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Nov 28 · 11
Juhi Nov 28
all this blackness and sticky fear
until my sides wear thin and I
feel nothing more than a paltry
whisper of something near and dear
until the skies implode, I feel
nothing and everything, until
all that is clear is cloudy

and then each walk and promenade
reveals itself
and while old and withered
amongst the banks
of the Seine: and while a book rustles
and the children play,
a future stretched out in front of me
cat like, limbs akimbo

I want peace
and I want no part in this
anymore - what's the point?
there's a point, I assure myself
and then I stretch thin again
and start back at square one
with a plastic body and a head
full of too many odds and ends
and no thread to pull it all together
Nov 28 · 11
Juhi Nov 28
you know
until the world turns over
flipping like the coin it is
and what was once done
becomes undone
I think I won't ever forget
the chance I missed
and the useless errands
I would run

I think
that my place in the universe
is convoluted - just what do I
want to get done?
will I ever
balance with the disorder
and become a part
of the sum?

I might
float endlessly, a large
speck of dust immobile
held suspended
by the fear of the unknown
I might never find
peace or normalcy
but I don't know what those
feel like
(and hence,
nothing lost or found)

be lost,
is what they say
and then find your way
amongst all strange things
and amid all the oddities
suspended agape
in fear and all its commonalities
Oct 28 · 84
Juhi Oct 28
the limit to what I say
around and when I lay
in what seems like
my seventh grave; I have
many lives
to keep, and many scores
over which I weep
until each music note
becomes one elongated scream
pulled out piano wires
baring guts like a burst seam
whiling away time as if
this is the eighth dream:
each sonder and sundry
under the tips of my fingers, god is

just out of reach, six armed swordsman
feet, sixth life just spent and beat
as if I require murderous intent, to be
a swordsman, like god
omnipresent lines(I see them!) and then
vocation slipping between my
rigid fingers: when will
my time finally come? and when
will god slow down for this
mere mortal? it seems that
only time will tell
Oct 7 · 31
Juhi Oct 7
swim seams in cluttered
dreams, god in between
the light beams - no space
unkept by him, full to the
edges of the fabric
a carefully calculated scream
manipulated daydreams

all the bars are full at ten
past or before ten, sloshed
clocks, someone spiked
the punch again
("aren't we in a bar?")
I thought we left this place
a long time ago, but it's ten past ten

trying to remove a face
from a head, failing miserably
it's such a mess
the subject of my adorations
because I made too much of a mess
switching my own face in the progress
(I felt too mean
to leave him with nothing)
(and now, it seems,
I've been left with nothing)

I won't even see him again?
ten past ten, only in my delusions
do I think I can
warp ten past ten
to ten past nothing

it seems that
I want everything, god
I want everything
Sep 27 · 36
Juhi Sep 27
at times I do agree
to the things you say
about you and me - at times
I agree
until nothing at all
comes undone
knots having been burnt
by the zany boiling suns

at times I think
that each word crawling
underneath the seams
is worth eating
and each promise I steal
tastes like melting butter
and steel beams

at times the iron
builds up in my core
and I can divulge no more
at times, there is no time
for some reason
you control my reality as a whole
and when my world starts to crumble
you simply press reset
so things go back to the old way
where I would agree with you,
again and again
Sep 20 · 52
sweet soft
Juhi Sep 20
I can get away with anything at all
with just a purse of lips
and then something happens
to the people around me:
I cause mass extinction
of morality, black and deep cracks
breaking society's porcelain skin
shower curtain face split open
and veiny, fabric hearts
separating like liquorice strings
when I disassemble people
I can feel their golden
odd little hearts
in my hands
and when the time comes again
it makes me slightly more glad
to hold something broken
that is meant to last
Sep 15 · 113
one night
Juhi Sep 15
half moon, melting smile
all serene and
screaming limerence;
at times I feel my body
responding in kind
at times, at night, in the darkest moments
car lights travelling up the wall
incense turns into hallucinogens
body composition changes
arm and leg being replaced
with the frame of my bed
skin nowhere to be seen
eyes craving to rip the seams
and my mind?
deep underneath
the throes of need.
Sep 15 · 59
Juhi Sep 15
wretched self consciousness
the curse of thinking, the curse of
cursing the ignorant
heads floating over my shoulder
and then I wonder
why I spend so much time
worrying twice
head split in two
melon guts spilling out, because
to the ignorant
the mind is no better
the mind is simply matter
and then
all I do is absorb
the light that dapples over the window frames
that is all.
Sep 14 · 63
Juhi Sep 14
hazy hazy
never alone
going crazy
lack of punctuation
against the line of clothing seams;
until death again
we part constantly

