Save Me, Muse.

After you had gone, I felt like a shell of my former self. All the weight was back on top of my shoulders. The agonising drudgery of an everyday existence stared me in the face. I was beginning to feel afraid that it might stare me down.

I thought I'd hear your voice on the phone, but I had nothing to say to you. You just happen to be so far away. It's unfair how life seems to bring something to you, and you fall for it, believing that it's here forever. You learn to live your life till saturday, and you know, come sunday, that the one thing keeping you from being fragmented into a thousand miserable bits of person, would be gone.

I live with the hope that I'll see you again. Maybe next year. Maybe even the year after that one. It's small hopes like that that keep me going.

I don't know if there is anyway else I can put this, but the fact of the matter is that I love you. No, not the way you think I do. It's pure, unconditional love someone feels for a person just because they are who they are. No, I don't want to 'date' you. I don't want it to be anything more than what we have right now.

I'm in love with you in a very different sense. I'm in love with the way you laugh at me. I'm in love with the way you get excited by strange things in strange shops. I'm in love with the way I can talk to you. I..

What is my point anyway?

Amy, Green Day.

Don't go away. You're the only thing that's keeping me alive. It's ironic that every time I look at you, I die .You smile at me and my heart skips a beat. There's three other people but I can't keep my eyes off you. I don't know where these words come from. I can barely think straight when I think of you. I'd ask you for a dance, except my legs are jelly and the rest of me is straitjacketed.

I've never seen anyone else this happy. I've never seen anyone else this beautiful. I've never seen anyone with eyes like yours that I can't look away from. I feel lost, and everything around me seems like it's moving a little too slow. I'm afraid of walking into something even when I'm standing perfectly still.

And I don't even know what to say to you. 

Tir Nan Og, Alcest.

The breeze was alive. It spoke to me. It carried memories of the past and visions of the future and things I could't understand. Yet it's constant chattering and whistling brought me comfort. I saw a figure fade away in the distance and I began to run towards it not wanting it to disappear, but when I caught up to it, there was nothing. No one. 

I felt intoxicated by your presence. I breathed in the smell of the sea and thought that this is where I belonged. The shore was a mess of rocks and plastic. It was corrupted. Corroded by the greed of man and his never ending desire to have what he does not need. Yet your very existence made it all seem beautiful for that one moment. Like nothing could ever be wrong with it. Like nothing ever was. You exude perfection in your every breath. Your beauty graced the streets and people parted to let us through. I was starstruck. I had gone mad. I was madly in love. 

I am like the moon. I hide away my darkness and show you only what I want your to see. There's a side of me that I try to deny, but without it I would be incomplete. I would be shallow. Half-faced. I wouldn't be able to live without it and that troubles me. I want to be able to be loved, but deep down inside me, in places I do not want to go, I've seen the truth about who I am. 

Perth, Bon Iver.

The beach was the same as it always was. There was, however something undeniably different about it. Something had changed. Something about us had changed.

We held hands as our feet shuffled along on the sand. You laughed. You have such an infectious laugh. It's the happiest laugh I've ever heard. There's no scorn, no cynicism. Just pure, unadulterated happiness. You made me happy. You always have.

I was so in love I felt breathless. My heart and mind and soul, all a confused mess of being. That didn't disturb me. I had you. I had you beside me. I looked at you, your pretty face, your eyes. I was lost. I thought I heard a guitar playing, and I could smell the earth after it had rained. Those are the things that remind me of you the most. I feel something else when look into your eyes and when you laugh and the whole world seems to be turning upside down and I feel giddy and happy all at the same time and I.

I feel alive.

Phteven.

I've been listening to  twenty | one | pilots  a lot, and I've been in this moral questioning mode, not really knowing which way is left and who I really love anymore. My father turns out to be a fairly terrible person, which is depressing, because I thought he was getting better. I got a new MacBook Pro, which is wonderful, but it means that I have another thing that makes me want to study a little less, which is a terrible thing. I'm still in love with someone and that's a wonderful thing, but I'm not insomniac anymore, so I question the reality of that love. I think every thing seems fairly wrong to me, except I know I'm doing the right thing and the weight of moral obligation and my increasing need for being happy is making me suicidal. Liberty in death. I don't want to be dead but I want to be happy and I know that love will make me happy but I seem to be doing quite the opposite of what I should be. I know I shouldn't be writing this, but I have to because I promised someone I will. I think my brain hurts because my stomach is empty. If only I could eat butterflies. 

this one?

