2:30AM* is for those who wake screaming
Those who lay with eyes wide open only thinking
That no one can hear them

2:30AM is for those who have lost hope
The insomniac who just choose to let go
Those so lonely that they teeter on decisions no one should know

2:30AM is those for those who try to put the pieces back together
The puzzles of their heart
Mismatched and out of place
Because all day you’ve hid how your puzzle continues to break

2:30AM are for those who are broken beyond repair
Too far gone to even care
They practice they’re smile
Put the stars in their eyes
Because tomorrow it’ll be time to put on show number 3,439
P.S it’s just one giant lie

2:30AM is not for those with their lives figured out
It’s for those people like me
Who feel as if they’re alone beyond belief
When really there’s an army out there who stand next to us in grief

...I hate *2:30AM

its 4:30 am...
im awake thinking, living, and breathing...
but somethings different..

my heart... its breaking,aching and shaking...
all because of a guy..

my minds racing, chasing, and raising..
all the problems of my life..

and im slowly fading, wasting, and breaking..
because i dont know who i am..

not anymore...



© Copyright Tyler Atherton

9:00pm: We hugged and chatted. Your sister joking with us, your brothers being silly. I love your siblings.

9:30pm: We went hunting for gear. Your dad helped us find sleeping mats and told us where to find some tarps.

10:00pm: We climbed onto the fort and made our beds. I swept the bugs and pine needles away. I remember thinking, I hate pine needles. Why Florida trees, why?

10:30pm: We made tea and got ready for bed. I love chamomile tea. Lots of sugar. Washing off my makeup was easy with your sister's fancy face wipes.

10:45pm: We climbed into our sleeping bags. I was warm. I love the plaid pattern of the sleeping bag I always use.

11:00pm: We ate snacks, drank tea, and talked. Poptarts are so good late at night. Better than in the morning. And the hot tea felt so good against the chilling breezes.

11:30pm: I turned off the flashlights. I liked it better that way. I like hearing only voices, not seeing the person. My hearing what they say feels amplified that way.

11:30pm: I laid on my back and realized how pretty the trees are. The sky was orange, oddly lit up more than normal for that time of night. Few clouds drifted in the sky.

12:00am: I poured the story out to you.

12:05am: I began watching the moon cross the sky. It was very orange and it moved faster than I imagined it would.

12:30am: I got a text.

1:00am: I proposed an adventure. I wanted to do something. I wanted not to have to think for a while. I like late night happenings. And I like not being alone.

1:15am: We got off our lazy butts and went to the garage. I started riding the ripstick. I picked it up right away and didn't fall which was new for me.

1:30am: You taught me how to longboard. It was fun, though I kept forgetting which way I would put my feet.

1:45am: We started riding bikes. I love your mom's bike. It's so smooth and easy to ride..but it clicks sometimes in weird ways. I liked the clicking too.

1:50am: ***** it, I didn't want to reply.

2:00am: We rode through the neighborhood. I love the houses in Naples..

2:05am: I fell in love with the night sky. It was beginning to look more like the normal dark blue rather than orange. The stars started to peek through better.

2:10am: The cold air made my blood rush. I was wearing such warm clothes, but the wind went straight through. I loved going fast, racing you. Speed is beautiful on a bike.

2:15am: I never wanted the night to end. I wanted to ride late at night forever.

2:35am: The silence was so beautiful. We would be quiet for short bits. I liked the pictures my mind created during that time.

2:40am: I wished I had his time stopping watch. I always wish I did.

2:45am: We started the ride home. My breathing got pretty rough. Cold air always hurts my lungs. But it was so worth it.

3:00am: We put the bikes away and crawled back into bed. I loved the fort so much..

3:10am: You fell asleep.

3:15am: The moon was higher in the sky. It was clear and white and full.  I could see it perfectly. Peeking through the trees. I fell asleep slowly. Loved it all.

it’s 3:30am
i can’t remember
the last time
i was up this late

it’s 3:30am
and he's crying
into my shoulder

it’s 3:30am
and i’m regretting
being honest

it’s been
almost five years
together
and i’m still
digging to find
the right words
and he’s still
apologizing
to me for the
fact that i

(for lack of
a better term)

am
sad

it was still
dark when i
got up
this morning

and it felt
correct
how it’s
supposed to be
when autumn
begins to fall

but i also felt
the inexorable knife of
seasonal affected disorder
begin to twist into my side

this is the
moment i
wrote about
years ago

where he learns
he can’t
fix me

this is the
reason we don’t
 talk about
mental illness

because what’s
normal to me in my
****** up brain
(the fact i just
randomly want to
die
or hurt myself at
infrequent intervals)
is distressing
to my loved ones

my reality is
his fear

i'm afraid of
the bottom
dropping out
when he realizes
continues daily
to realize

this is how
i always have
been and how
i always will be

because i'm
constantly
realizing this
and the floor is
constantly swaying
under my feet

but it's 3:30am
and he's crying
and i can't cry
when i've already
cried about all
of this before

living with the guilt
of hurting people
is just as bad as living
with the mental illness

7:30pm - I am crying. Wars are raging. Demons are coming. My soul is dying.

8:30pm - Try to resist a knife that sits. Pick up the phone, just so alone. Try to resist the urge that pursists.

9:30pm - Urges pursist, I finally cave in. Marks on my skin, wage a war thats within. Spirits are fighting, demons are crying. A soul is dying. Tempers are rising.

10:30pm - My heart is breaking. My temper is flaring. My thoughts are rising. A God I'm denying. I'm lost, chained, and bound. I'm tired of fighting.

11:30pm - Alone in night, along in day. My friends seem to walk away. Still I am trying. Is there any reason to living?

12:30am - Sleeping comes naught to that who is crying. A God who has ceased caring. Is there any life worth giving?

1:30am - Trying to write to someone so dear, but words alas, won't come near. I cry out for help, hoping a God will hear. Hoping someone might just be there.

2:30am - I walk to the garage, a shotgun awaits. I pick up the tool, to send me to my death. I look for the bullets, none can I find. I go to the house, to look for a knife.

3:30am - I pick up a knife, to hold to my neck. I think back on the past nine years of my life. The rediculing, the name calling, the moving, the drinking, the hell that's broke loss must come to an end.
I think of a friend. Will she miss me, I wonder. I think to a dance that had not long past. A friend... I think naught, an older sister. I remember the song that she played for my ears.
I remember my mentor, the one who discovered. I remember her efforts to tell me they cared. I remembered her words that told me she would always be there.
I thought yet again to a friend who long past. I thought to her last words to my ear. "You're loved, don't forget it. Even if I'm not here."
I thought to years long past. When I layed in the grass, my brothers at hand. I told them I was running. His response, "No, don't go. I love you to much for that. I need you to pick on."

