'wish you were here'

she lit her cigarette like a mia wallace from pulp fiction poster, took a deep drag and blew out a huge trail of smoke from her nose as she looked at several faces arrested in small digital squares on her computer screen (video calls, duh)... and here from the other side of the screen, as i watched her... i felt a bit dazzled... as if i'd inhaled that smoke she just blew out. her presence was indeed intoxicating. please cut me some slack, i had seen her after a long time. 

while her eyes darted from one box to another, smilingly, laughingly, occasionally contributing to the banter of the meeting and very obviously oblivious (try reading these two words aloud at once :P) of my presence, i safely hid behind my display picture which did a great job at not revealing my emotions. not that anyone, including her, was interested in knowing where my eyes lingered. 

she wore black today. black - the color borrowed from the night. the color where my mind takes refuge in. the color which resembles the walls of the room which guards all of my secrets and pain. 

was this not enough that her iridescent eyes were radiating an embracing warmth of blue. blue - the color borrowed from the daylight sky. the color which resembles the roof of my garden when the sun shines brightly. 

there, right there, i felt drawn to her like a rumi to a shams. 

no, i'm no rumi, and she is no shams, but the bond that tied them together, i felt, we could have one like that.

when the meeting was nearing its end, my eyes lingered a bit more on hers, arrow hovered a bit longer on the leave button, unwilling to click it... just to smoke in her image in my mind... a bit longer... like the drags she took from her cigarette.         

Disclaimer: No non-fictional characters were harmed in the making of this post.

hey, you...

now and then, strolling by the sea, I write my deepest pain on a tiny piece of paper... 

I tuck it in a bottle and throw it in the direction of the vast oblivion in front of me hoping that it never returns...  

often I see that the bottle gets washed ashore with the paper now drenched and the bottle now crushed... even the sea doesn't seem to like it.

I don't know where to put all of that pain... 

your eyes saw through my pain once... and they spoke to me. 

at least, I thought they did. 

hey, I don't want them to look at me only for my pain. 

would they look at me when I smile thinking about you? 

would they look at me when I so badly want them to?

if I send this post tucked in a bottle, would it reach you?  

in case it does, will you talk to me?

love,

  s     

 

trapped

your mind and skin 

reject being your home anymore,

your screams never reach 

your lips anymore, 

you try to shut it out 

but can't escape it anymore

you wish you could die

but are too tired to try anymore

that nasty tempest

TW: no rhymes, no coherence; read at your own risk

it bangs on your doors at midnight

brings in a wave of your grotesque past     

turns into a storm  

wrapped in a damp blanket,

blurs and blocks your vision

before ravaging your soul for good

it slowly crawls into 

your broken mind

light and swift 

like a roach,

catches you unawares

sprawls into your insides

before spoiling your senses for good

if depression had a voice

its words would bleed,

its screech would rip and rattle

your earth's surface

before shattering its core for good

TW: bleed, soak, die

Some day my 

bleeding thoughts 

will kill me,

not that I need saving... 

I'd rather drown 

in their blood

than in my own

Some day my

mind will turn 

into a graveyard

not that I'm scared...

I'd rather be haunted by

my morbid present than 

my grotesque past

Some day my

body will turn into ashes

not that I need saving...

I'd rather burn in  

pyre of my dead feelings

than my funeral

following a broken compass...

I was told to write down how I felt at the moment... I was amused at how my mind instantly started working an answer; like it was waiting for a thousand years for someone to ask this question.

Sometimes I don't know where my life is heading, feels like it's following a broken compass. 

Every morning I look in the mirror, I see someone else. Every morning. 

It feels like I'm not entirely dead and not entirely alive. 

Every evening, as the sun sets, I sit by my window watching life pass me by, sometimes staring blankly into the crimson sky not wanting to stay alive to watch tomorrow's sunrise.

The nights are like a cup of hot chocolate on an unforgiving, chilly day. I feel the darkness is where I'm meant to be. Like, my mind has found a home in its pitch-dark walls. Even on a good day, I feel my mind never left this space at all.

Why is it so hard to feel the ache which sometimes shatters your heart into 200 billion pieces or to feel the void which leaves a gaping hole in it?

Why is it so hard to feel the chilly indifference of your loved ones which pierces the skin so badly? Isn't it better to be alone than to have someone pretending to be with you?

While dying may seem simple, living seems like a Sisyphean struggle. 

I know everyone has their own battles to fight. Everyone has their own demons to tend to.

Anyway...  Thank you for reading this far.

facing your storm

the calm of the sea

often reminds me

of the storm your eyes

had once stirred up,

seeking answers to my pain

although it slightly wrecked

my heavily-guarded shores,

little did you know

that I'd seek shelter

in shutting my eyes