You Won't Know

“Him.”

“Him?! No noo what the fffuck I don’t know him! I can’t!”

“I think he’s cute.”

“But...”

“Shut up. I’m giving you what you want. Happy Birthday gorj. Bite him.”

She felt like an animal, claws out, fangs bared, blood and heat swirling through her veins. He weaved his way through the spinning crowd, fighting the light. She didn’t look at him. She didn’t want his face burning holes in her reverie. They faced each other, the Beauty and the Beast. Animal animal.

He smiled and shrugged. His masquerade took flight and she skipped his eyes for his mouth. His hands cradled her waist and she let them lie, let him lie, she lied. He leaned into her and she leaned into him and together they spelt imperfection, ‘cause perfect had never let her sleep. Do it do it do it

He smelt of smoke and I-want-you ness. She smelt of uncried tears and uncertainty.But he had big hands and she was beautiful so when he tilted his face she mirrored him and when he kissed her, she kissed him back.

They kissed till they tasted of each other, they kissed until she smiled back.

And when she was sure she felt nothing at all, she spun around and left.

“OMG OMG! What did you tell him?!”

“Nothing! I said that’s my friend over there, she’s hot and depressed ‘cause she’s turning 18. Make her smile.”

“He knew.”

“He didn’t. Boys like him can catch that scent from far far away.”

“What scent? Easy prey?”

“He knew.”

If you ask her later why she did it, she’ll laugh and say she wanted to.

If you ask me, I’d say she needed to.

Animals don't care, yeah? They feed on their friends.

Tick box

There has to be a reason. I can't feel. This doesn't happen because of some morbid, dramatic twist of fate. So, I'm going use logic and dead common sense and blood to give you reasons. Because that is how the world works. Action-reaction.

1. When someone you're supposed to love threathens to commit suicide you don't say "Do it! I dare you!"
2. I don't care. I only care about the people I'm not supposed to and that too for entirely selfish reasons.
3. My nose is growing.
4. No one does anything with any sort of genuine concern anymore. I'm probably verging on insanity but it feels like everyone has some hidden motive.
5. I hate You. Do something, damn you!
6. Purple hair is turning out to be freakishly expensive.
7. It's all bottled up in there somewhere and I'm losing the courage to purge it out. Bulimics never lose the weight off their face.
8. I don't want to, thankyouverymuch.
9. Change, Hi! Breathe in this beautiful crazy pollution. Better? Bye. Die.
10. I don't like what I'm seeing. This world is killing itself slowly while I stand here and watch. I feel trapped and choked and I see no reason to smile.

I see no reason.
But always, always reason finds me and sinks its fangs into my neck till I am nothing but a ragdoll, a puppet, just one more string to pull, one more button to stitch into place.

And then we'll all be ragdolls, puppets, slaves to our own illusion, weak and human.

Don't you think feeling only makes me more raggable?

Breathing

Inhale

Why? WHY? God! Just LEAVE. Run. I don't fucking want you in my head. Get out.
I don't care. No, seriously. You don't matter and you're taking up my goddamn board headspace I need it for formulae and big words and economic jargon NOT YOU! This isn't fair its not fucking fair I can't keep doing this to myself I'm just sick and tired of your face but today I was running across the road and I saw someone who looked like you from the back and fuckyou I stopped in the middle of the godforsaken road in the middle of the busiest goddamn road in the whole of Bombay and only because I thought I saw you and my heart skipped a beat even though i've told it over and over again that it doesn't fucking matter and I dont care I DON'T but still it just goes and skips a beat a fucking heartbeat I skipped a fucking heartbeat for you and that wasn't even you what am I supposed to do I don't know I just don't know I'm just going to get out and run NOW yes now and just fucking not not into you please God not into you or maybe I'll crash and you'll stand and watch me pick up the pieces because that's what you've become but you know what I won't fucking pick up the pieces I will just move on because that's what you've done and if you ever read this it's not about you because fuck I really don't fucking care it's about what I don't want to become I can't even hurt you because I don't I don't hurt people because I have some biological defect where I don't have a fucking off switch and everyone I know does and they care and crash then they don't care anymore but I'm just here and I'm fucked I just have all these little buttons that say ON I WANT AN OFF ONE and I don't want you I was just I don't know suprised to see you in the middle of the road right there right where I live but it wasn't you and you don't believe me but I don't want you I want to be wanted and if you wanted me it would only make things easier but fuck you know everybody lies and I have to stop because this is just so fuck fuck fuck I need to get out and cross more roads and push you into traffic