I will remember your face.
Because I'm still in love with that face.
And when the stars.
Are all we share.
Will you be there.
For me?

gajdhendhsuauwyehdnak

Feelings right now. So? What do you say? I don't know what to say about that. I don't even know what it means. I

We're both going to live extraordinary lives. Yes we will. I promise. I keep promising and for once I don't feel shallow. For once I don't feel like a liar. I feel truthful. To me.

We're going to have extraordinary lives an build temples out of paper and set them alight.

Were going to have extraordinary lives and see extraordinary things.

We're going to let go of everything and go to a carnival and have fun.

And breathe

And live

And love

Because we'll tell each other about being free.

Advice from a suicide case

Remember the moment you know exactly where you're going, because the next moment, before you know it, time is slowing and it's frozen still. And the window sill looks really nice, right? You think twice about your life, it probably happens at night, right? Fight it, take the pain, ignite it. Tie a noose around your mind loose enough to breathe fine and tie it, to a tree. Tell it, "You belong to me, this isn't a noose, this is a leash, and I have news for you, you must obey me."

Sexiest darned thing you ever heard.

The Big Come Up.

Oh my fucking god this is so brilliant. It's like, the perfect culmination of Dirty Blues and like, Soulful Rock. Just. Wow. I think I might have discovered the best band on the planet.

this=sex

"well fancy that, won't you?"

fall. 

 i am falling. 

 are you.

 

 i think i am.

 no you're not. 

 you think you are.

 no, i'm sure of it. 

 you're suspended in this one state. you're not moving, not falling. you're stagnant. and decaying.

 don't say that.

 but it's the truth. 

 then push me.

maybe I still

In the dim light of a reading lamp and the weight of a kindle presiding down on my arm, it wasn't easy to sing. I still sang. The truth was that singing wasn't the only thing that I'll remember those two hours for.

Valar Morghulis

Will you still love me when I've go let nothing but my aching song?
Feeling and emotion left me. I was left hung to dry. Empty. Hollow. Emotionless. The colour drained from my face, and the tears soon after. It doesn't take long to se something disintegrate. Something that always seemed so strong you never believed there was ever any chance of you breaking.
My biology teacher told me that my heart is the size of my fist, and that my brain is the size of two fists. It would be logical to assume that a beating from my brain is much stronger than a beating from my heart.
This was never meant to last. I wish it wasn't so.
I do remember telling someone that there isn't really much to a heart. "It's just a fucking pump" what's the big deal? Then it hit me. The heart isn't practical. Its associated with being alive; your heart stops, you die. So why a symbol of love?
And so I think to myself "that's a little obvious, isn't it?"
If you have nobody to love you, you die. Your heart stops beating, you die. I'm not saying something didactic or wannabe. I'm not saying that love is the same as life.
Love is what keeps us alive.

I still will make her believe.

You'd walk into a room and you wouldn't notice her. You'd see her eyes meet yours and you wouldn't know her. You'd see her around you and have no idea she was there.
You will soon learn one thing, though. She is, undoubtably, the most interesting in the room.

And god bless us everyone
We're broken people living
Under loaded guns.
But what is the gun? What is the bullet? Who pulls the trigger?

I went for a conference somewhere almost a a month and a half ago. I won't tell you where. I won't tell you why. I might tell you that I've proven to the schools in Bombay that I'm better than 96 per-cent of the students in this city (statistical data. I'm not one to brag for no reason). That's no what this post is about. It's more about someone I met at the conference. From the moment we spoke, I knew she wasn't one of the regular, boring lot. She was interesting.

She once told me, that she doesn't believe in love. I told her that she's an idiot. In a more, mild, gentlemanly manner that you'd naturally expect of me. Aside, yes. How can you not believe in love. Love is what keeps the planet spinning. It's the undeniable truth about everything.

She wouldn't listen to me.

I expected her not to.

I'm glad she didn't.

head's on fire?

We can find it if we try.
Was it meant to be this way? Was I?
Was I meant to be
Afraid?
But why would I be?
But why does that scare me? Its strange, really
I find it hard to believe people anymore.

my head is an animal

Jumping up and down the floor,
My head is an animal.
And once there was an animal,
It had a son that mowed the lawn.
The son was an ok guy,
They had a pet dragonfly.
The dragonfly it ran away,
But it came back with a story to say.

Her dirty paws and furry coat,
She ran down the forest slope.
The forest of talking trees,
They used to sing about the birds and the bees.
The bees had declared a war,
The sky wasn't big enough for them all.
The birds, they got help from below,
From dirty paws and the creatures of snow.

And for a while things were cold,
They were scared down in their holes.
The forest that once was green
Was colored black by those killing machines.
But she and her furry friends
Took down the queen bee and her men.
And that's how the story goes,
The story of the beast with those four dirty paws.

silly me.