3:45am - I put down my knife. I go to my room. I continue to cry. I may not be happy, but my life I must live. My demons then flee, but my chains still bind me. An angel protects me, of this I am sure. To sleep I must drift, I'll wake in the morn.

i'm in a dangerous state of mind
with no care for living this life
where human emotions are traded
for less than a pack of rubbers
but you didn't even use those
so how much did i truly mean
when the push came to shove
and grinding hips
with moaning lips
that whispered, screamed,
and cried his name
on the night you ****** my heart away
where loyalty takes a literal backseat
to pleasure
and a long term relationship
is laughing stock material
ha ha standup, ain't i funny
to look for something more than this
but i would choke on my own tongue
before i'd speak bad of you
my backstabbing lover
unfaithful friend
i hope to god it he was worth it
the cost was more than just tears
but blood spray on the bathroom mirror
and an empty place where i once
used to love
permanently empty
i can't find the will to care
more than a few half-hearted,
correct that, heartless
obscenities muttered under my breath
with ****** on my mind
a 3:30am fantasy to help dull
the pain that i should be feeling
maybe i'm just a pessimist,
fatalist, cynical, and negative
but my lack of surprise cuts the most
lied to by my mind for those
two months of my life
that i thought i had it all
better to have loved and lost
but even better to **** it all
and just go out with your name on my lips
and your lies in my heart
i hope you think of me when you're with him
that you choke on your tears
plagued with the worst emotions and loss
a better killer than any gun

6:30AM
I wake up, completely exhausted, my mind running a million miles a minute

I am alive...

As my legs swing over the side of the bed and my feet hit the ground, I slowly rise up

I am strong
I am alive

I wipe the sleep from my eyes, preparing myself to face the day ahead
Give it your best shot world. Whatever you throw at me, I will overcome.
For I am alive, I am strong, and I am a warrior.

I gulp down an Energy-Booster-X,
blue and sour.
Siri turns on Radiohead,
15 Step.

I step up to the pyramid of treadmills,
bouncing and salty.
Surrounded by Greek gods,
Beta, Alpha Gam, Pike.

I motivate myself by my surroundings,
bulging and ****.
Cardio first and then core,
2 miles, 200 crunches.

I connect my sweat in a line down my shirt,
blotchy and stagnant.
Everyone stretches in the end,
Thighs, biceps, pecs aflame.

I will not stop until I am perfection,
beautiful and sculpted.
Alarm set again,
For 6:30am, 7:30pm

Summer 1986 Sunday 5:30AM

Misty morning in Malibu.
Seagulls stitch the sea to a subtle
silver sky. They sputter stridently.
Each elegant gull hovers effortlessly.
Entreating each other. Echos bounce
off the sound of the surf into eternity. The screeching of many a
soliloquy akin to silence.

I sit on the pier. The water before
me washes onto the staccato legs
of tiny waterbirds who wander
in and out of the surf. Little
windblown ***** of ecru and grey
wool. I worship in the womb of
the great goddess ~ nature. I wasn't to know the Creator was watching patiently...

6:30AM
I make my unhurried way up the
pier to my car. A cheap but
comfortable convertable. Nobody
walks in LA. I punch in a tape.
Don Henley. Boys of Summer.

I take PCH up to the incline that
takes you from the beach. Pushing
the pedal slightly as I slide by the
colossal bleached cliffs of
Palacades Park. There the homeless
sleep under the benches dedicated
by friends and family in
rememberance of loved ones.
Small plaques attatched for
posterity.

My hands are on the steering wheel
at 7 and 12 o'clock.I look at the cast
I wear on my right wrist. A token
of rememberance from an angry romance. He and I parted
respectively, if not at all
respectfully. I drive.

7:00AM
Venice beach. Not yet boysterous.
But never boring. The young people
(and old) still bundled together in bed. Saturday night hangovers will
be had by most of the denizens of
Venice beach boardwalk. A grainy
eyed few wander around abstractidly. Shopowners enter
their buildings, their storefronts
almost as small as booths. Graphitti
and giant works of art grace walls
everywhere ~ Jim Morrison and
Venus in workout leggings much
in evidence.

I smoke my cigarette and drink my
hot coffee carefully in the open cafe'.
I consider the eyefest of the crowd
that will congregate here to enjoy
the clement weather.
The cacophony and the clamor.
Touristas and Los Angelinos alike
drawn In by calculating vendors
and coyote souled street performers.
I look forward to seeing the
non conformity usually. But not
today. For now I sit in the quiet cafe'.

Venice beach. Vulpine. Vacuous.
A strangely vunerable venue. The
***** and the beautiful. The talented and the ******.

A street performance pianist trundles his acoustic piano on
casters out onto the boardwalk.
I ask him if I may play. He looks
at my cast doubtfully.
"I can still play..." I tell him.
He ascents and listens thoughtfully
as I play my compositions. He really
likes them. I ****** the ebony and
the ivory with insistant fingers.
The smile on his face is irrepressable. I smile back and we
flirt in self conceous, fitful fashion.
Time to leave.

9:00AM
Radio is on in my car now. A cut
from the musical Chess. One night
in Bangkok makes the hard man
humble... I like the driving beat.
I'm going up I-10, a single blood cell
in the main artery that brings life
to the flesh of this mamouth town.
Traffic is tenuous. A boon here in
this conjested city.

I drive to Fairfax and Sunset, where
I lived with in a tiny one-bedroom
apartment with my mom. An
ambitious actress. I an ambivalent
artist.

Sunset. The Roxy and Whiskey-a-
Go-Go. Cartoon characters Rocky
and Bullwinkle casually cavort on
the top of a building. Billboards
as tall as the Hollywood sign. The
street of broken hearts for many
an actress -slash-model. They
wander about on street corners
looking haughty and haunted.
Waiting for who knows who to
honk. Their dreams have flown
away like the exhailation of smoke
from the mechanical lungs of the
Marlboro Man. Schwab's drugstore
and diner. The place where some
famous starlet was discovered.
Delivered into the arms of the
Hollywood machine. I opt to go
to the Sunset Grill.

11:00AM
I'm walking down Hollywood Blvd.
Perusing shops and persuing
pedestrian pleasures. Everyone
talks of the star-studded sidewalks.
To me they look tarnished and
filthy. Stars from a sultry smog
laden sky come to earth. The names
of some of the folks honored on
them I don't recognise.

I'm here to view movies today.
I'm definitely not going to
Grauman's Chinese Theater.
Been there. Done that. Gave the
very expensive T shirt to
Goodwill. I look around at the
proud and the plebian. The pedantic
and the pathetic. No prostitutes
out yet that I could see. Probably
toppled into bed to sleep
(for once). Deposed kings
and queens of the monarchy of the
night. The homeless hobble along
with their hair matted and askew.
Shopping carts with stuttering
wheels de reguer.

A couple of tourists with Izod shirts,
plaid shorts to the knee and deck
shoes sans socks gaze in a shop
window. It's borded by tarnished
and faded silver garlands... tinsel
Christmas tree.
"Want to buy a mood ring today?"
One of them querys his buddy,
laughingly.

