Category Archives: Writing

Summertime Sadness


It was all smoke and mirrors!! It was all a game to him, you are yelling. Everyone is staring at us as we try to pick the perfect bottle of whiskey for the occasion. You never know what’s the perfect drink to cure a broken heart though. So hold a second as we pile different flavors into the cart.


Watch me forget his name. Watch me erase all memory of him, you scream as the alcohol limits slowly play a game of who’s stronger with your blood. The fact that we’ve had nothing to eat does nothing to help this unfair competition. So i pour the whiskey and you rant. I smoke and you rant some more.  I start drinking the moment you start breaking down and hold you as racking sobs have your body shaking. I can’t watch you like this sober. It is not fair to either of us.


It is like watching a child cut himself crawling on broken glass. It hurts me more than it hurts you. You delete the beautiful pictures of you and him on the phone. They are so many you give up after you realize that your hands are too tired and the light is hurting your eyes so you drop the phone into the glass of whiskey. You seem to have come to terms with the reality of the situation so you start smoking, the tears caked up on your face making you look so vulnerable.


I am still holding you and your head is cradled on my shoulder. We are seated on the balcony. It is a Friday night. Life is going on as usual. Most of the neighbors are asleep. The stars look so bright it almost sounds unfair that such a beautiful night could habor such a dark moment to you.


You go over the details leading up to the moment and we analyze it till we decide to give it the middle finger. Surely there’s more to life than moping around. So we go online and book a holiday for the weekend. This was supposed to be your wedding night after all.

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Posted by on March 31, 2017 in Muse, Uncategorized, Writing


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Please Tell Me


What is it about you? You take my words and turn them around. You fling them back at me with so much hate and anger. What did I ever do to you, I wonder? You take out the love in every action and make it a personal vendetta even in the most harmless of things. You turn my smile into a frown so easy I have forgotten what it feels like to be genuinely happy.

What is it about you? You have me wound so tight, I’m ready to snap at any moment. When you curl up in bed, does it feel like you’ve accomplished your day’s mission when my feelings are trampled over. Does it make you feel big when you make me flinch emotionally? Does it make you happy to make me turn to ice just so you can point out how much of a cold person i am?

What is it about you? Were you always this way or did life just serve you the wrong lemons along the way? Have you always been this much of an emotional terrorist? I open my mouth but you hear me wrong. I say what I feel, but you turn it upside down. Love what have you done with my tongue, I open my mouth but you steer me wrong.

You ask why you can’t elicit a reaction from me. You drive me over the edge looking for a reaction. You want me to yell, break things, fling my arms at you, anything. Thing is, that part of me is numb for now. You gotta know, I’m feeling low. I just don’t have the energy to transform that into a reaction. And you were never patient enough to look for a response. Knee-jerk reactions are all you understand. Before you get to my level, I’ll sip my coffee from a distance and watch you unravel at the seams.

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Posted by on March 31, 2017 in Uncategorized, Writing


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It’s a few minutes to midnight. I’ve been going through Tim Dowling’s writing for the best part of the night now. I’ve decided I like his writing style. He makes it look so easy and my life sounds so mundane and dull compared to his.

I’ve been shuffling my playlist looking for something to get me in the mood. I tried Chet Faker, that’s my go-to playlist when I want to be in the mood to write, then tried Tom Odell and am now listening to Saudade, which literally means Longing, as though I understand a word of Portuguese. The band pelts a great tune, the kind that allows you to get lost in the music and be nostalgic of a moment you are yet to live. The kind that makes you believe that life has a lot more to offer to you specifically. The kind that makes you wistful for things you don’t know.

And I am living a moment I have lived before, a moment I’m living and moments that are surreal to me. And I don’t want to leave this moment just yet.Am clinging to a memory that’s shattering me to pieces. Am hanging on to a pain that I needed to feel but numbed it before. Am walking a fine line between nostalgia and wanderlust.

.And I don’t want to leave this moment just yet. Am clinging to a memory that’s shattering me to pieces. Am hanging on to a pain that I needed to feel but numbed it before. Am walking a fine line between nostalgia and wanderlust.

I need to shrug off this dark cloud yet for some reason it’s comfortable walking these paths. Memory lane feels familiar. This boulevard of broken dreams is crowded but feels comfortable. There is a certain intimacy I have with my shattered dreams. The kind that is perverted yet puts a smile on your face. The kind of smile one gets from knowing that there’s nothing much to be done in some situations. The kind of smile a dying mother puts on for her child knowing fully well that she can’t do shit for them yet has to be strong to her last breathe because that’s what mothers do for their spawn, even the ungrateful and spiteful ones, they all deserve a mother’s love.

And you are a mean bastard when you are drunk. Hurling angry and hurtful words. And she is clinging to the baby. Because it’s the only beautiful thing that reminds her of you. And the baby is staring at her with scared eyes sucking it’s thumb. She is sobbing softly. Her tears falling on the baby’s face. He is screaming now. They are both driving you crazy. You bang the door loudly and drive off in rage.