Combinations.
Like my memories are locked.
With combination codes.

When I listen to the right song, on the right device, at the right time.
It reminds me of beautiful things.

It reminds me of your smile. It reminds me of the way you laugh.
It reminds me of you.

It reminds me of how I'm human. How it's okay to cry.

But.

I don't cry because I'm sad. Nor are they tears of joy. I cry because I need to let go.

Let you go.
Let me go.

Laying Waste.

I find it funny how everything seems like it's in place, but it's such a mess. I find it funny how hollow I feel when there's so much around me. I find it funny how the one thin I wanted is not the one thing I can ever have. I find it funny how none of this is funny.

I find it sad that I love to walk in the rain, but I have no one to walk with. I find it find it strange I can never really be honest with me. I find it disturbing how I try to tell myself I'm becoming a better person, but I don't really believe it. I find it funny because I'm a hypocrite, laughing at other hypocrites.

HypocriteCeption.

Love me please? :)

sweat, swear words, and broken toes.

Every inch of my body aches. Screams at me. I won't listen.

Don't hate the pain. Don't avoid it. It's a part of your life, kiddo. Learn to love it.

Eyes closing. Breath heaving.

Afraid.

Of what?

I don't-

I don't know.

See?

Fight.

Heave. Push. Tumble. Struggle.

Fight.

They say "Home is where the Heart is", don't they?

alone, again, forever.

Not the needle
Nor the thread

Not you, not me. Alone again. Sorrow. Sadness. Sickness. When will I be complete, or am I destined to be hollow. Empty. Alone.

Again.

another closer to death and more life.

never occured to me untill about twelve minutes ago.

it's all silent here. quiet. a whisper is a scream. everyone was asleep. not me, no. i'm perinnially insomnic, but that's a different story. the glare from the ipad screen is deafening. the sound of the soft music in my ears is blinding. me?

oh i was doing some research. that's what i normally do at half past eleven, don't worry.

my phone went off. for a terrifying instant i thiught i might wake the others. i didn't. 

i look to my phone. someone had texted me.

happy birthday, dickhead :D

oh well.

I planned on doing this four days ago, but I couldn't do it poetically. Just didn't come to me. So I'm saying this upfront.

I went scuba diving four days ago. It was.

I had to wake up at six thirty in the morning (or six fucking thirty, as a particular friend of mine might put it) and drive about twenty kilometers to the jetty. The weather was pleasant, perfect for diving, about thirty degrees centigrade. The dive site was an hours journey from the jetty, and by the time we got there it was about eight.

This was the second time diving for me, and, let me be honest, i was pretty darned nervous.

Splash. Straight into the water. Twenty feet in. We did the drill, did the skill exercises, and all the other formal bullshit that needed to be done.

Then the fun starts. I could tell you about the millions of fish and jellyfish and strange things that didn't have a name. I could tell you that we dived on an eighteenth century shipwreck. I could tell you that I got stung by a fish with a minor poison. But why?

I can tell you this, though. If you haven't ever dived before,

Go fucking do it.

as long as eye'm hear.

i think my brain doesn't like to differentiate between sound smell feeling and sight. i think it's all a mixture of everything because i like seeing the world like that. it's all multidimentional. it's all magical. but i don't believe in magic now, do i?

it's all so confusing. so many thoughts here there everywhere nowhere.

let me give you an example. if i listen to a song, i feel a gentle breeze blow. if i hear a particular persons name, it smells like the earth after the rains. if i eat chocolate cake, i hear a song playing somewhere in my mind. if i see a lamp it smells like summer.

i could go on.

carry on.

well hello there. miss me? i hope so. no, don't worry, i'm fine. it's nothing. no really. honestly. i've just been really tired. okay, okay, i will. i promise. love you. love you more. good night. bye.

*click*

happieness is a warm gun.

Hello We haven't talked in quite some time I know I haven't been the best. I've been traveling in the desert of my mind
And I Haven't found a drop
Of life
I haven't found a drop
Of you
I try desperately to run through the sand as I hold the water in the palm of my hand because it's all that I have it's all that I need and the waves of the water mean nothing to me but I try my best and all that I can to hold tightly onto what's left in my hand but no matter how how tightly I will strain the sand will slow me down and the water will drain.
I'm just being dramatic in fact, I'm only at it again as an addict with a pen who's addicted to the wind as it blows me back and fourth mindless, spineless, and pretend of course I'll be here again see you tomorrow but it's the end of today end of my ways as a walking denial my trail was filed as a crazy suicidal head case.
Hello We haven't talked in quite some time I know I haven't been the best.
For you.

let me be honest

I think I swear bexause it explains the gravity of a situation. Gravity always pulls me down. Down below to underground. Underground studios and the twenty first pilot. Me.