I find my small theater and enter
the air conditioned lobby. I purchase
a soda and pass on the popcorn.
As I enter the theater's modestly
plush, dimly lit cocoon sanctuary
I notice very few patrons are here
for the matinee. GOOD. I finally
watch the premiere product of
Los Angeles. Movie after movie
slides across the screen. The callus
morally corrosive corporations
conspire with the creative to produce
the culmination of many art forms
in one. Cinema.

LA. Languid. Luxurious. Legendary.
Rollicking, raunchy rodeo.
Seaside city. Sophisticated. Spurious.

SPECTACULAR.

8:00PM
I wend my way up Mulholland Dr.
Another tape is playing in the deck.
One of my favorites. David + David.
Welcome to the Boomtown.

I pull over at a deserted vista. From
this viewpoint I can see the city
spread out like a blanketfof brilliance. The gridiron of LA.
Glitzy and glamorous. Generating
little gods and goddesses. A gigantic
gamble for the disingenuous and
gouache. Tinsel town. Titillating.
Tempestuous. Only the very brave
bring their dreams here... or fools
rush in where angels fear to tread.
All but the fallen angels. They thrive.

Oh! If this place could be bottled it
would be such sweet poison. I
look up at the auburn sky and back
down at the breathtaking panorama
The metropolis that is LA with awe
and angst. I carefully stub out my
cigarette and flip it irreverantly
toward the lagoon of lights.

I get in my car to drive home.
Home?
Could this imposing, inspiring,
impossible place be called home?

Well. Home is where the heart is.
And I live in the heart of a dream.
This is the city of dreams...

CITY OF ANGELS.

Soul Survivor
Catherine E Jarvis
(C) 2005

I feel like a waste of time
My stomach boils with pink pills
Eyelids droop- I pry them open
To drink words I thirst for
Taste worlds I yearn for
Sludge pools in from the bitter thoughts
Soaking soaks- soaking sponges
Run and drain out the membrane
Everything is all too much
I seem to never be good enough

It’s 2:30am, I’m taking a bath, sinking into the water and I get a sudden wave of depression not even 5 minutes into it. I don’t fit, there are pieces of me sticking out, I can hardly bare to look at the everything that is me. 2:50am I decide to drain the tub and take a shower. I never like hot showers but I take one and yes it burns but I enjoy it. Because the physical pain is easier to cope with than the mental. I want it hot, so when I get out the mirrors will be so fogged over I can’t see myself. I want it hot, so I can focus of something else other than my self image. Tonight I share my thoughts because I am in a low and dark place. I’m sharing my thoughts because I know there is someone who understands, there has to be. I’m sharing my thoughts because I’m alone, when everybody said I never would be.

Late into the night
I remember everything.
Every thought I've had,
Every word we've spoken
But somehow
With every toss and turn,
And every attempted escape of the mind
I cannot remember how to fall asleep

early daylight across my face sweeping,
gingerly ginger-yellow heated by the low-
risen sun, it confirms what my beating heart
yet signals, granted us, a new twenty and four,

but no more,

for certainty is not a human condition, so we cover
our eyes, not from the sun-rays, but in deference and
thankfulness and  gratitude, that we have one more chance
to the world distribute, blessed human loving kindness, unique,
the greatest gift most excellent we human possess to give away freely!

Jewely 23, Twenty Twenty Three
8:30am

to the beautiful quiet boy
who lives in a timezone earlier than mine
they may not know it
but your heart beats louder than how you look
i hope you're asleep
it's thirty minutes after one a.m. isn't it?
Recounting the moments i watched you sleep
With an innocent, rested face
with your hands by your sides
you're even beautiful when you sleep
but more so when those dark chocolate eyes gaze upon the windows of my soul
wish i could hold you in my arms now
Even better if you're wrapped around me
While you're with your signature turtleneck
And me with my red pashmina
These thoughts are nothing
but at least something

I'm sorry you are you and I am me
And we were we
And no longer we
But we are just you and me
But if I were you and you were me
And we were we
Then we would be just you and me
And I wouldn't be me
And you wouldn't be you
And we would just be

I wonder if you’ve ever looked at yourself in the mirror
And stared at your haggard face in your drunken stupor
I wonder if you think you couldn’t have made it any clearer
That we can’t be friends if I am always your party pooper

I wonder if you look at yourself and notice that you’ve changed
It’s not your looks idiot, it’s who you are now
I wonder if you even bothered to notice our friendship is estranged
Or do you just wipe any deep thought away like sweat on your brow

Did the summer fly by so fast you forgot to talk to me
Did the parties come so quick you couldn’t text me back
Did you throw up the last precious remnants of who you used to be
Did you decide to let yourself fall off the track

I guess you thought that throwing me away was worth it if you could be cool
I guess you thought I just wouldn’t mind
I guess you probably don’t care that you look like the biggest ******* fool
I guess you drink to take your thoughts away from what you’re afraid to find

I remember when you told me how lonely you feel every day you’re here
And I guess your new friends are strangers and beer
I remember the only good thing alcohol did was get rid of your fear
You told me you loved me thanks to the whiskey and it was loud and clear

I wish I had the guts to tell you how much you’ve hurt me
But I don’t think you’d find me important enough to listen to anymore
I wish when you looked in that mirror that you would actually see
Who you are and how you’ve killed the person you were before

Before I moved to New Mexico
I never thought that I deserved to be in college
Because In California I got bad grades, skipped classes,
Didn’t care about my life and played the victim in high school
Now I’m pursing an Associates and a Bachelor’s Degree
In Liberal art, education and creative writing

I wasn’t sure if I had what it takes to lean on God’s faith
To complete my classes and do well
In that secondary education knowledge
I but I passed my summer with a B+

In my life I’m known to be late for everything I attend
Yeah I was always on that black people time
Waking up at 4:00 am to get ready, eat
And also catch the bus to a summer class
That starts at 8:30am and ends 12:50pm
Every Friday for 3 months was difficult
But I learned to make sacrifices and
I never missed a day of class

I had a bad habit of being a procrastinating excuse maker
But I was tired of wasting time,
I hated proving people right about me
I was tired of my family treating me
Like I was a burden on them
And having haters trying to destroy my spirit
So I could do what they want me to do
So I pushed passed the negativity and I never fell behind

I’d never had a scholarship before
But my first year in Central New Mexico Community College
I received 2 scholarships and I’m going for another one

My mentor used to tell repeatedly
That anything in life that’s worthwhile takes hard work
So try, when it doesn’t work try again and
When you feel like giving up, try even harder
Because a man has no excuses, rich or poor

Now I know 100% that anything is possible with God
And a lot of effort on my part
So I won’t ever quit, I’ll stay motivated and hungry till I have nothing left
Because I’d rather die trying my best than live with regrets.

