It’s Time

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It’s time. Like everyday the clock has struck 1. But unlike everyday I cannot sleep.

I am tired, and it was a long day. My eyes feel the burden of hell and my body lifted the sky, my skin has been seared to the sun, yet sleep walks afar, the unknown, the un claimed road. I am running behind it, the faster my gait, the smokier it’s outline gets.

Something is killing me inside. Every inch, every fibre of me can feel it. Did I go wrong somewhere? Did I forget something? I did it all, as scheduled, yet I feel uneasy this time. It’s not the first time, though I am oblivion stricken withal I remember it. Every part, in every way.

I had to save her, but I couldn’t. Again. I failed. Again. She cried. Again. I tried. Again. Then lost. Again. Though she trusted me. Again. And I ran back to hold my loathing shattered pieces together. All over again.

I am tired of it, but I cannot abandon it. I hate it, yet cannot strand it. How can I ever separate my own self from me? Cause she dies everyday, every second, inside of me. She the moment she last breathed in my arms, since the very moment, I was left alone to sail a boat which already had a sinking deck. No island to surround. No destination to swim. Yet every past night I successfully deceived myself to the blinding clarity of moving on and forgetting but all I actually achieved was a hollowed soul, perishing deeper and deeper. Emptying my sordid body.

All I discovered is that forgetting you is like sinking into a void which had nothing but you. No land to step on, no water to quench, no air to suck in, only you.

But today that I learn to allow myself to accept it, accept the burning reality that it was no one else but me, me who did it all. It feels like I am allowing the fire to consume me when locked in a burning house. Like I am no longer desperate to open the windows and jump out. Cause it was me who set the fire after all. But I forgot that if I have to burn the house then I will be burnt inside it, alive. Like the house, you engulfed me inside of you, and I am no longer alive, cause I already died inside of you. I wish I never had let you fall for him and alas, I would have never poisoned you to death.

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First Kiss

Everyday and every night for the past 13 years, it’s been you. The first time I saw you, I labeled myself to be your concussion. The first time we shared an umbrella under the pouring sky I was consumed by your cerulean eyes driving me into a turquoise dream.Since then I have envisioned our first kiss, and it became my most addictive hobby. Sometimes  under the dark bridge on a cold night, sometimes on my bitter velvet couch, sometimes on your soft  foam bed, maybe under a tree, or in an empty hall with my favourite melodies, on the swings, or on the mountain-top, under the showering flowers or behind the adorned curtains, or maybe under the same umbrella on a rainy night. But it never happened. Not until today, in a way far from my smitten imagination.

When I finally gathered the courage, unaware about the veiled future, innocent about the unraveled destiny, and smoldered over the feigning present, I could never see that you were the one gathering courage and not me.

Your lips weren’t soft as I dreamt them to be, there were no flowers, no curtains, no silence.Not any music, but only howls, cries and screams. Not pleasure but overwhelming tears. Your hands weren’t  strong but convulsing and bleeding. Turning my dream from turquoise to ruby, searing my desires. Eyes shut reflecting the unbearable pain.

The moment I found you was disguisedly the moment I lost you. A moment ago you stood straight on the road in front of my eyes  coming to escort me, unknown about the overpowering truck, and now you are bleeding in my lap.My hands holding your  fatigue body and my heart felt ruptured when you uttered “kiss me,” fathoming your love for me.

I kissed you to death on the loathing grey ground and the crying sunset. My first kiss was half you, and half your soulless sordid corpse. The kiss that I would never want to remember yet I can never forget. The kiss that will haunt me perennially everyday and every night. I never wanted to die, but I have always wanted to loose myself to the eternity which  took you away from me and pushed me into an inanimate life, no better than your mocking grave.

 

 

Silence

I am feeling a not so unfamiliar silence inside me after a very long time. The kind of silence which makes me want to not want anything at all. The silence that needs nothing to be needed. A sudden depth, a void of complete incessant lavish darkness. The kind that needs no one to stay.

I know it’s temporary, though I importune it to stay. It’s probably the repercussion of the reflection of my day. But I don’t want the disinterest, the oblivion and the simmering coldness to set with the sun. The pleasing sounds have become yammerings, yet every shackled fibre of me is discreetly absorbing the sordid inanimate moisture which has strangely astounded my own demented self.

Nothing seems enough. All frays feel futile withal the cause. Everything’s superfluous yet not fulfilling.

I want this influential silence to never break. The void to never end. The pain to never reiterate. The oblivion to never pale.

That Strange Feeling

“It was like the strange feeling in the pit of my stomach that I cannot express in words.
Like somewhere, very far, away far from the city and away from the villages. Somewhere no people reside. Away from all the civilisation and society. In a place where the sun blazes like a furnace.
Where there are only dead mountains standing, with no life in them. No spider, no crab.
The ocean stretches but no fish and hence no man. Just an empty barren piece of burning brown earth. The pernicious winds penetrating the languish mountains.
The sound of falling rocks, clattering against each other. But the dead remains dead, and all that resides is nothing, all that hears to those screams is emptiness, and all the bears those winds is silence.”

Argument

A nothing grazing my head. The sound of silence absorbing into my ears. Like buckets full of water, I feel frail and heavy.
The trance of black taking over and feeding over my emotions, digesting my ability think or even feel.
I feel like I am letting go. Running off, everything. The fear of loosing set far, not a shadow to be seen. Just emptiness and the nostalgia of the want of feeling nothing is taking over. Engulfing me as a whole, mouthful.
Thoughts getting paralysed and affection getting choked. Body getting numb and eyelids bearishly heavy.
Words draining off my core, leaving the surface and letting go. Like they never grew on the barren platform.
Don’t know if it’s the same, or the ability to deceive my own self. Not about me, not about nothing but the argument.
The argument between the want of being stranded and the feel of being wanted.
Choice being material, or being eternal. The argument now making my numbness go, unwontedly.
Harder I try, farther I loose,
To the material than eternal. The argument never ending about absolutely nothing I can do.