I never did give you a name
traipsing clean streams
we can do it all over again
the soul doesn't lose a body
and the body doesn't really
stay, anyway

cropped close, clothing
shed while leaving the
and all I think is:
I can never get rid of you, can I?
what do you do when you both want and detest the idea of being with someone? guess we'll never really know.
Aug 14 · 109
Juhi Aug 14
oxygen is an after thought
preceding blood pumping
and following hand in hand with
checking the encyclopedia
for symptoms

with crossed legs, you tell me
somewhat callously, about
a certain something eating you away
where's the encyclopedia when you need it?
what illness has the symptoms of
heartburn, but without the burn
and the heart? and since when did
you start thinking that
oxygen was an after thought?

blood pumping
peering over the blue, eye searing screen
why not start with blood pumping? so
you try to get rid of the heartburn, but with
no heart and no burn
by pouring so much **** blood into
every fibre of your being
getting curb stomped by random joes
staring at sidewalk petals as they wilt
(iron overdose)

nose dislocated, blood is fine
remember, oxygen is an after thought
but only to me
and the encyclopedia says that
it's a good thing to breathe
so then(and this is starting
to sound like a children's story)
you say a slightly regretful sorry
and **** up the oxygen like
you had placed it in your worry
world bending over to support your
pore filled form
and none left for me
because I treat patients
in too much of a hurry.
Aug 11 · 141
Juhi Aug 11
something chasing after me, saltine
biscuits trailing my feet, salty tears soaking
them through their flaky meat, lotus dreams and
finite weeks, never running away from time, instead
waiting for it to catch up to our heels and
leave crumbs behind

time was sluggish and easy when I took it into my arms,
pliant when I bent it around my arms, hula hooping
lifting me to the tips of my feet, time knew me
better than the parents I’ll never meet,
dusty paths and soles of feet pattering on
sizzling concrete

time tells me that I should have been a runaway
ennui says I’m ***** souled and
listless and too far away
sugar in gas tanks and fingers plugged in ears kind of thing
chasing cheap thrills to kingdom come
until the moon is a gleam of white and
mixes and melds with the lines of
empty candle wicks

pop bottles popping off, night breezes, a kiss under palm trees
(ennui uplifted momentarily)
southern Arizona and cool synths, runaway dream
onomatopoeia making a home in our daydreams
furtive eyes seeking to find God, but
reality crashing down around me
Aug 11 · 45
Juhi Aug 11
it takes me back to this certain,
particular time
blue flames crawling up the wall
boy sitting in the centre of them all
clothes lined with soot and nothing
in his pitch black eyes

a tongue darting out
to wetten his lips
but what's the point? when
everything's on fire? maybe
for him
it's as normal as nothing

blood red brick walls
eyes making contact to rival them all
the start of something: usually, one
finds a spark to light their ambitions
but what does one do with
a fire presented to them?