By Shannon Pollard
©Summer 2012

propped up against my windowsill
with a slice of cold pizza
watching the cars below
play
green
     light
          go

and wishing my thoughts
would stop playing too

4am On the drunken floor of my Wingmans apartment I place my red solo tankard down to instigate a quest.
"ROADKILL!"
That's what we call my wingman.
"Roadkill! Lets go on an adventure to king richards faire tomorrow!"
"Sure! When do we leave?"
"Don't worry, I'll wake you up."

See. When your best friend says they need you,
you don't just call them.
You drive.
Tonight,
on the anniversary of Roadkills worst tragedies,
we are getting drunk.
In the morning,
We're going to prove that life is worth living.

7:30am our alarms go off.
"Uhhhg."
"Curse you phone."
Hands slap towards the noise,
Spilling last nights wounded soldiers.

"Roadkill your shirts inside out."
"Thanks man."
Actually, while you have it off.

Black doesn't go with brown.
Pick a whole different shirt."
"It's fine."
"*******. There's a blue shirt right here."

Belting sailor shantees
Roadkill and I adventure three hours in
My four wheeled ground Zepplin.

"A curse to you lads,
a curse on your head,
Drinking pint after pint
until I am dead
I just keep drinking
and I don't know why,
But tonight is the night
that I drink 'til I die!"

Upon arriving at the faire we spot an ocean of goregeous maidens.
The ticket booth doth not take credit cards, however.
So we needed to speak to the gatekeeper.
"Excuse me, where's the atm?" I Ask.
"it's right over there, Handsome.
I'll need your id's first, though.
Don't worry, I don't bite
... hard."

Roadkills eyes grow the size of stormwind.
"I need to bring you everywhere man.
You make everyone love us."

we return with cash in hand
The gatekeeper pulls our ID's from her corset
looks them over before handing them back.
"How are you boys younger than me?"
"It's the beard. "
I wink.
"Keep a secret?"

Swords on hips
songs in chest.
Mead was flowing
Boots were clomping

Roadkill paused to look around
Standing like a pleased statue.

I bounced excitedlly around like a child.
ROADKILL
LOOK AT ALL OF THESE GOREGEOUS OUTFITS ON THESE BEAUTIFUL WOMAN!
"Hey!"
handsome men, too.
"Thank you"
It's like we teleported to Flurb heaven!
Look!
a garb shop!
Oh my god
A boot store!
They have a whole store
for leather larpy boots!
There is a tail shop!
I could buy and wear a fuzzy furry tail!
This is amazing!
There is a giant duck
Being pushed back and forth by two huge jacked dudes.

"I need to hug everyone!"
I am in love with everything!"
"Can i please hug you?"

"I swear to god, Nick if you touch me."

We try the knife throwing challenge.
The crossbow challenge.
The dart throwing challenge.
We **** at all of it but we have a blast.

We walk into a leather shop.
A small redheaded girl dances around us. She puts fur around our necks
Her hands trace our chests as she ties them up
You boys look like the type to rock these.
She drags us by the belts to a mirror.
Look at how handsome you both are.

"Roadkill" I whisper.
He is already lost in her eyes.
I place a hand below his chin and close his mouth.
They talk about where they're from.
Their families.
What they do for fun.
"Oh you do larp? We do dagohir it's like full contact grappley shield kicking larp"

A group of customers walk in and she leaves to tend to them.
A brunette helps take off roadkills stole.
"How much are these anyway?"
Roadkill asks the brunette.
"$600" she answers.
"I feel ashamed for even trying it on"
Says roadkill slipping off the precious treasure.
"Goodbye ladies! have fun today!"
I say, pulling roadkill by the arm.
"Oh... okay then... bye."

"They seemed sad we left.
What was that about?" Asked roadkill.
"Well do you want the blunt educated version or the ignorant positive version?"

"Ignorant of coarse."
Then they're dissapointed because they were interested in us.
"Out of curiousity, what's the blunt educated version?"
"They're upset We didn't fall for their act and buy their expensive wares."
"Whelp... there goes my self confidence. Ignorance really is bliss"
"Yes it is roadkill. Yes it is."

We Travel back home.
Again, singing sailor shantees.

"A curse to you lads,
a curse on your head,
Drinking pint after pint
until I am dead
I just keep drinking
and I don't know why,
But tonight is the night
that I drink 'til I die!"

Park the four wheeled ground zeppelin in front of the Apartment.
Clonk our boots up the stairs
Grab angry orchards out of the fridge
Slunk into the beaten brown couch
raise my bottle into the air
"To living one more day exactly the way we want too, Roadkill."
Roadkill raises his bottle.
clinks it against mine.
"To living."

This morning I woke up before 6am.
Too early for most people, myself included.
My brain was running wild last night.
I laid restless in my bed for what seemed like hours.
I tossed and turned and my thoughts were overrun with nightmares and horrors.
Turmoil took over my mind and stressed my heart out. I simply couldn’t sleep.
I took deep breaths, I counted sheep, I even drank a cup of tea.

Nothing worked. So, I continued to lay there too tired to move, far too awake to fall asleep.
Such a terrible state, caught in between two extremes each one refusing to give in.
Life had exhausted me and yet I still wasn’t allowed sleep.
I felt trapped, I felt powerless, I was defeated.
Somehow amidst my worrying, I had drifted off into slumber.
And that leads us to this morning.
This morning I woke up before 6am. Groggy, vision foggy, and most of all still tired.
I mean, could you blame me? I had gotten barely more than half
of the prescribed amount of sleep for someone my age.
I packed a bag for the adventures of the day, which for me meant about 30 pounds of textbooks.
I made a list of the work that still needed to be done.
Another list for how many minutes I had before the sun.
One by one, we loaded into the car, like soldiers preparing for war.
In some ways, we were readying our armor, but ours was metaphorical rather than literal.

My dad is always the first to the car. He likes to get ahead of the current.
My sister is second, she’s grumpy and doesn’t understand what’s going on.
Then myself, I’m tired but still excited for what’s to come.
We drive through the sleepy city, everyone’s preparing for their own day.
The sun itself has just risen and we watch the world awaken.
We have arrived, and it’s about 6:30AM.
You guessed it. It’s time for breakfast.

Scientifically speaking, breakfast is the most important meal of the day.
Personally speaking, nothing chooses the course of the day more than that first meal.
A cold unforgiving bowl of cereal doesn’t bring me happiness,
Like a warm bowl of fried rice does or like scrambled eggs with just a hint of cheese does.
Perhaps I am looking too far into the way certain breakfast foods makes me feel.
Regardless, we walk in and the environment shift affects all of our moods.

