we are all the same

little fucking virus

filled with need and greed

seeking comfort and validation

perhaps a fuck or two

a test tube of chemicals

slave to unknown masters

wrapped in chains of

rules and regulations

a decisive division

between thought and action

does one lead to the other

or vice versa

in the end it's all the same

those that slip up, are said as fools

we are all spinning in the same web

tied by threads of different colors

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

Are my thoughts really my own or a culmination of everything that has been?

swallow the flood

the water laps my knees 

and everything is fine

i drink away my sorrows

in vodka and wine

the water up to my thighs now

things swim and bite my toes

if I bleed, i do not care

if I can't see, it's not there

the water rises and rises till my belly

the hollow filled with calories and lies

the machine in my gut complains

but I let the water rise

up to my neck in this now

floating, forgetting to swim

the water makes its way inside me

and i let it win.

----

there is no point in writing a poem that would not kill you if it stays unwritten. this one is for the void.

A Post Tooting My Own Horn

This is a post of self-fellation, or tooting my own horn, and as much as I dislike it, some things need to be done. 

There is a book out there. And in the rare case that you have missed it elsewhere, which you might have, I am still going to shove it down your throat here too. Now you might know this space for angry poems that do not make any sense, but I also write stories that do not make any sense. Why, you ask? Because nothing makes sense at all, would be my answer. 

You can read the book on Kindle or buy it and read it in your browser!

Book: https://www.amazon.in/dp/B089Y12X1G/

Goodreads: https://www.goodreads.com/book/show/53931400-sea-dreams-and-other-mistakes

Broke because of Covid-19 but still like to read stories? Ask for a copy and I shall provide. Now don't ever think that I do not love you. 

That's it. 

I am off to write more poems that do not make sense. 

Leaf in a Storm

twist and turn 

crash and burn

impale the reason 

let the guts churn

doubt and horror

fear and terror

grin and bear it

dead eyes stare

face to face

close enough to kiss

how could we ever

let it come down to this

is the world ending now

will we live through somehow

is the past a part of the present

are we living in the now?

shall we continue to struggle

or should we let it go

will the leaf rise in the storm

or just flow?

----

These are horrible times, but that's alright because we are horrible people.