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Summertime Sadness

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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

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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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Saudade

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

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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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Curves

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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

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

 

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Good Old Days

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The good ole days. I am not old enough to use the term per se..but nostalgia doesn’t really care for age, does it? And when i hear your voice, i can’t help but go back in time. Look at me trip over my past. Wipe the look of disgust off your monkey face numbskull, it happens to the best of us. Judge me when you are perfect. Well, i read the phrase somewhere and i’ve been aching to use it.

Then your face comes to mind. And the movies. And the coffee. Always black. Six sugars. And the novels. And poems. It started with the poems. It ended with them too. Then we didn’t talk. Just miscommunicated our intentions in well-crafted poems that really had no truth. Others were true. The ones that held no meaning drove us apart. That’s what happens when tornadoes and hurricanes try to have a talk. That’s what happens when pride and ego try to dance together. That’s what happens when you come in on your high-horse and i can’t take off my straight-jacket.

But we never learn, do we? Every time i hear your voice, i am taken back in time. And you were different. You were.In a good way. I was in another world with you. Looking back i’m tickled. You were not the outgoing type. And i was a party animal. I preferred the sin now, repent later philosophy where parties were concerned. I just couldn’t quit it.

But with you it was movies and books. Poker and coffee. And music. Hip hop. I hated Eminem and you constantly blasted his songs knowing they pissed me off. Sincerely the guy needs to get a fucking therapist.

And then you. You and your laugh. You and your high-pitched squeal. You and your shouting. Well,only you can be so loud and still come off sounding adorable. You and you short skirts and bareback tops. You never really cared what you wore. Yet you managed to always look stunning in whatever you put on. Maybe i was too infatuated to notice if you looked bad though. I can’t be sure.
You were the party freak. And a sucker for movies. I remember us watching late into the night even on days we had exams. Aah, you and your wonderful cooking. We always managed to be raving hungry so early in the morning. And on the nights we got drunk, we’d wake up to brunch.

The good old days. Yeah. They were good. And not so old. The line evokes a cocktail of emotions in my dark, twisted soul. It’s sunny. Then it’s dark. It’s rainbows. Then it fucking rains unendingly. It’s happiness. Then i want to hurl my heart on the wall. It’s desire. Then lust. It’s love. Then wonder. It’s wishes. Then regrets.

Oh the good old days.

 
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Posted by on March 13, 2015 in Muse, Poetry, Uncategorized, Writing

 

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Do I Want to Know?

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You’ve got some balls
I’ll give you that
Brushing your tits on me
Breathing soft in my ear

You’ve got some guts darling
Rubbing your length on me
Taking my hand in yours
Making my head spin

And then you smile
Like a Cheshire chat
And in some way you are
Because you swallowed me whole

You’ve got some audacity
Smiling at me
With your lips inviting
And your skin begging for my touch

There’s this song
I have it on repeat
When your image decides
To take a rest in my daydreams
It reminds me of your curves

And then you smile
Like a Cheshire cat
And in some way you are
Because you swallowed me whole

Do i wanna know
What you really want
If you feel the same way
If this feeling flows both ways

Because when i’ve had a few
It’s you i want to call
Maybe i’m too busy
To fall for somebody else

 
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Posted by on March 5, 2015 in Erotica, Muse, Poetry, Uncategorized, Writing

 

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