We made it to the front of the line and we order.
For my dad, eggs, bacon, and link sausage, a trio.
For my sister, in a state of dazed, orders the same.
For myself, the only one with originality deliberately chooses blueberry pancakes.
The warmth and comfort found in hot chocolate is exactly what I need right now.
So I order that too.
Sleepy and unaware, we trudge back to a table as a unit.
Our table is split between booth and chair and it’s located next to the window.
There is something poetic about the scene.
Maybe it’s the early light breaking through the glass.
Or maybe it’s rarity of the event, we usually eat breakfast at home.
This is a special occasion not for any reason other than it’s happened.
Moments of solemnity are interrupted by our waitress who brings a new day.
Found piled on top of flimsy paper plates is a sight of pure beauty.
Maybe it’s the lack of sleep, people tend to experience life more deliriously during this time.
But the food looks incredible. The pancakes are lightly coated with powdered sugar and
look like they had been pulled out of a magazine cover, as does the rest of the food.
My father and sister’s moods are lightened as food typically has that effect.
The hot chocolate is topped with whip cream and sprinkles something that I didn’t ask for and yet I’m endlessly grateful.
They bring a previously unexamined aspect of happiness to this already novelty of an outing.
Once the food arrives, I halt the instincts of everyone by forcing them to capture the moment.
I enjoy pictures because they are snapshots of reality, that can depict whatever you want.
They take time and turn it into moments, something truly innovative.
After the pictures, we eat, we make small conversation,
And most of all we enjoy each other’s company.
It’s similar to the breakfasts you often see out of movies, families living that idyllic lifestyle.

This morning I woke up before 6am
And only got 4 hours of sleep.
But despite all odds, this was a good morning.
Now I’m not sure if this change in mood is attributed solely to breakfast
Or other unmentioned factors but I do know this.
Physically, I feel tired.
Mentally, I feel better than I have in a while.
Perhaps, I can even persevere through the day.
I guess that’s just the power of blueberry pancakes.

i've started to absolutely loath these shifts at Oxford...
for one: compared we're talking about a league one side...
the ****** stadium is one thing
but... just the drive there: and back...
out of the house from 1pm until 12:30am...
and for what? there's that coughing up for fuel
which has increased from £10 to £15... hell: my pay
hasn't risen...
   on topic: i was talking with my father about this...
inflation... the prices of commodities increases,
but the wages do not...
    fair enough: i might seem gullible at times...
given my grandfather was a member of the communist
party... but then communism in Poland
(a satellite state) wasn't the same as it was
in the actual Soviet Union... i'm no romantic of communism...
but surely if there's a concept of inflation:
there ought to be a logic around a concept of deflation...
but there isn't one in economics,
i.e. when wages go up: but the price of commodities
stays the same...
yet... the work of dairy farmers is the same: quality
and quantity-wise... economics it not my strong point...
i'm just thinking out-loud...
and i like thinking-dumb...
              my recent fascination comes in the form
of Confucius < Mozi < Mencius < Zhuangzi | Huizi
i.e. Kong Qui < Mo Di < Meng Ke < Zhu7ang Zhou |Hui ****...

i leave the house for roughly 10 hours and bring
back about £35... sure... it's the easiest shift on my list...
i get paid £35 to watch a football match...
but? today... the sky above Oxford looked more
entertaining than the football match... so? for the majority
of the time while the sun was still clinging
to reign over the sky: i was just looking at very pretty
clouds in the distance... i sometimes can't stomach
these base human foundations for society:
entertainment... i'd rather drink a bottle of wine
and just watch clouds behave like sloths...
or... perhaps not sloths... more like when a jellyfish
****** a cauliflower....

at least there was banter with my "manager"
en route toward Oxford... i ate a McDonald's in the alley
while waiting for him to pick me up...
banter... oh right: code words...
we call them the PLATOON... there's about 40 or so
"banana boat" folk... Daniel is the guy who conjured
up the expression: black don't crack...
what does that mean? you can't tell a black person's
real age... since you can be looking at a black
person who's 50... and you'd guess their age
to be 30... black don't crack...
i really think cosmetic industries should look into
the genome of both black people and people
with downs syndrome: those ******* hardly age...
you can't tell if there's a wrinkle on them...
seriously!
                  white boy humour... white boy
British humour... i'm writing this in complete earnest...
it's not even a joke: well... it's funny in a conversation
when you can crack jokes without a CCTV crow
on your shoulder...
so we cracked jokes about the PLATOON...

Daniel played that famous video of the ventriloquist
with that Ahmed the dead suicide bomber
puppet: I **** YOU...
i laughed on the verge of tears...
it's almost like that Dave Chapel sketch about
uniforms: a woman all tarts and no choux pastry
stuff... and Dave's like: pretending to be a police officer:
excuse me, ma'am... i may be dressed as a police officer!
but it doesn't mean that i am, a police officer!
or Team American's Durka Durka: Muhammad Jihad...
i just said to Daniel: are any of these ***** from
Rotherham? where? oh you know...
that Rotherham grooming gang scandal...
i'd love to get my hands on one of those *****...

a former prisoner officer talking to a former
chemistry student... seriously... those organic chemistry
schematics of electron migration were a bit pointless:
until i realised: they showed me loopholes in
the language... call it the rearrangement of vowels
and consonants... absolutely ridiculous:
since all theory and very little practice...

oh sure... the PLATOON was there...
i started it calling it SLOW-IQ from cousin-*******...
which is true... you have to start calling out
taboos at some point...
i mean: these guys were slow...
Ha-HMED! hark the H... draw a longer breath
and forget that the R was ever associated with a trill
of a rattlesnake...
oh sure... we get sold that puny story-detail
of low testosterone levels in European men....
these days? i was signing them in...
i had to ask 2 or 3 times for them to repeat their names:
they spoke their names so delicately
i couldn't understand them...
and i'm the one who picks up sounds...
my auditory hallucinations sometimes speak louder
than these people, "these people"...

i checked up on some theory...
the length ratio of the index finger to the ring finger...
i look at my left hand... then at my right hand...
oh **** me... no wonder...
i'm a *******... a promiscuous *******...
my ring finger is much longer than my index finger:
much longer on my left hand than my right hand...
ergo? a shorter index finger implies higher levels
of testosterone...
   am i to be, now, what? self-congratulatory...
no... it's intrinsic ontology: i can't help what i am...
just like i can't help with being a raw-red Caucasian
in mentality that's deviant from the British-compact
model...

i cleaned the house in the morning really focusing
on repeating the song My Friends by
the Red Hot Chilli Peppers...
hey... listen... if these ******* have the audacity to
march in with their mosques... blow themselves up for
no grand attaching reason to further each and every one
of our plights: again... life isn't that terrible...
reality isn't unshakeable: unmoveable...
only people unto people make this life difficult:
usually out of complacency... laziness...
a solipsism that doesn't begin to factor in a fact
that solipsism could be a theory: a testing ground
of understanding autism...

but i abhor these Oxford shifts...
i leave them spent... the egress is magic though...
i'm more time-wasting than time-investing...
i still don't understand how inflation works
and i still don't understand why deflation doesn't exist...
the worth of goods increases:
but the method of producing these goods stays
the same... i have to admit...
i'm thinking about going out of my comfort zone...
looking into the thinking of economists
and not philosophers...
after all, my name was once allocated
to one famous tax-collector...
                     mind you: i like thinking about money...
not that i have a stash of it...
just enough to enjoy thinking about it...
i like thinking about money because i don't think
about spending it like most people do:
like most people who spend it frivolously and therefore
don't have enough of it and therefore
are in debt: these people are in debt because
they spend money on credit...
i have money, because i spend money on debit...

