Never-again.

Red light, swallow me completely
Break me down, put me together
Douse me in never-shed tears
Teach me how to live again.

Take me away, inhibition: my master
Let me go, let me dive
Into never-shared emotions
Teach me how to live again.

Crack a code, work your body
Tax your mind, stay away
Bow down to never-loved nights
Teach me how to live again.

I am haunted by ideas, outlet
Please arrive: I need a vent
A body never-felt before
Teach me how to live again.

Listen to the quiet, hush. Just
Dance my devils away tonight
Hold this never-dead spirit close
Teach me how to live again.

Pretty face, fragrant hair. Shut
The tragedy down: it's been around
Long enough on never-thought ideas
Teach me how to live again.

Beauty: never-whole.

Black: You and I.

Let me come dressed in black,
For in your love I mourn,
The death of most of who I am.

Let me come dressed in black,
You were the worst thing ever mine,
Now, regret and hate can't take me back.

Let me come dressed in black,
Are you afraid of the colour of the night?
The time you let yourself fuck it up.

Let me come dressed in black,
Everything in wholeness is but one colour,
This is what you mean: dull completion.

Let me come dressed in black,
To help you realize your heart's desire,
All of it is single shades of black and white.

Let me come dressed in black,
Me: Now monochromatic, You: The reason,
Why don't we just step into the night undressed?

(The first word of the second line in each stanza makes up: 'For You Are Everything To Me.')

You, we, I, we, You.

You were so very close

That you were invisible

Now there is void here

An empty space in between

You and I: never together.

We were never one
We came here separately
We now leave alone
As our entwined fingers part
Finding one more perfect hand.

I find our pictures
Tucked somewhere between the book
You left behind open
To a page read too many times
So I flip over to see:

We were laughing like
Worries would never find way
To destroy these smiles
Despite our separation
Despite us being undone.

You seem to have found
One more picture perfect time
With another girl
I knew we would never be
Us: an unsolved mystery.

This post is plagiarized, no?

Smudged histories blend into one another as we sat lovelorn
In an untidy room filled with bright colours, yet colourless souls.

The guitar strumming in the background grew louder
Every passing minute as our eyes stayed fixated, a constant.

The chords sung an unheard melody, the heart skipped a beat
Like the relevance was undeniable. Everyone had same stories
They just told them differently: distorted people, shaded memories..
The world spun faster when we learnt we are fragments of reimaginings
Unoriginal as they can be. There was no truth to us, yet so much significance.

The classroom in the next day's sunshine seemed to move slowly
Each word weighed against another: what's loaded and what's not.
What's right and what's not. Who's here and who'll never be.
If you even existed or you were lie. The farce of life, the truth of us:
We are all plagiarists and no software can ever prove otherwise.

Our stories are never our own, we owe more than we own:
Nothing is ours, never believe it is. It is a lie, so is every story ever told.

Tale.

Cozy morning light
Funneling its way through dreams
Closing in on us

Feeling warmth of days
Stemming out of unmade beds
We lie now as one

You- falling apart
And me in the worst time frame
Frozen still in sheets

Unrestricted white
Falling into hues of peach
You and I lay bare

Concluding fallout
I walk away from you, naked
The end of our myth

"Typewriters are like philosophies"

typewriters are personifications of anger
she can never silently flutter over the letters
typewriters are reminders of my family
each syllable punched in with frustration

typewriters are memoirs of a time lost
you can't space back in distance nor time
typewriters are articulations of slips
we type what the unconscious wants us to
typewriters are errors of humans
most of who we know we are
typewriters are stories we tell ourselves
one to my sister and another to a boyfriend
typewriters are like you and i
stubborn, tough to handle, old and lost
typewriters, she said, are like philosophies
they fuck your head up. you don't understand.

She is a poem.

Moon lined dreams merge in sad innocence,

For all she knew was poetry in its entirety.

"Fragments", Freud suggests. But poetry

Doesn't work that way. Skip a line,

Skip the flow. Skip a word, skip the poem.

Explaining to a band of hot-headed barbarians,

What poetry means and how an empty set

Signifies void and incompleteness, isn't

Easy. Given that these idiots weren't 

Accepting, whatsoever. Our apple-pathways

Collided at the right time, together we 

Transformed whatever the moon lit dreams

Spoke of, in colours unimaginably bright.

She was poetry: played a tune with her fingers-

The rhythm was imagination, the style was 

As free as spirits be. She was poetry: beautiful,

Hardly understood, structured, whole. She

Was the verse that flowed into another like

The river meandering and finding its way

Through the crevices on permanent rocks.

She inspired poetry alongside being one

Herself. Love, giggles, home-all the same.

She taught and learnt like a poem handed

Down the years, forever-changing in its

Meaning but intact in its words. And I

Look at her like a poem I can never create

But yet love dearly and wholesomely

Because poetry lives in entirety,

Much like friendship.