Why doesn’t she get it? You lover her. You love them both dearly.

You don’t see the oncoming car. You are pounding your fists on the steering wheel cursing and mumbling under your breath. The blinding headlights jolt you out of your drunk stupor a bit too late and the only thing you think before the collision is that you don’t even know the color of her eyes after being together for  10 years. When was the last time you held her?

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Posted by on March 18, 2017 in Uncategorized, Writing


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Badge of Honor


She wears her scars like a badge of honor

From the heartbreaks and the disappointments

From the lies and the slanders

From her friends and family


She holds her head high

Strutting around in her  heels

With the glances and the sighs

Forming a part of the music her hips sway to


She wears her scars like a tattoo

Her eyes batting off the tears

Her heart beating with a flutter

With self-doubt and a stubborn will


She puts on a show for the world

But over time

She has convinced herself

That this is who she is

That the world is her oyster after all



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Posted by on March 3, 2017 in Uncategorized, Women, Writing


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You are pulling me in

Kissing my lips in a trance

I don’t know where I end and where you begin

We are entwined in each other


I feel like I can shift the tides

I’m in deep

I’m done for and you are my drug

Am riding a dangerous and reckless high


We could be together

If you wanted to

Does this feeling flow both ways?

Are you messing with my head again?


Then you flick my nipple

And my thought process is interrupted

My breath is catching in my throat

And my legs just forgot to hold my weight


Does the moon always shine this bright?

Are you practicing your magic tricks on my emotions again?

Snap out of it for the sake of my conscience

The twisted and deranged are not on my menu today


You were in my dreams again last night

Sucking the life out of me like a succubus

Suspending me in a twist of euphoria

Lost in the depths of your eyes

And your spell-binding curves


Posted by on February 21, 2017 in Muse, Uncategorized, Writing


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Midnight Rants


The guys who live on the fourth floor are driving me nuts. It’s like a frat house. They came in a few minutes ago and are yet to settle down. They have been yelling and making all sorts of sounds since then. Just shut the fuck up already!!!

The fact that tomorrow is a Monday doesn’t seem to bother these drunk and disorderly ingrates since they have no work to wake up to, or whatever the fuck their story is. Then there is this lady who has been trying on pairs of heels for the past hour. Clink! Clonk! Clink! Clonk! Pick a pair and settle down missy. I am trying to get some sleep, thank you very much!! I have turned and tossed every single direction till I couldn’t take it anymore.

I wonder what their reaction would be if i went and banged on their door real loud. The fact that there are kids sleeping seems to be the least of their problems. Or adults that have to wake up to work and its dreariness too. It is a 1 p.m in case you are wondering why I am ranting so much and getting my knickers in a twist.

So i have decided to whip out my laptop and settle down on ranting here. As if that will make sleep come any faster. But the sound of the keyboard dulls the noise from above. I haven’t written in quite some time. I have almost forgotten how good it feels to just let go and put it down on paper. My notebook has gone idle and the pages are beginning to turn color. Technology has taken over my life and turned my brains almost to mush.

I think that there’s a certain joy to writing. Seeing words come alive and crawl over looking for meaning. Sometimes it is venom, sometimes it is poetry. Sometimes it is love and sometimes the pen spews hate on paper. Sometimes you scribble so fast on paper you see the ideas come aflame. Sometimes words won’t come and you feel a sense of  literal impotence.

Whenever you can write though, the soul always comes alive and every other thing can go to hell. I don’t know about you, but writing seriously gets me on edge and calms my nerves. I think I’ll get some sleep before my alarm clock goes and I have to spend the morning yawning. That is not a pretty picture. And I for one I’m all about pretty pictures.

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Posted by on November 6, 2016 in Uncategorized, Writing





With time you just lose yourself. You totally forget who you are and get lost into an idea of what the world wishes you to be. You forget what made you tick. You get lost in impressing your boss at work. You get lost in putting your better half first. You get lost in being a good friend. You get lost in beating deadlines.

You forget to listen to the small voice that tells you to stop. You forget to reflect on yourself. Every day giving away pieces of yourself. Unraveling at the seams. You are like a ball of yarn tugging this way and that way. And life moves on regardless.

The feeling that you lack something meaningful nags away at you but you keep ignoring it. It’s just how life as a grown up is, you tell yourself. But with each accomplishment you make, the feeling of emptiness increases. You have neglected yourself till you can’t tell apart your favorites’ from those of the people you hang out with. You find it hard to ignore the lies you’ve been telling yourself.

The rythmn just feels off. There’s something amiss.

Hold on, wait, the world won’t stop spinning on it’s axis if you take some time off to feel the sun on your face. You won’t stop functioning if you go to your favorite cafe and order a cup of coffee with a novel like the old times.

Relax. Unwind. Pull out your tattered poetry book and go through it for old times’ sake. Walk through the corridors of your memories tongue-in-cheek. Write something. Get it off your chest. Dance to the music in your head. Take a long walk. Whatever it is. But for the love of God don’t forget who you are.


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Posted by on March 22, 2016 in Uncategorized, Writing