lost

somewhere

between the lines 

on every page

and

between the words

that you said

i lost myself. 

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open

you make me feel

like your fingers are peeling open my mind

turning it inside out

forcing my nails across a chalkboard

leaving white trails

a warning

a taste

of everything that is to come.

mother

your hands
are wrinkled
and tired
and calloused
more so with every touch
almost as if
your youth
was dissolving
into me
like a happy pill
in water
effervescent
questioning
its own existence
while giving away
what little it had.

foreshadow 

candles cast yellow shadows
on a dark blue floor
and the misty eyed woman
and her turban
seem to shimmer
in the haze
of greed and longing
almost calling out to me
through you
and i almost reach out
my hands parting
hoping
knowing
this is my last chance
to hold you
to tell you
that i can’t 
feel this anymore.

blame

i don’t blame you

i don’t blame you for screaming

i don’t blame you for hurting

for crying

for feeling

i don’t blame you for anything you do

and yet you blame me

for every step you take

like it is my fault i have bruises from your assaults

like it is my fault that you hate me enough to stay

all i want is to go back to when you were in love with me

so in love that you didn’t speak for weeks

at least i didn’t have to wear long sleeves and bandages.

Miniature Proses – 4

 

Perhaps

this lust

was not meant to be.

Monochrome Life

As I stand in the crowded train day after day, I dream of becoming someone different, someone new. Someone who isn’t confined to this world, someone free to follow her fantasy, and not remain trapped in assignments¬†and submissions and fears. At times, I wish I could just move out of my shell, speak out, reach greater heights, and yet here I remain, stuck inside my own head, screaming in colour, while the world outside remains black and white.

 

Becoming Someone

Crowded trains, empty hearts,

a lover’s turn to scream

like broken mirrors and glass

held together with duct tape,

shattered inside.

Blue cold creeping over the rainforest of ruins and shadows,

wind on our faces

a play, a pretense of a smile

behind half a rumour,

there is the rise of a face,

that changed everything.

-inspired by train travel, standing at the door, wind on my face, an empty ache in my heart and a mind full of dreams