Razbliuto

day three of feeling like shit.

I hate being unwell.

All I've done is sit around and do litterature projects and play minecraft.

And wish someone on their birthday three hours twenty minites early.

Try to talk to someone who generally can cheer me up, but find her in an apparent bad mood.

Try to figure out what Emily Dickenson has been saying about death and shit.

Getting depressed at my impending failure at biology.

Write pointless blogposts about not being well.

Fuck you, random chaatwalla.

Well it tasted awesome and I'm not the regretting type.

Meh.

STOP WASTING YOUR TIME I'M JUST A BECHARA IN THE NEED OF YOUR  ATTENTION RIGHT NOW.

:3

(tryhard smiley face for you)

love keeps us kind.

We live in a world.
Claustrophobicallly
Small.
Insignificantly
Tiny.
Yet we love it.
Yet we destroy.
Stupid lies and
False truth.
Starvation
and gluttony.
We posess yet
We lust for more.
We are confused.
Yet we ask ourselves.
Questions.
With no answers.
Who are we?
Why are we alive?
Are we dead already?

Food for Stomach.

One does not simply go to a relatives house and come back without putting on a few thousand kilogrammes. But well. Dojo, here I come :D

Nightingale

A small sound. And echo of something forgotten. The resonance of emotion that you don't know about. Thought that dissapear in spontaneous flashes of bright light. Blinding. Enlightning. Waves slipping and falling over the sand. A story that someone told a long time ago. A deep thought. A deeper feeling. A memory of someone. The feeling of iridescance. A small glow that fills the darkest of the corners of your broken mind. To wake you up from the slumber of monotony. Life. Alive. Happy.

The city never sleeps.

Between flashes and revelations. Broken fragments of belief. Love and loss. Trial and error. Between the fucked up concience and the sheer overhaul of existance. Between borderline thought. And hindering emotion. Between whatever needs to be forgotten and what should not be remembered. We are.

TeeHee is the best writer ever.

Perfectly Legitable.

Legitable=Legitimately+believeable

Why?

Don't ask me.

Because I don't know anything anymore.

And because I feel like a vegitable.

Which rhymes with legitable.

Oh forget it.

But ten things make me happy:

1. Being with certain people, like my friends Mav, TeeHee, Pick and Chip.

2. Doing nothing an entire day.

3. Taking a shower for half an hour.

4. Singing.

5. You.

6. Eating.

7. Listening to some music.

8. Reading. Anything.

9. The rare occasion of the release of a good movie.

10. Sleeping.

Now go. Stop pestering me. Penguin is a prick. I have to go for some MUN meeting tomorrow. Wish me luck, children :')

Stairway to Nowhere

Is it morning yet?

Not today. Today I am not going to write something poetic and all loveydovey and all. Why? Because I don't fucking feel like it. Today I feel like getting mad at someone. Telling someone I love her, even though she doesn't care. Punching someone in the face. Scoring an A in the English test. Playing Halo for nine hours straight (previous record is seven). I want to go take a walk on bandstand and hug somebody for the hell of it, except I'm Indian, and I'll get slapped. Singing loudly and pretending I'm Taylor Joseph. Eating a foot and a half Subway with more cheese than I can put in, because that. That is what I fucking feel like doing.

Now that my frustration is out, I can drop back into sexy poet mode.

Another Time

The forest was so quiet you could hear the trees grow. Your heartbeat was so loud, you were deafened by the sound of your existance. You could hear the blood flow in your veins and the gears spin in your brain. This place was so silent, it was alive.

A Love, made for Movie Screens.

Sit.                      Home.
Crawl.              You're.
  Stand.           Untill.
   Walk.         Far away.
    Run.       Higher.
     Fly.      Up.
        Away.

In my arms.
With me.

you took my soul you wiped it clean

After you had left, the most amazing thing happened. I went down again. I was walking past the place you told me you like colourful boats.
All the streetlamps on the road died for three minutes. It looked incredible. Two million more stars just.. popping up out of nowhere. For three whole minutes. The whole world stood still. The traffic stopped and the noise stopped and my iPod was playing the exact song for the moment and it was just. Beautiful.

Meh

On the eve of a day
That's forgotten and fake
The trees they await
Clouds anticipate
The start of the day
When we put on our face
A mask that portrays
We don't need grace
On the eve of a day
That is bigger than us
But we open our eyes 'cause
We're told that we must.

