I’m wide awake, yet working on autopilot

These generic modes we delve into, the aftermath so specific


Fierce is he who wanders through the jungle, and becomes civilized

Coward, who crucifies the Holy for not handling the beast within


I am talking to that one person that might just listen

If he understands, it’s as I’m talking to the world entire

On behalf of all those that mean the same, only in different tones

Language and sight a barrier to those that seek what they have lost

Don’t they know, boomerangs are knives wanting to slit

The pure?


Protect me from this, crusader

Your cause has won, but you have lost of me, what empties the secrets in the mud

As they reveal themselves to the rain


She will walk as walking is done, subtly

They will see not where she came from, nor where she is going

But the meaningless meaningful stingings that have staggered along the way


It might just take a minute

But all your life has lead you to that one minute

Days pass like they were nothing

Then why do some things stay eternal?


You are a shape unsizeable

You hold volumes uncountable, in your mystery

I wish I could leave off on a simpler note

How could I? Knowing that these tangles will only unfold when I understand the purpose of complexity



Crippled by this insensitive take on what surrounds
These surroundings

Have you ever been so close? Parted the biscuit symmetrically, only for it to be submerged in coffee that is meant to be just THAT, detached from the tips of your fingers

The sea of your worries, the foam bubbling, trouble lurking

For a way in

These attires

“Nearly had fucking everything!”

I am dribbling with the sanctity of life

Whirling in the wind that has befriended my weak condition

Only in my favour will it be, until I seek denounced salvation

Of the kind that requires of you wakefulness, piercing focus

The lack thereof, musings, deserving diversions

Had I known all my deviations would lead me back to You

I would’ve been a lot less fearful, of everything else

A handful of sand slipping, happily, serenity now

In all that falls in place

With Your remembrance.

November, bleak midwinter


In the name of You for whom my blood bleeds

Its existence

This slight blizzard, teasing my weather to loosen up a bit

But what I found has been blurred and brought back to me

In this confusion

My limits outstretched, false hope dangles. Maybe these walls represent the bland, in us, in it all. Can I use this for my advantage? What is self-interest, but a dying man profiting from all the visits, all the crumbs left after tea for the floor to sweep. For the mop to clean frank dismay. It’s been a year. It’s been a fucking year.

Never contemplated it. Figured there’s way more to ruin in ourselves before ruin is brought to us. Pain exclusive. The boy kicked out of class for fidgeting too much with his pen, can now turn your world upside down, with just a blink.

But you’re still shameless. You rub the chalk before they sense the screech. You drag on the wood but it’s your burden that stays. A marble you toss on a moving staircase…path of pride, circular shapes sure are funny, ain’t they? No side to corner, every reflection: yours.

And then I think about what I just wrote and who’d read it. About how I can’t be bothered to edit.

Order such chaos. Would you fucking get it?

It’s alright, I mean. I’m supposed to get it, write it, talk it, walk it. Screwed up by this order. Let’s just say I’ve walked it, gotten it till I lost it, could barely get my message across had I talked it, but whenever I write it

It’s as


I don’t know


One minute

I’m still. The world happens. But the world inside my head happens for me as I question my entire being and look like a lost, bent over, fleer of war for a word that’ll not make these bombs detonate as I stand on a landmine. Enduring every.single.fucking.day.pre.and.post.this.bloody.minute. Where I wait as it all comes back to me and I wonder why I ever signed up for this shit.

And no alpha infront or omega behind will get flustered for anything past his poor life to watch out for. Yesterday was for me and tomorrow will probably be for you but who’s got to explain as of today to someone who needs to wake up and see it for what it is?

And as a thousand images flash like a cassette stuck for being played in the wrong time. I pick the images that stuck and let my giddy gaze form a sentence or two, in this dim frame of mind. What I could’ve said, what it all meant.

And then a stranger takes on, and writes another sentence off of that, elsewhere. All individualistic, of course. Your pain does not precede mine. Your imagination is second hand.

Why so sour, honey? I have mended to your stretch marks, your shade, your scars. I have counted the spaces in your hair as the sun pierced through it and set my eyes ablaze, for wanting to, shelter you in me.

