#spills
these are the nights, the late hours
relentlessly dripping into flawed poetries
pondering about love and scratching old scars.
IA ☕
Jan 13, 2021
Jan 13, 2021 at 11:31 AM UTC
She sat straight and suave by the bar counter. Her brown, wavy hair
curved along her delicate waist. Her long and manicured fingers gently
held her glass of whiskey and she took sips from it, gazing off into space.
She likened the least bit of a celebrated model with high fashion looks or
one of a potential bud waiting to be found, but she was beauty
unfathomable. So intricately built was her face, that the matted lipstick
on her full lips felt honored within its contours and peaks and the
eyeliner sought delight in adding a magical depth to her dark brown
eyes.
But she sat there alone.
She was the only glowing light in the dimly lit bar, in the form of an
alluring pulchritude, but neither did she have any man flocking within
inches of her nor any woman as company.
“Sameer! 10 o’clock! In white. God, she’s a stunner!”, Ishaan remarked.
“Not now, Ish. I need to send this e-mail to Jeff right now. Gotta impress
that American and lock my possibility of a promotion.” said Sameer
typing his e-mail with one hand and sipping his beer from another.
“Then, we are off from here. Too tired to flirt tonight.”, Sameer
responded in an unvarying tone.
“I don’t know, man. There’s something about her. Who knows, she’d
probably be far better than that chick you wooed last week.”, Ishaan
laughed as he said.
“The one who cuddled her teddy bear at the end of the night? I felt done,
dude.”, Sameer sighed and continued tapping on his keypad.
A few minutes later, Sameer veered his head off his smartphone and
looked at the direction his friend had been pointing at with a curious
expression only a man could produce.
She sat there smiling at a group singing the Happy Birthday song aloud
for their friend, clanging their beer bottles with each other’s and
bellowing cheers.
Whilst Sameer sat there staring. She was one of the most beautiful
woman he had ever seen. Although, he realised he had associated himself
with that statement before, but tonight, this woman raised the bar high.
Almost as if struck by an intuition, she turned towards Sameer and their
eyes locked for a few seconds before she let go with an innocent smile
that almost seemed to ****** him.
She continued to drink her glass of spirit and engaged herself in a small
talk with the bartender.
“Hey, um Ishaan?”
“Yeah?”
“Let’s go. Gulp your beer down, I’ll be waiting in the car.”, Sameer took
one last look at that bedazzling woman and walked out of the bar with a
heavy sigh.
“You’re funny. A guy like you lets go of a girl who looked so worth the
attention which you give to all the other stupid advances out there.
Lame.”, Ishaan shook his head and almost looked disappointed.
“Well, you should’ve given your shot, if you felt I was being an *** in
there.”, Sameer pulled the car off the parking lot.
“I don’t think I could have, actually. I could have, but I don’t think I
could have, you know.”
“What do you mean?”
“You can’t deny it but she was fiercely intimidating.”
Sameer looked at Ishaan and smiled.
Watching the man leave the bar, she drank the last sip from her glass,
placed it on the counter with a faint thud, sighed and eventually smiled,
tucking the flick of her hair behind her ear.
Oct 29, 2018
Oct 29, 2018 at 1:14 PM UTC
Feelings overflowing and spilling out of the fountain.
It warms me, to know you care so deeply.
I'm sorry.
My tears may spill like raindrops,
But I will lay down my flesh time and time again,
Until every inch of me is littered with scars;
And I'm sinking beneath the waves of worry, ache, and sadness.
If it means I can one day find someone,
Who feels the same as me,
Then I will die a thousand times.
Nov 16, 2018
Nov 16, 2018 at 8:10 PM UTC
Everyone tells you it's simple
to get over a spill of depression.
That's what they think it is.
A
Spill,
but it's more than that.
A spill ruins what's around it,
the liquid often stains the
surface where the initial spill
happened, but emotions
such as depression can not
simply be summed up into
such a simple solution.
They tell you it can.
They tell you it'll get better.
They offer up the reprieve of a
swift conversation to make 'you'
feel better, but it's not entirely
the truth.
Such a conversation is offered up
at your expense.
They want to not feel neglectful.
A feeling of that magnitude would
weigh too heavily on their
conscious.
So, they tell you to get better.
They tell you another day
is a day to turn around, to smile,
to he thankful, but it's not that simple is it?
Should it be?
They tell me it should be,
but how can I believe them
when my body rejects such a sentiment.
My mind detests those words
because such a powerful mechanism
knows the truth.
It isn't a spill.
My body harbors depression,
letting it leak into my mind,
my thoughts, my actions, and
my knowledge.
It shatters away at the tethers
of happiness I have,
leaving them practically
bare and decrepit by the time
the process of joyful
malnutrition departs from
my system.
The system that they say
will get better.
They offer advice,
but no solution.
They act is if they know,
but have no experience.
Spills.
Can joy be considered a spill?
Can sorrow be considered a spill?
Can hate be considered a spill?
Spills are temporary.
They are overflowing,
lapping away at the sides of
the fixture holding it in.
Spills can be taken care of,
they can be forgotten, but
depression can not, and yet,
they treat it as if it's a simple
emotion, but it's far more complex.
It
Is
Not
A
Spill.
Feb 23, 2018
Feb 23, 2018 at 7:53 PM UTC
This building is so new, and yet there are already
spills on the ceiling.
How could something so pure, so full of potential, have
spills on the ceiling?
This baffles me.
If the people inside wanted to ruin the beauty and the goodness of this place, they would spill on the floor, the carpet, or even the walls but they would never
spill on the ceiling.
How could this happen?
We did nothing wrong!
These
spills on the ceiling
are staring me down, daring me to run, to give up.
But I will stand my ground
because I know that
Someday,
these
spills on the ceiling
will come crashing down. And though it will hurt, there will finally be a way out, through the hole that appeared where the
spills on the ceiling
had been.
And we can run away, where the spills can never
hurt us
again.
Feb 1, 2016
Feb 1, 2016 at 10:54 PM UTC