Exhale

Death and all her friends

The stone steps burn hot and angry against my calf. I shift to get more comfortable. You shift uncomfortably.
“So we’re cool, right?” I ask, tugging at a stray thread on my t-shirt.
“Yeah”, you say, twisting your fingers into imaginary guitar riffs, “We’re friends.”
I watch you and how you make sure to not touch me. Not even by accident.
The thread begins to unravel.
The stream of difference between us has widened into a chasm of indifference. But your mask is slipping. You could never tie your shoelaces, how did you expect to keep your façade from falling?
A bell rings. People weave their way down the old stone steps, steps that have stories etched into their cracks. Steps that go up, steps that go down and steps that have you sitting in the middle when you have nowhere left.
No where. Now here.
I lean back on my hands to protect myself from being pushed into you. When I turn to look you’ve got your toe wedged between the banisters. Your defense is fool proof. Mine isn’t. Someone steps on my fingers and I wince.

“What happened?” your guitar is dismantled mid air as you reach out to me. I draw away unsure about why it should still matter. My eyes fold away their frosted shield and you realize that the hurt flickering there is you. You face your own fingers, courage dead to you and pluck clutched in the hidden corners of your hand. We breathe in space, the Beauty and the Beast, counting colours in our head.

“I will always love you as a person”, you say, answering the questions burning through my skin, questions you recognize as your own as skin kisses skin. 

Your fingers curl hesitantly through mine and the friction is almost tangible. Your shoelaces lie enticingly, intertwined but not tied.
“I know”, I say as I pull away gently, “I always have.”

---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Have you ever gift wrapped the truth with a lie?
I just did.

And we walk through walls

They say that if someone makes you cry, they’re not worth your tears.
Your ghost still roams the cobwebbed corners of my mind, my love. He feeds on my fragility and soars through my mind when it is screamingly obvious that I have sealed it shut. I know he is you. He has your eyes and your hands and his voice sends shivers down my spine just like yours did. I am in love with a shadow. Yours. You don’t care but I don’t have the strength to murder your ghost. Do they ever die?
I will look for an exorcist.
Just..not yet.
I’m not ready.
What if you make yourself cry, are you worth anything at all?

Through the Looking Glass

I know this is where I rant about how much I hate you,
how you left me out in the cold with the knifes’ edge of your words cutting down my spine, how you made me want you only to saunter off into the horizon---a figment of my imagination.
But the bite marks have faded. And the irony of the situation is that inspite of it all,
I pity You.
Your bandaids litter the glass walls you have confined yourself in and as you sit there picking at the scars, watching the blood flow through your fingers I can’t help but help.
You’ve scratched at my scabs and here I am piecing you together again.
You’ve slipped through your own cracks and I can’t stand by and watch.
I can’t.
But then again, I’m just speculating.
Maybe you’re happier this way, better off.
And maybe these glass walls have been put up for a reason.
And maybe, just maybe they’re not to hold you in, but to keep me out.

Black lips

Even though you’re right, this hurt like a bitch.
See this is how it works---you taste something, anything, and you like it. Alot. And then some screwed up excuse for God steals it away from you. No, you haven’t finished it. Yes, it has swirls of chocolate in it. Yes, it whirls through your veins and kickstarts your heart and before you know it you are Magic. You’re rainbows and scars and Beauty and the Beast. Your walls crash around you and you saunter through the shards of glass. You don’t taste the blood.
It’s your own damn brand of heroin.

Now you see it, now you don’t.

Have you ever cut the pieces of a puzzle just to make it fit?
Knives were made for bigger things.

Like you?
Like me?
Who's 'the bigger person' here?

I don't. Makeitstop