Taxi Driver Man

His muslim cap clung to his head. His long black hair flowing out of the cap. He had a long, gaunt face, accented by a bushy beard that competed with Hagrid's. His head sat atop a thin, rather frail body. Garbed in the white robes of a taxi driver, he sat comfortably in the seat of his Maruti 800. He said he'd been driving her for six years now.

I was stranded at King's Circle for about a quarter of an hour. Exactly twenty two cabs had gone past. He stopped.

Saviour.

Here I Stand

Head in hand
Turn my face
To a wall

If she's gone
I can't go on
Feeling two
Foot small

Mother dear, why did you have to go on your ever so important buisness trip?

While Death was Asleep.

Pure darkness brings forth the light of your heart. Your heartbeats power your mind. Your mind. Your mind is a sunlight chapel with blood on it's stained glass windows. On a rock above the sea. In the middle of an ocean of wine. Crimson as a rose. Like the only rose that grows in the garden of your hands. Your hands. Your pretty, delicate hands. Delicate as china. China's sweet bamboo flutes. Oh how they spew butterflies and notes that enter your ears and make your stomach full. Ears are funny shapes. They sit on your head. Beautiful head. Two eyes two ears two lips one nose. Eyes made of glass. Glass made of sand. A million grains of sand in a sandstorm. Absorbing you into it and tearing you to shreds. Your remains scatter over the lake. Lake of mercury. A planet melted into a silvery liquid. Mercury. A god. Who the fuck is god? God is love and god is hope, she tells me. Who is she? I do not know. I know not  who talks to me. She sits beside me and speaks such beautiful words. Who is she? She has the name of a Goddess, and she speaks to me of her god. Her sister of the soul, the girl I love. The girl who causes flowers to bloom in her hair and birds to sing wherever she walks. She speaks to me when I least expect her to. When I need someone and believe that all hope is lost and that soon, very soon I will die. Glorious, glorious moonshine. Have I gone mad?

Watercolour Sky

I happen to be in love with the sky. Her many moods and her many emotions. The way she rains when she's angry and sad. The way she smiles and lights up the entire world when she's happy. The way she just is. No matter when, no matter where. She's all around me and I never can be without her. We talk to each other a lot. She makes funny faces. When she's all stormy and mad, I just sing to her and tell her to calm down.

I honestly think I'm mad.
Look up every now and then, will you?

Do We Find Our Ways to Fall Apart?

Please come back. Talk to me. We can start anew. I promise. I'll forget all the stupid pointless arguments. With you. With him. Don't go away.

Can we meet up again?

Time Doesn't Fly.

She dances. She dances like a young girl. Dancing away tirelessly. Her every turn and every twirl creating events in our lives. Small insignificant us. Broken puppets on a strings about to snap. We do not know who we are. Who we are meant to be. We don't find our places in this world. They always seem to be taken by someone else.

She dances like a young girl. Full of love and life. She stops to sing when she begins to tire. Her soft sweet voice telling our stories. Telling our stories of beauty, of courage, of love, of death. We are broken puppets on strings about to snap. The show will soon end. The strings will snap. We will fall into a void of emptieness. Our souls can't fly away. They're pulled into the void. We cease to exist. We're forgotten.

Feel it in My Bones.

Enough to
Make my systems go
Welcome to the new age
To the new age

Feel the air lift you off the ground. It empowers you. Brings you back to life. It sets you down with delicate fingers. The sound resounds around you creating a wave of rising dust.

Open your eyes. Empty your mind. Start anew. Breathe.

Wake up.

Raise your flag. Don your clothes. The cloud of ash and dust settles to the ground. Feel powerful. Feel alive. You are the revolution. Look your enemies in the eye.' Smell the fear that reeks from within them. You like it, don't you? Raise your flag and dawn your clothes. The revolution is upon you. Bring down the fools who sit on their high chairs. The taller the are, the louder the sound of them crashing down to the earth will be.

The sun hasn't died. The night is young. It's all within you. Deep in your bones. Straight from inside. Don't give up. Fight.

You're radioactive.

An Ode to Sleep.

Oh but I'll stay awake. The dark aint taking prisoners tonight. Oh I'm not scared of the morning. I don't hear thise voices calling. I swear I've heard demons yelling. Those crazy words they were spelling. They told me I was gone.

I'll tell them.

Why wont you let me go? I'm giving away all my sins now. I'm insignificant. Please tell them you. You have no plans for me. Oh I will set my soul on fire. What have I become? I'm sorry.

Or is it Just Madness?