i couldn't never allow myself to accept a credit based
system of expenditures...
it made no sense to me: sure, you have more protection
using a credit card than a debit card...
after all the current system focuses more on creditors
than it does on debtors... then again: like for like...
you need less creditors than debtors:
you actually require more people in debt than
those willing to provide credit...
but then there are people like me who hyper-focus
on an earning-spending dynamic who
avoid building up too much credit:
by not building too much credit...
you can't exactly build up your... "debit score rating":
there's no "debit score" rating...
money turns into water...
you behave like your wallet if a dam...
that's a "metaphor" for savings and expenditure...

it's impossible for me to spend on credit...
why? i can't earn on credit:
well... i can earn on credit of my performance:
but that's a different sort of credit:
it's a credit i earn... rather than spend...
but i spend exclusively on debit...
on the basis of a debt i'm owned for my work...
i like money...
in philosophy there's that scared word: THING...
and NOTHING...
in economics there's that word too: MONEY...
and NO-MONEY...
oddly enough nothing is a categorised as a pronoun
while thing is categorised as a noun...
ergo? money is a noun and no-money
is a pronoun...

                    it's not even about being poor...
broke-***... it's about having enough money to do...
whatever the hell you want...
without a co-dependant... no woman: no children...
i can ******* from a shift... ask to be dropped
off at a petrol station... rather than the usual pick-up
spot... buy a £3 platter of sushi...
three ciders... a 10 packet of cigarettes...
eat... smoke a cigarette... then take at least two
bottles of cider dancing into the night...
i used to love swimming... now? if it's not cycling
it's walking... esp. come the night...

there's nothing quiet like it...
i hate these Oxford shifts... if it wasn't for the humour
i don't think i would have ever bothered...
focus on perception...
it's all about the TILT of the EARTH...
from the winter months and the summer months...
i was admiring the night thinking about
just that... this one... constellation...
in the summer months she's up-close...
you can see her enlarged (yeah?
things in English are generally asexual...
but you can ascribe *** to them...
like in most sensible tongues of the European
continent, there can be a sense of
the masculine and the feminine in nouns...
there's no need for gender-neutral pronouns...
there can exist gender-provocative nouns...
constellations are feminine)

   right... so there's this one jaw-dropper
of a constellation...
it's massive in the summer-time...
can't miss it... what the naked eye can't miss:
the mind ought to write about...

you know the constellation i'm talking about:
during the summer months it's enlarged...
but during the winter months it's squeezed into
its compact representation:
it's the same ******* constellation...
but since the earth is tilted on its axis...
that tilt generates a "disparity" of vision...
it's microscopically viewed in the summer months
and macroscopically viewed in the winter
months... when you sometimes walk the night
streets... tilt your head left to right...
and watch a bonanza of frost settling on the pavement
like it might be the glitter of paparazzi's cameras
eventing a strobe light effect of frost
glitter paving your honoured walk back
to a cold bed where only you or perhaps a cat might
be sleeping in...

no... it's not the constellation of cancer:
it's the constellation of scorpio:

                    •
                •
            •

­                   •
                      •
                          .
           ­                                  •

    •

that's most definitely a scorpion...
the tail... the torso... and the two pincers
extending...
but i'm not referring to the constellation
of scorpio... i'm refferering
to...the trapezium with a tail...

the big and little wheelbarrow constellation are
one and the same...

•
                        •


                                                                ­            •
                                            •


                                                 •                  •


it just depends on how the earth tilts...
call it her the little and big wheelbarrow...
microscopic in the realm of summer:
macroscopic in the realm of winter...
not a rhombus with a tail?
and what about the constellation of
scorpio...

three days by: Jane's Addiction...
always with the bass guitar that gets me...
now admire the tilt of the earth as this one constellation
all the same moves in and out to to an even greater
focus... "flat earth" expert as myself
ought to know... knowing one's own geometrics of
not having the luxury of parodying
movements that
demand the rigours of traffic...
such is a man's luxury of trailing behind night...
trailing behind dreams:
behind dreaming...
such is this world: that affords me so much
luxury... so little mediocracy...
            
tonight i brought back an acorn...
no... i wish i brought back an albino mulberry...
then again: i wish i brought back an oak conker...
but i prefer acorns more...
those hatted pebbles... oak? chestnut...
a corn that's not corns... that's acorn?
conker then... no? a nut with thoughts of
pirate X-marks-the-spot-chests?!
etymological tested grounds of frequented nouns...
hammer... table... mosquito...
            sun and moon...
                        sun as a he and moon:
although however stressed asexually: will be a she
in Ing-Leash.

In the darkest night,
I take flight.
In the brightest day,
I dance & sway.

Outside these walls,
everything is false.
Outside the coves,
stumbling on troves.

Nothing more,
this is a bore.
And yet,
everything is met.

I left you five hours ago and I miss you so much that it physically hurts me.
I understand that I am being excessive, but it is a feeling I cannot ignore.
And I have not felt this way in a long time.
I miss getting breakfast with you and eating an enormous omelette without feeling guilt. Sitting across from you in a coffee shop, admiring the way your eyes seem to glow in the dim light. Your head on my lap as I read Gaiman (you told me I have a lovely voice). I miss doing absolutely nothing with you for the entire day and feeling more fulfilled than if I had been busy and productive.
I have not felt this way in a long time.
You've reminded me that holding someone close should cause a continuous, comforting burn in your heart. That drinking with one person you love can be a lot more fun than going to parties (even when you drink too much and I have to take care of you the next day). That alone is not always better. You've reminded me that writing your feelings down soothes the pain.
I left you five hours ago and I will feel a gaping empty space until I see you again.

Don't give me that
Smack me with a brick
before you flash that
Colgate smile
Take your eager flight
to your far off place
and leave me to
my sugar coated
shards of glass.

                             {Flight Departing At: 9:30AM}

Remember when we would sing
to the radio
                        and laugh because
                                                                ­                     we didn't
know
                                             the lyrics?

                 {baggage}    
                                               or the time
{security}
              {Take off shoes. Remove Belt}
                you cried   
                                                              ­                   in  my bed?

                          {How many bags are you checking in today?}

we both got so
sunburned   once
you had the imprint of your
                                                            ­                           tank-top
on your back and
I thought my
                                         nose
would fall off

                                              {Flight Itinerary}  
{Drivers License}
                   we rushed through
sushi
and I accidentally ate
                                                      too much wasabi
                                                          ­                          {Is anyone sitting there?}
                                            awkwardly held on to each other
on top of that concrete sculpture of a
                                                                ­              cat
or was it a
                               pig?
                   {Airplane Mode}
            ran to the          
   beach and climbed that         really uncomfortable rock?
                      {sleep}          
     I was so
                                                                ­                                      content
next to

                                         you
                                      {Silence}

            ­                   {Fasten seat belts}

{Baggage claim}
                                        there was a time when we made each other                             
       happy.