at the words directed to him,
he perked up
soot flying around him like
masquering, ill informed snowflakes
settling on his face like freckles
and then began the start of my own
self immolation
Aug 7 · 27
mountains to come
Juhi Aug 7
with resounding bitterness,
I proclaim, stuck in this meddling prison,
I see mournfully
glass box lines
shaved sparks lying on the inside
at times I pause and
submit, because
what else is there to do?
in this glass box whimsical thing

two emotions vying at my psyche
wrong words pouring out
of the fountainhead that has
replaced my own head
fingers pointed to where I should go
roads pointing over the tired, tried and true
gravel sticking to my feet
pain shooting up where it isn't supposed to be
Aug 7 · 38
Juhi Aug 7
at times I truly wonder
eyes roaming the sealed dome
mouth full of tricks
if a god really does exist
the pinprick differences I feel in the air
subtle changes
heightening my sense, if not for better
or for worse?
light, at times,
seems like something I can hold
like a ribbon
and in those moments
whether my own perception
controls it, or something else:
"whether a god exists"
what a strange question.
Aug 2 · 37
Juhi Aug 2
grasped rarely, her hands
wrinkled and falling apart at the seams
move briskly as she walks
and when she waltzes, they seem to
die like dove wings
only to reincarnate into something
more removed from reality
when she moves them as she talks

isn't it strange? how I wish I had those hands
each vein replicated
in an effort to capture the quality that
perhaps something like me
can be used and worn in as time chugs along
instead of looking young and unscathed
instead of grasping themselves
instead of being more fleshy than a
home grown peach: let me have this.
Juhi Aug 2
busted open, boring and lazy
sometimes, occasionally, rarely, maybe
I think I'm going crazy
but in a lacklustre kind of way
without zeal, a wet firework display
smoke and steam splaying itself into
tiny fragments. an awful scent left behind,
like petrichor but poisonous, angry clouds
making noise for the sake of it. nature
pales me in comparison to others;
occasionally, rarely, maybe
perhaps sometimes
it snatches the words out of my mouth
and places them in some
newfound place in my brain
rarely, occasionally,
it fills my spine with cold river currents
sometimes, maybe
I feel my body shift and tumble
replaced in parts like an old car
and rarely, but sometimes on occasion, maybe
I look down at myself and don't see myself at all.
Aug 2 · 33
Juhi Aug 2
occasionally at night, I
traverse into the thoughts in my mind
occasionally, sometimes, I
leave my body to enter other times
occasionally, but actually rarely, I
cloud my head with thoughts that
keep me up at night
occasionally, unrelatedly, I.
Aug 2 · 94
sometimes I let go,
Juhi Aug 2
and I mean to create a story:
softly but not kept tight
book bound at night under candlelight
hands quivering as they hover over each page
and I meant to create a story:
that shuffled each length of every parable and allegory
philosophers gazing in every pore and hole,
minds swimming in worry
termites burrowing through the sea,
white pages blooming into me
and I created a story:
nothing for others to see
full of holes and spots and too many
unsiphoned, unending untruths in each seam
words flowing over and out of my hands
trepidation shutting it closed
putting it back underhand
Aug 2 · 101
ennui times three
Juhi Aug 2
hello? relative listlessness says
greeting myself and my other selves
bringing them together with twine
and setting it alight

anyone? clouds of words siphoned underneath
my feet, too many eyes that I find myself, strangely,
unable to meet
alone and afloat, submerged in the sea
simultaneously sinking and floating in
groups of threes
matching my heartbeat
making my mouth sweet

there? the ocean bed I never expected to see
nothing in my line of sight, so perhaps,
there wasn't really anything ever to see
voice bounds off into the periphery
between the boundary of things I try to meet
but can never reach
Jul 28 · 288
Juhi Jul 28
latent energy I wish I had: cold hands
stick to themselves in subzero, sticky with
regret and stagnancy: too many stags running about
harbingers of doom and gloom
eden's garden disintegrating at the sight of
the new bloom: wind beating in my eyes
turning around trees and warping leaves
train stations leading nowhere
thoughts compressed into bullets
and backwards thinking: could you tell me where we are, please?

— The End —