I.
I've tried so hard to let you go.
But some kind of madness.
Is swallowing me whole.
Emotions run through your nerves. Electrochemical currents. Taking over your head. You slowly go blind. You slowly go deaf.
You slowly go dumb. And then you have no control over yourself. You wake up to a new world. You wake up to a new dream. You wake up and you can hear. You wake up and you can talk. You wake up and you can see. You have finally see the light. You have finally realized. What you need. You need to love. Don't deny it it. There's nothing wrong. But you go back to sleep. That's the problem. Which one is a dream? Which one is reality? Maybe you don't want to know.

Cascading Tears

Breath. Don't forget to. Inhale. Inhale the toxins and the chemicals. Inhale the anguish and the anger and the angst. Inhale the pain. Then let it all out. With cascading teardrops. Jumping happily up and down your face. You cry because you are sad. Your tears are happy. Learn from them. Dont be a steryotype. Let all your sadness out. Scatter it farther away with every breath. You don't need it. You don't want it. Who does? Me? No.

And Heaven is in Sight.

I turn the music up
I've got my records on
For underneath the rubble
Sing a rebel song
Don't want to see another
Generation drop
I'd rather be a comma
Than a full stop

Twelve hours, twenty seven minutes

And fourty two seconds. Almost a day. It's a very, very long time for me. Don't know about you. Maybe it doesn't trouble you. You probavly haven't notced, so I don't really know why it's so traumatic for me. You know I'm paranoid, don't you. You know I'm really scared of stupid small things like this. Still troubles me.
It's for the best you didn't listen.
It's for the best we keep our distance?
Goodnight.

Strobe Heartbeat.

The moon is a thief. It steals light from the sun. We know this, dont we? Or do we. We like to believe in moonlight. Not stolen sunlight. Moonlight. Filling your empty head with a million beautiful thoughts.   Making us believe in a million things. Hope. Is that what you call it? Hope. Interesting word. Interesting four letter word. Love. Hope. Are they the same? Are they all we live for? Or are they our killers? Questions. Roll them over your tongue. Roll them over your mind. They taste wonderful, don't they? I didn't get it at first. There is no secret ingredient to the secret ingredient soup. It's a lie. There is. It's you. It's belief. It is hope. It is love. You're right. You were from the start.

There is no Home to go to.

I told you. I'm blind. I told you. I can't see. I toldy you. You see the world full of colours, but all I see is black and white. I see my life in a greyscale where everything is wrong an nothing feels right. But you're right. We do find our god. Every teardrop is a waterfall.

Go back to sleep.

Bleeding Out.

Can't we tear those old pages from our book to pretend it was new?

I miss you. I really, really do. I know I said all the wrong things at all the wrong times. I know I fucked up. Can't we forget? I'll do my best, I swear. I'll stop loving you. I'll stop loving. I just dont want to believe I've done damage beyond repair.

I'm really sorry. I honestly am. Can we still be friends? You're the most wonderful one I've ever had. I'm scared and I'm sorry. Forgive me?

Sleeping on the River.

The sky was getting darker by the second. The sun was falling down. The moon was catapulted up. It all happened in slow motion. Two people slow danced to slow music. A man and a woman. They danced on a live beating heart. They took dainty steps and looked perfectly happy. I could see the face of the woman, clear as crystal. Her eyes were a swimmind pool of colour her eyelashes fluttered when she blinked. Her warm features and her smile that melted me to a puddle of goop. I knew this face all too well. The man had no face. Just a sheer white shape of a face his neck.

They slow danced on a heart. The woman wore a dazzling gown, shimmering with the colours of a rainbow. She wore pretty high heels the punctured the heart as they stepped. They made  fountians of a thick crimson liquid. They danced around the fountians, the liquid not once staining them, for it was impure. The man was there. He never left. The man did nothing but thump his leather shoes on the surface. I have trouble remembering him. The woman however, was a vivid memory. The dance continued, the torment continued. For many nights and days I couldn't sleep. I was enchanted by what I saw. I thought. I wondered. I remembered.

If heartache was a physical thing
I could face it
I could face it
Ih you're hurting me
Inside of my head
I can't take it
I can't take it.

I still can't sleep.

Feel it Glow

I got onto the train. I had my headphones in. I was thinking about someone. The music changed. The surrounding changed. The sky changed. Highs and lows. High emotion. High on spirits. Love is a drug. Love is noise. Love is a powerful emotion. It makes you. It breaks you. It changes you. Bass kicks. Breaking glass. Breaking chains. Melody plays. Melancholy dies. Music brings you back to life. Ruthless. Restless. Radioactive. Flags raised. Fear abandoned. Forces unknown to me. Power. Prowess. Peace. Escalations. Elevations. Energy. Shock waves. Sound waves. Demons. Destruction. Death.