                              
you had to                                                           move.
All the way to                                        good Ol' North Carolina.

It was a
                             chance                        we took.

What we had was only               temporary

                                A               looming                     date.

At some point
@ some                         airport           in               San Francisco
you would leave                                                            ­        


                                                      ­               me


at 9:30AM.



{gone with the clouds}

The phone rings:
It doesn't work anymore.

Diazepam, Red wine, 6:30am, hip replacement,
Plunger, television, boxes of photos, carslberg, peroni,

The flush is broken on the toilet.
I've sat for 15 minutes.

Examination, xbox, unemployment, skunk,
Washing machine, dishwasher, dryer.

It's raining, Old towel and bucket
under the hole in the roof

Cat food, cod liver oil, mould, 8:45pm,
3pm, appointments, 12pm.
Laptop, silence, phone calls,
Toilet, bucket, bleach,
Oven cleaner, kitchen roll, dirt, carpet,
Television, Hoover,

This morning I told myself,
I will write a poem today,
But I ended up just hanging out,
With my friend named procrastinate.

8:30am
I was awakened,
Rolled over and saw my notes,
Poetry?
Nah, not yet.

10:00am
Lounging around,
It’s my lazy day,
Poetry?
Nah, not yet.

11:30am
Just finished showering,
Poetic thoughts ran through my mind,
While the water ran through my hair,
But now that I’m out,
I’m busy,
Poetry?
Nah, not yet.

12:30pm
My dad made me listen,
To a sermon with him,
I almost wanted to write a poem,
But I was preoccupied with Dr. Thompson,
Poetry?
Nah, not yet.

1:45pm
Money feels good in my hands,
But first I gotta do all this addition,
Time cards ****,
Poetry?
Nah, not yet.

3:00pm
I haven’t eaten anything today,
I’m starving,
Maybe because my refrigerator is empty,
I haven’t gone shopping in four weeks,
I should pay the grocery store a visit,
Poetry?
Nah, not yet.

5:45pm
Tacos sound good,
I have no clue how to make them,
But I guess I’ll give it a shot,
Poetry?
Nah, not yet.

6:45pm
Dang, that tasted awesome,
I should probably make something
Gross so I don’t let these cooking skills
Get to my head,
Poetry?
Nah, not yet.

7:00pm
It feels so good to sit down,
My new favorite show, Falling skies,
Is awaiting me on amazon prime,
Poetry?
Nah, not yet.

11:00pm
Four episodes in,
I’m officially addicted,
But I’ll let my brother use the TV now,
While I pass out on the couch,
Poetry?
Nah, not yet.

11:15pm
Crap…
I was gonna write a poem today,
What the heck am I supposed to write about?
Nothing serious is on my mind,
Depression, abuse, peace and war?
The only peace I’m thinking about is sleep,
Poetry?
Nah, not yet.

11:17pm
I guess I’ll let my eyes open,
It might be time to write a poem,
Not sure what to write about,
I could write about writing a poem or whatever,
Poetry,
Yeah, maybe now.

11:30pm
I’m done,
Here’s your fricken poem, Matthew,
Can I go to bed now?

when it rains
everything seems still
her body has the curves
of the grooves on wood
following the path of a moth
a woman
and three children
in a van
drop off phone books
and newspapers
onto front steps
at 4am
and it rains
nothing plays on their radio
she kisses them to sleep
“don't worry”
and they're asleep
but the bills aren't paid
and the hot water
is turned off
Tomorrow
the electricity
a boy without a home
grew up on the highway
the passing vehicles
the passing buildings
people
street lamps
hills
rivers and lakes
streets and turn signals
were his
friends
his television
When it rains
Everything stops moving
and breathes
I am still a boy
at twenty
When I can't sleep
I walk to the highway
and sit
the humming road
the humming 18-wheelers and automobiles
remind me of resting on my mothers heart
I drive to the city
To look at the buildings that are never asleep
To sit in wooden cafés and drink cheap black coffee
I am not a poet
Just a boy
Still on a highway
gazing at the world
75mph
these are my finger drawn pictures
on a foggy van window.

Kalippaattam
------------

              ---Renjith Prahlad
                        (27th AUGUST 2011-12:30AM)



Vimookamaayoru sundara swapnam ente kannukale yaanthrikamaaya ee lokathilninnakatti
bhaavanayile mohanabhoomiyileku yathrayaakkunnu..Ennal Ivide kanunnathu yaadharhyathil
aroopiyaaya ente mohangalude kadanjedutha swaroopangale..ivide kelkkunnathu
yadhaarthyathil uumakalaya prathyaashakalude imbamaarnna prathidhwanikal..
Ivide enne sparshikkunnathu yaadharthyathil maravicha ormakalude jeevanulla viralukal..
Ivide njan anubhavikkunnathu yaadhaarthyathil oru pazhjadamaaya ente, chetananiranja
chalanagal..allayo Swapname ethakshayapaathrathil ninnedukkunnu nee ithratholam
jyothithullikale,ente raathrikalil prakaasham choriyuvaanaayi..Pakshe, oru maathrayude
maathrayolam polum illallo ninte aayussinte dairkhyathinu...Kizhakkile chakavarthiyude
udayam asthamippikkunnathu vimookamaaya aa sundara swapnathinullile sooryane ..
Kizhakkile chakavarthiyude sobha vazhithelikkunnathu swapnathil maathram
swathanthranaya ee kuthirayude adimathwathilekkulla thirichupookkine...


Njan oru kuthirayaanu..jeevashavamaayoru kalippattam..Enikku chaadaam,odaam,
shabdamundaakam..pakshe ellam oru thaakkolinte kanakkinanussarichu..,oru kurunnu
baalante manassinanussarichu..avane rasippikkuvan kazhinjal..avante viralukale
anussarikkan kazhinjal enikku kure neeram chalikkam..kalankamariyaathorukuttiyude
adimayaayi eere naal jeevanillathe jeevikkam..ente suhruthukkale...shashvathamaayoru
maranathe polum aagrahikkan avakaashamillatha ente ee janmam shapikkappettathalle...
Niraveettan aavathillatha Aashaakalum mohangalum ente manassil kumilukalaai pirann
anthimam parasparam thattichithari athmahathya cheyyunnathu shaapameetathinalalle..
avarozhukkiya chorathullikal polum adimakalaakunnathu shapikkappetta ente
manassinullile irunda shoonyathayilalle..Nikoodatha koodukoottiya vanangaliloode
paanju pokuvaan..Marangaleyum pakshikaleyum pinnilaaki kodumkaattinte gathiyepolum
athijeevichu oru kuthirayude lokathekku raapaarkkan..sharamazha peyyunna yudhabhoomiyileekku raajyatinaayi poruthunna sippaikalude naduvileekku, raajaakkanmareyum padathalavanmaareyum purathiruthi avasaana shwasathe sharangal thulachukeerumvare dheeramaayi poraadi maranamadayan oru kuthira aagrahichaal athil thettilla,pakshe oru kalippattam aaya kuthira aagrahichaal
athahankaaramaakunnathengane..Kalippatamenkilum kuthirayalle njanum..Enikku mathram
enthe aagrahangalkku neere kuda nivarthendivarunnathu...Enikkuchuttum maathram enthe
kudakkyu keezhe athimohangal nizhalikkunnathu..

