
I wonder what it fears more
My inability to let the ink flow coherently
Or my arrogant ramblings, regardless
And fearless of consequences
While I stumble on disjointed verses

A paper aeroplane is my best accomplishment
In my two hour search for freedom and thought
Who cares for pretty words and mystifying couplets?
When the idea of a paper boat seems much more exciting

-പ്രിയാന്ഷി ദാസ്‌