Little Black Submarines

Stolen friends and disease
Operator please
Pass me back to my mind.

When for that one glorious second, everything stops. Your heart stops beating, your eyes shut tight. The earth stops rotating, the moon stops dead. The sun dies out, all you see is blackness. In one tremendous woosh of air, you sneeze. AAACHOOO! All your irritation and anger and annoyance flies out of your nose. You suddenly are so light and so free. All you can think of doing is laughing, because you sneezed when the Hindi teacher was being a condescending bitch. You sneezed the wind out of your lungs and you shut her up. Oh the feeling. I was the hero of my class today.

Look What I Found.

I sat one night.
I sat under the sky.
Under the black sheet of paper.
Paper peppered with dots.
Dots coloured white and red.
People called them stars.
I didn't believe.
They looked like pretty faces.
Glowing in the black papery sky.
A million portraits on the same canvas.
A million faces on the same earth.
One of them always is special.
One of the million.
A particular bright red one.
Four point two thousand light years away.
It's a big number.
It's a big distance.
It's a long time.
Maybe I'll get there.
Untill now.
I'll let the faint irridescance.
The sheer beauty keep me awake.
Insomnic madness.
But we all are a bit mad, no?

It's Over.

One twenty one in the morning. I'm going now. You'll never see me again. Not that you care. Not that you ever cared. All I asked of you is to see sense. What did you do? You let your anger take a hold. You were blind. Maybe now you'll see. Maybe.

My Solitude was my Valentine.

The night went on. Almost as if it forgot. It forgot to stop. The sky cried starry tears and the moon grumbled about it's imperfections. Tears of broken glass streamed down her face. Her eyes were a frightening shade of grey, but they reflected a million psychadelic rainbows. Her thin, long eyelashes danced when she blinked. Her cherry red lips quivered when she spoke, but she was afraid to tell the world. Her thin, bony fingers gave life to whatever they touched. Her tall, slender frame was perfect beyond doubt, but she hid from the world. She said she was too ugly. She radiated warmth and love, she looked like she was going to freeze to death. She was something else. Human, yes, but something else. And I love her. She just doesn't know. She thinks she is alone, but all she needs to look behind her.

Oh I've Tried Before To Tell Her.
All The Feelings I Have For, In My Heart.
But Everytime That I Come Near Her.
I Just Lose My Resolve As I've Done.
From The Start.

Figures.

People come, people go. The entirety of my life seems to be full of elevator relationships. They end at the lobby. I think I have a friend, and woosh. They're gone. I'm gone as well. There's a certain sadness you are bound to feel, but after a while, you learn to get used to it. You get used to spasmodic pain and you think about all the things that went well in that short elevator ride. My only foulweather friend has been my solitude. All I see around me is the sky. But I like the sky. The sky reminds me of every good thing that happens. The small drops of dew that I live for. I went on a school trip to Bangalore for a week and two days. Everyone else in class was happy and laughing and enjoying themselves. Me? I just sat on the side and wrote poetry in a cheap ten rupee notebook. Pulp fiction, if you please. It's enlightening. I read a book the other day called the The Short History Of Nearly Everything. It made me feel small. It made me feel powerful. My existence is an oxymoron. People tell me I'm dramatic. People tell me I try too hard. That's precisely why I've given up on them. I have nothing left here but twenty pages in the notebook. I read a story about a couple who travelled the world, came home, and shot themselves. They left a note saying "we've had our fun, why wait?". It reminds me of Mary by Kings of Leon. Don't ask me why. There's a lot of pent up emotion in my head that I need to let out. Wouldn't it be fun?

Strawberry Swing

Have you heard it? No? Then you should. It makes me nostalgic for love. It's a weird feeling. I like it though. It's difficult to live in a world where there's just so much noise, so much anger, so much violence, so much sadness. It's difficult, but we always do.

Nostalgic for love isn't something I came up with. This beautiful, wonderful person I know came up with it. It's an emotion I associate with, but interestingly enough, I don't know what it means. I just think it sounds right, but if you like someone as much as I like her, it wouldn't everything she says sound right? That's the beauty of it isn't it?

Nostalgic for Love.

We make Paisa, not Cents.

We're Indian, aren't we? My friend is a genius. A comic genius. I tell her I'm depressed. She gives me her hypothesis. I say it makes sense. She says "We're Indian re. We make paisa, not cents."

We are all either totally 'forever alone' or we're the undiscovered absolution of human evolution. I'll stick to the latter. Makes me feel better. 