Two utility bottles tripped over some trivialities and bowed in the same 45 degree angle. Does that mean we look the same if struggling with, the exact same, catastrophe? Or should we finally give due credit to gravity, for letting us feel more than we should because the lighter the heart, the easier it is to flee to its whereabouts.

I can’t write more.

Maybe that’s why books have numberings and pages have word limits. Because. If you take all the trips it needs, to come to a conclusion of a final thought, you wouldn’t ever write it down.

You’d throw that draft out the window.

As of all the others that didn’t make the cut.

Because, who’d be insane enough to write this?

I can’t.

I fucking won’t.

Or I’ll break again.

“But it is in the breaking that you’ll find your strength, my friend”

Bury it all with me.

Make me the enemy, take your revenge.

I’ll be here.

All the way…


A self-editing mechanism, mutually shredding a guitar

The blues of it, the itch, the ache in running sandpaper through infant skin

The different ways I come back to you, the same way you receive me

Too many humans, their vagueness a stream you drink from, time and again

The embezzler in you they think is rogue; you qualify as honest

What is dishonesty but honesty to few?

What is honesty but diplomacy to the masses?

I changed the day you looked at me odd when I picked the cherry with the longest stem

You thought it was a no-brainer I did so for the knot, just a tease, but I didn’t

At the time, the only thing with a knot was my tongue, yet, I wasn’t tongue-tied

Let me walk you through the irony of it…see…the deeper the roots of the stem, the kinder the juice to spill when you pull it out

‘cherries belong to the rose family’

The big five

The most economic, yet the deadliest

If you can’t kill the culprit, at least get your hands on his partner in crime

The brighter scarlet, the sour in tasteless sweet

An old encyclopedia you just dusted off, and put back on the shelf

After all, wasn’t there a dead rose in it? Ah, but its fragrance remains…


As the smoke lingers

In and out, of rehab

I mean, most of the time, no one quite speaks literally.

They don’t know, they can only assume

of what it takes to shatter a soul.

What robs you of your sleep, probably, maybe, most definitely, what do I know?

Fragmented  little puzzles, crossroads of the mind.

This piano, these hands, this rusty ol’ surface.

The out of tune, the mystery yet to swoon.

You can’t mold me, this telltale realm of space, my voice metamorphosed.

The margins within are so narrow, the wisdom of things scarce.

The fear of your own oblivion, you say you wait for nothing

but the gutless in you knows, that’s what you have been surrounded with

and so the familiar comforts in its veil.

This overflow of the conventional, makes me yearn for masks

aesthetically unacceptable, it amuses me.

The joyous music, the bitter tongue.

But then again, tenderness outburst,

defies brutal rage, beauty repelled at those that sought it only with their eyes.

You stare long enough at the gush, static motion

of paralyzing waves; this sonic rumble, and you understand.

The stronger they rush, the slower they recede

The dominance in the force, a halt in the hearts

In the eternity of a second, stretchered far too long, far too far.


Sleepless, asleep through the storms
A furnished essence, pulled out of me
Crippling all my senses in a queer way

I forgot to dedicate this to you, hey
Credits to you for being a lingering memory
A road I’ve known for long, like a fucked up face

Zig zag, all the way up, all its way down
I’ve been dancing to my disasters
Crushing my sworn enemy, falling none

There was once a piece I read
That said that there was no journey
It all arrives and departs right away

It liberates me to know, the more we seek
This homesickness, it extinguishes the ability
Of wilderness to breathe our snow

As much as it is cold here, one day
A flag will wave down this canopy, at you
And every prayer for somebody else will salute you farewell

Defranchise your soul

This perverse utopia
Makes me question
The myth that won’t wash away

Anything is as everything you want it to be
An epidemic for a cure

Cattle getting sick; slaughtered
To protect the herd
Its head, bowling downhill

Whether you’re the weapon, or the target
Or the trigger
For the unsincerities of the seeker
You are just as responsible

Either you sink the ship,
Or let me go

Whether you invent fire
By friction and stones
Defranchise your soul

Awoken mirage of dreams
See it for what it is
Yet take bread for loaf

The perfect example
Of monsoon running through their veins
Fate decided for them

Gentle, be gentle
There is a thin line, between being honest
And being a dirtbag
Don’t cross it