You see, it's coming back again. i'm scared. the facade has given me a new identity altogether and i'm finding it difficult to get to the real me. i'd been drinking on music and words to keep my world occupied, to stop me from overthinking, to stop me isolating, to stop me from dying.
but there is a threshold to everything d**n thing in this world and i guess, you've managed to wreck my whole system up.
they say i'm the most stable one and my life is in complete order. do you see the extent of the facade? damn, are they fools? don't they get it? okay leave them, don't you get it? i'm a writer, right? and how on earth could a writer be so contented with his life. infact our life couldn't get any messier. yes, i f*****g smile, i f*****g laugh, i f*****g roast, i f*****g do everything to trick people into believing that i'm the one to be called for, i'm the one to share a laugh with, i'm the one the one to cry your heart to but for the one last time, would you f*****g care to hear me out?
my mouth and my fingers are my biggest enemies. if for once, either of them could speak or type out the stuffs i've always wanted to voice out then life could have become so much simpler. neither do you get it, don't you? every night, i do want you to come right by my side, hug me tight, tell me to cry my heart out and not leave me until i curl the night on your lap.
hey you! yes, i'm talking to you, the one reading this. i know, life has been nothing less than a roller coaster with a broken seat belt for you. well it's been nothing less for me. maybe you've faced more, i don't know but there's one thing i'm sure about is that nothing is lost. there's nothing like "it'll pass". nothing f*****g passes, it's engraved deep at the corner of your brain which will p***k you time after time. it's okay to be sad, it's okay to be numb. no one would judge you, no one has the f*****g right to do so. it's your way of healing and you'd know the best about it.
sourav dey| select writer.
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I ate sylvia's corpse.
showed bukowski a middle finger.
made my bed.
slid over the duvets.
and wrote a bad poem.
last night was a n**i ranting about overpopulation.
– a bleeding teeth kept in the ice bucket.
death comes like a sudden panic attack
like a flying fish caught in mid-flight.
full fledged, like a hammerhead,
death creeps under the bed,
like a kind prayer,
of how even sacrifices have become monetized.
of how cathedrals are human rackets,
where horses thump like mourning men,
attending a morning gospel
of how even priests have started spitting at god's face.
this poem is a wrecking ball,
a river creating oxbows,
at every hand flung as a 'sorry' or 'help'.
at every line wrap, writing an obituary.
writing a bad poem,
is making a hole in the singer's chest,
and letting opera flow like rage,
wounded and then bandaged with non-rhyming words.
it's weird how mirrors speak more than scars.
of how our bodies are mute cynics.
but then of course a heap of bodies,
is the government running this planet.
then of course, my body is also,
a short story collection,
intended for young adults.
then of course, my body is as similar and rare,
as a man cupping his chest.
I love you same as i love full moon nights. it's not a metaphor that you just keep throwing at people's face and love to watch them struggle to understand what you mean with those words you weave. you love cliffhanger, don't you?
back to what i was saying, i love how it spreads the light in darkness just like i find my light in you when i find myself darkness, again metaphor, there is only one person that is you. i find it very hard to explain what i feel to anyone but with you it just gets emptied out. you can't stare at sun, it may burn your eyes but it is not the case with the moon. you can look at it as long as you want until your eyes get tired same as i look at you, without blinking an eyes because i can never get tired of watching you for your expressions are amusing for me. i love how you make differences, how your lips and facial muscles move for different emotions and how your face couldn't hide when you catches me to staring you.
i am not saying that i see your face in the moon but i look at the full moon and i think of you. i think of you in my arms and you kiss me to calm the hustle and bustle of my mind same as cold breeze kisses my skin to calm all the restlessness of my senses. we look at the moon and i tell you how much i love the full moon and how much i love you.
Tag your foodie lover.
fan-post by roshni narang.
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I yearn for you
like the winter sun
but this year avalanches were too frequent
i don't want you to be crushed underneath.
write your name on my skin
let them all read it
for us, we would not be deciphered ever
but still our love would be poetry.
i had dreams of you often
but i don't sleep much
so make me sleep in your arms
and wake me up when i'll be over.
till then let's share the glances.
let's feel the cool in our breath.
smile often when you see me
and i'll reciprocate, for water can't hold
but can take shapes.