C'est La Vie

This really killed me. A friend of mine found this on Tumblr, and she showed it to me, and it just killed me. You are like a limb, and organ, or blood. I'm going to be cliched as hell about this, but hey! They don't call French the language of love for nothing do they? Oh and I love typewriters. I've used one of them, and they're much more fun to use than keyboards. Try to if you get a chance.

Reality is Overrated

I was walking home from school today. I was listening to a particular music group. I closed my eyes for a second. Then that happened.

I felt the bass kick in time to my heartbeat. I felt the melody become my breath. I felt myself become the music. I opened my eyes to my reality. Where buildings were flying, explosions were all around me. The world was in a constant state of motion. It was fluid. It was alive. I was alive.

The pain and the angst all gone. All my suffering gone. I kept walking on a road that had ceased to exist. The sky had turned blood red. I was walking on neon blue light. Every single step I took shook the earth and shattered glass. It wasn't destruction. It was the creation of something. Something bigger than me. I was awed by it. I could see sound, I could hear light. It was a psychedelic mindfuck, but I loved it. I could see people now. I could see people I wanted to share my reality with. It was empowering. I could feel them, hear them, see them. It was everything I lived for. Everything I wanted. Everything I had.

My reality. My existence. Where I am. Where I will be. Find me if you can, and I'll show you the most amazing things. Beyond your wildest dreams.

I'm radioactive. 

Wishful Thinking

It's far to early in the morning
To be trying to call you

It's far to early in the daytime
To keep thinking about you

But I, but I am

Wishful thinking is a powerful thing, I said to her. She asked me to elaborate. The though of it is scary. Really. I've tried and failed enough times already.

She wrote about a guy, I wished it was me. Simple as that. I can't tell it to her, because I'm legitimately afraid of doing that. It's not easy to tell someone like her something like that. I'm afraid it'll ruin everything I tried to create. I'm scared of thinking about it.

I'm such a failure :/

Up and Down the Hall.

It's really confusing. Everything. In general. Nothing about life really makes sense. Sometimes, I begin to question this though. I wonder about what causes this confusion. Maybe it's a grand design? Maybe it's all about learning? Maybe it's about going on a quest of self realisation? Or maybe I just don't know what the fuck to do. I'm sticking with the fourth. Just seems significantly more probable than any of the other three.

On a side note though, today was a Monday. And I had a Physics test. On a Monday. Really school? Really? It's bloody stupid. A Physics test. On a Monday. Okay. I just  can't over this.

Oh am I sane?

Disapointment and Exams are Always Related.

I was supposed to go for the Norah Jones concert on the third of March with a couple of friends and I was really excited and things. Naturally, my final exams for this year had to start on the first. Well..

It's really annoying. It happens practically every year. Towards the summer.

Oh well. Next year maybe.

Just for the Sake of It?

YOLO

Really? I'm not so sure. Maybe you live once. Maybe you don't live at all. Maybe it's like that amazing movie I've forgotten about, in which the plot is that it's just all a dream in a cryogenic chamber somewhere in outer space. Maybe we all live our own versions of life, oblivious to everyone else. Just like Inception, no?

I've always thought about it this way. I've always thought that there IS a 'rewind' button where life is concerned, just waiting to be found. Maybe we're all better off without it. Ironically, I've always been happier when I've messed up, and had to face reality.

Well maybe it's just like Halo. You die and you re-spawn. 

The Blind Cats of Paradise

People are interesting. Well, a fair few of them. They make sense. They really do. Speaking to people is fun. People you can connect to. People you may not know, but people you want to. Paradise is a strange place. I've always had issues believing it exists. In a world like this where everything goes wrong and everyone turns sour. You do find it though. It's like that one little needle in a haystack. They say it's impossible to find that needle. It's too small. It's camouflaged. It's to elusive. Can I tell you a secret? I just used a magnet.

Finding people, or being found by people is an amazing experience. Just knowing that you're not alone on this alien planet, bent in a warped, psychotic rampage to destroy everything pure. They say you find that one person. I say there's people all around you. Just look around you. You will find them. We will find you. 

Green Shorts and Pink Shoes.

The other Saturday, I met someone. I'm not going to bother talking about who or why, but I just did. I met someone the other Saturday. Green shorts and pink shoes. A place that moved in circles, a head that moved in circles. Conversation that was going nowhere, but we were going everywhere. Muffins and cupcakes. Science, Religion, Philosophy, Literature. Defying everything and protecting it. Confusion. Hysteria. Laughter. A warm smile. That's all I remember. Someone met me the other Saturday.