Ennal, Kudaykku keezhile ANDHAKAARAM oru divasam enikku thannu, Irulil janichuveenu
shwethajwaalayayi valarunna swapnangalee..Kalippattamaaya njan annumuthal andhakaarathe
snehichu thudangi....kaaranam Swapnathil njan kalippattamalla..jeevanulla kuthirayaanu..
Njan adimathvatinte theerangalilalla, swaathanthriyathinte ananthasamudrathilaanu..
Vimokamaaya aa sundara swapnam vechuneettiya sowbhagyangale enikku nishedikakkan
kazhinjilla, yaadhaarthyathilekku oru madangipookkinu ente manassu madichu..
swapnavaathilukal orikkalum adayalle ennaashichu..pakshe ente mohangalkkethirayi
swapnasooryan swapnachakravaalathileekasthamichu thudangi..swapnavaathilukal adyaan
thudangi.swapnagale swanthamaakkunna swapnangal kanda njan, ente madagivaravinaay
kaathirikkunna yadharthyathe avaganichu..swapnalokathe sweekarichu..Vilangukal
pottichodunna kuttavaaliye pole njan odirakshappettu..Yaadharthyathinorikkalum
ethippedaan kazhiyaathathra doorangalilekku njan yathrayaay..pakshe, Aashakalum
Mohanglum niraveettiya santhoshathinte velicham amithavegam polinju..Kalippatamaay
jeevichirunna lokathorikalum anubhavappettittillathoru thalarcha ente shareerathe
aswasthamaakki..Marubhoomiyile mantharikal orittu mazhaykkayi kezunnathu pole ente
thondayum oru thullidaahajalathinay karanju..divasangal kadannu poyi..swapnathiloodeyum
narakathe praapikkam ennu njan manassilaakki...Vikruthmaayoru aantharikathe maraykkunna
ente swapnamohangalude kadanjedutha swaroopangalekkal ethrayo dhanyamaanu, roopamillatha
ente yaadarthyamohangal ennu njan manassilaakki..Vilaapaswarangal maathram paadunna ente
swapnamohangalude prathidhwanikalekkal ethrayodhanyamaanu, uumakalaya ente
prathyaashakal, ennu njan manassilaaki.Enne jeevanode njerukkunna ente swapnamohangalude
viralukalekkal ethrayo dhanyamaanu, maravicha ente yaadarthya ormakal ennu njan
manassilakki,Ennil ninnum chethana oottunna ente chethana niranja chalanangalekkal
ethrayo dhanyamaanu,oru kurunnu baalante chundilpirakunna punchiriyude maathru
janmam, oru paazhjadamaaya kalippaattathinte janmam...ennu njan manassilaakki...

         -----------------------------------------------------------------­

Vaathilukal pinnum thurannu.."Madangivaru kalippattame"..Kurunnu baalante chundil veendum
oru niranja punchiri pirannu...

                           -----Renjith Prahlad

Just Like A Woman

You focus on the act,
The ridiculous derring-do,
Laughing at me
Cause I chased away
In my rumpled ******,
The woodpecker that **convulsed
Our house at 5:00 AM,
With a decorative pillow.

Focus on the results, says the
Results-oriented man.

Has Woody ever returned?
No and his fate is still unknown,
He may fly forever neath our trees,
But now he knows to stay away
From me and the risk of my pillowy pillory!

P.S. I may (or may not)
Choose to disclose
That upon my return
The house still shook,
From someone's uproarious, convulsed
Laughing at a city boys country heroics.


10:30am
June29 2013

It's 3:30 in the morning
and this always happens
on the nights we stay apart.
I'm suddenly up in the middle of it,
wide awake for no reason at all,
sleep eluding me until
it's almost time to rise anyway.
I can only guess that my body
is subconsciously yearning
for the trace of yours against it,
and my mind would rather have me
not sleep at all
than to peacefully slumber
away the darkness
without your presence.
It's 3:30 in the morning
and I need to get back to sleep,
so I roll over and try to pretend
I have your limbs wrapped around me
in your usual manner,
the best kind of full body embrace.
My imagination is no substitute
for the warmth of you.  
It's 3:30 in the morning
and I lie awake, restless,
unable to stop thinking of you.

I don't really like birthdays
I guess I just don't like the falseness
Like don't get me wrong
Having people you care about
Show they care about you is nice
But it's this Facebook crap I really can't  stand
Like, I get hundreds of happy birthdays
From people I don't even know
From people who don't even know me
But even worse
From people who actually don't like me
They feel the need to put on this face
To pretend they care when they don't
I don't mean to be cynical
It's just my real friends will most likely call me
Or ad least text me personally
No, I have no time for the Facebook brigade
Jumping on a bandwagon
Just because you feel you will be frowned upon if you don't
From now on I'm boycotting birthdays, I think
And removing my date of birth from these sites
Social media has ruined the thrill
Of getting a happy birthday
Off someone you never knew cared enough to remember

he tucks her hair behind her ear, then goes back to reading his book.
and she stares at him and wonders simultaneously how she got so lucky, and how things got to be this way. because no one ever told her what it's like to be in love, and no one can tell her which way is up.
"listen to your heart," they say.
but untrained hearts are just as faulty as untrained minds, and this girl is spinning circles trying to figure out where to go.
which step is next.
she bites her lip, that one he's brought between his own teeth countless times before. she guides her hand along his arm, stares at his knees. she curses them, because they are what she fell in love with.
she fell in love with his hands, and his knees.
and she curses herself, too. "stupid girl, no wonder you don't know what love is."
too busy wasting time watching skin taught on bone and how swollen knuckles settle.
too busy staring to catch her breath.
'silly me,' she thinks.
she counts the miles that will soon separate them, comparing them to the amount of freckles she'd mapped out on his back.
the odds weren't in her favor.
but there was a sense of despairing hope, even.
in crowded train lines and sticky nights running from everything.
under streetlights, dancing,
and clutching each other during thunderstorms.
'don't lose hope,' she thinks.
'you may be stupid but don't lose this.'
questions might never be answered but at least there's promises, whispered and held between their chests.
she might not ever know if this is it or if she's wasting time,
but god knows it never feels like time wasted when she watches those eyelashes close.