shatter

words clatter, tumble, shatter
against the frigid floor
the slithering sound spatters
sticking to the locked door

the world is but a shell
containing pain and horror
in this cauldron of fear
all emotions slowly stir

they are banging their bones
against the bars of their cell
they're all stuck alone
in their own private hell

it's not hot and it's not cold
it's a simple wet existence
for the young and the old
no scope of deliverance

the book of fate is closed shut
with a bang that still echoes
spilled ink, a pen lies broken
their secrets no one knows

no friends

I had this friend who
would fall in love
with every girl he saw
he'd take a bus from his home to college
and every day he'd tell us
that he fell in love with a different girl
we went to rishikesh once
and he fell in love there too
with a British girl who was walking
wearing a red salwar suit
her blonde hair untied
like she was born out of fire
and my friend stood there transfixed
i've never seen someone so stupefied
so hypnotized, so mesmerized
by the sight of another person
in that moment I felt happy for him
and jealous of him too
thinking if I'd be able to ever fall in love like that
he handed me his film camera then
and asked me click his picture with that alabaster angel
clicked his pic i did (such an indian thing)
we said goodbye to that girl
and walking back to the bus station
my friend, he of the fickle heart,
fell in love with another girl

---
my only friends have been weirdos, i have no time for normal, stable people.

The Village -- Maiden

She hid her honor from the world
But spread her legs like a scissor
In the privacy of her barn
Where her lover came,
To meet her

She was the apple of the eye
Of every boy in the village
But she bit a different apple
Much too supple
For her age

With eyes that held secrets
And lips that were wet
Her beauty was a sunset
That no fucker
Could ever forget

But they found out
Found her secret
Caught her in the barn
With her lover
Thus...it was over

But for her it was all fine
As her last wish
She said, "In a single grave
Bury us in a 69."

--
Poem 2, is a fuck you to the world, even in death.

Time Worm

somewhere in the stream of time
some seconds slipped off the drift
grouped together they formed the minutes
that turned into hours
then like an ancient organism
the Time Worm crawled out
into the muddy reality
it shook the water off its back
at the bank of the stream
so all that was seen of its absence
a hole in the stream
filled with a glitch
a void, a vacancy
that would never be complete
the little worm pranced its way
into the forest of forever
carrying memories on its back
that would never fade
blood tattooed
soul imprinted
never to be erased
and in some future forever
when the time stream will grow sluggish
the worm will crawl back in
to reboot the water
again

---
some memories fade, but some things are imprinted in your mind forever, that's what the time worm is carrying. and it's important because memories are the fuel that keep us going. love or hate,  thoughts are like bombs.

2 AM [Reprise]

I held the cup of coffee
in my shivering hands
to transmit some warmth
to my fingers so I could
type
type
type away
on the highway of night
as it fucks itself away
into a new morning
through the hour of bad things
the hour of the wolf
and the hour of drunken sunrises
on some lost road
where the passing cars
send shivers of death down your spine
and you stand there
you stand there
staring at the rising sun
ready with your fucking cameraphone
to capture it, put a filter on it
and upload it on Instagram
HOWMANYFUCKINGHEARTSFORMYSUNRISE?
i am sorry, i apologize
for this random outburst
i have a little right to be angry, no?
how come your sunrises get more hearts that my sunrises?
is it the filters you use? or the angle of your camera?
how many megapixels is the soul of an image?
i am just asking
but you need these answers
because i know, baby
i already know
as a mad man once told me on the side of a road
buddy buddy, he said, you can write all the lies
in your prose, you can create a world of lies
but when you write a poem, buddy
you'll be naked hung upon a cross
and crows will poke your eyes
if you dare to lie
in a poem

it's 2 AM again
and i'm here with my story
my fingers are cold
my coffee is gone
i am feeling a queer sort of sadness
i should've slept early
i should've slept early

rust

creeping like a predator
sated, but killing just for play
you feel the fetid breath on your neck
still you look the other way

who can look this creature in the eye
face the bright promise in this blue sky
the conspiring susurrations
of all that could've been

the glowing poison in its veins
words drenched with just the right sound
pleasure promised with a hint of pain
it speaks to you when no one is around

this predator knows the bones of its prey
it always does
always
and patiently, it waits

so when your time comes
you will face its jaws
you'll gladly rip your heart
and place it in this thing's claws
you will love and you will trust
till it takes you over, like rust

----
Just saying, do not write poems like this one. I've broken some rules, but I've been doing this for a long time and I have the poetic license to break the rules. If you're sticking to a format, stick to it. I am a professional and I know what I am doing. I have the papers. And please, I beg of you, do not try this at home.

sitting here

Man, oh man
I've scrolled through links and link
I've cycled tabs over and over
I've searched google and even duckduckgo
But no

Hell, I even switched off the music
I thought it'd help me think (it didn't)
I went through two bottles of water
Drinking and thinking and thinking
But no

Too much thinking and too much scrolling
My brain pan on fire and my eyes feel swollen
My fingers shake with the stress of speed typing
I've ground my teeth and my tongue smells
But no

When I finally find what I was looking for
I'm too fucked up to enjoy it
I want to close the lip of this fucking laptop
And go to sleep
But no ;)

I swear something moved

just in the corner of my eye
a glimpse, a flash, a stutter
a ripple in the fabric of reality
and then it was gone

the only thing left
was an afterimage
burned into my retinas
a ghost made of negative light

that and a thought of what it was
if some day it would tear through
to stand in front of me
a monster, a mirage, a myth made real

maybe i'd shake its hand (or claw)
ask what the fuck was up
if it wanted to kill and eat me
or just scare me half to death

whatever the answer the thing gave
one thing is for sure
if i closed my eyes and opened my mind
maybe i wouldn't see it anymore

---
I think something gave me a start just now. Not sure what it was. And I got lazy in the last paragraph, but that's off the record, alright? Do you believe in ghosts? Apparitions? I've got some classy ghost stories, maybe I'll tell them at some other blog I have.

No Home

untethered, the umbilical dissolved
floating, drifting, drowning in a void
a spaceship with no port to dock
a man without a home

at the end of the day
there is nowhere to go
except through the same old motions
we repeat things we already know

all that's left is a ghost
a ghost of desires forgotten
like a flower undeground
that forgets the taste of light

the skies are grey now
without a hope or sign of light
locked in permanent cages
every heart dreams of flight

---
There are days when you just feel dissociated with everything and you just want to connect with something but there is nothing. Think of a USB drive hitting a brick wall on repeat, there is just no port for it. This poem is really funny, too but that's just hidden between the lines.

spitting colors

i bit into the world
just this last tuesday
i chewed and chewed
till i broke it down in chunks

i rolled the pieces around
in my mouth and on my tongue
till the blood of the world
dripped down my chin
like some unholy ichor

then i chewed it some more
till the pieces were mushy paste
that i could swallow like some hungry bird
then i took another bite
chewed and swallowed

but something was wrong
the world was too much for me

i clenched my jaw, grit my teeth
as my mouth filled up with saliva
and an old familiar feeling in my stomach
of something that won't stay down
something that just keeps fighting
just doesn't shut the fuck up

up it comes
like a volcano, a hot geyser
erupting, ejecting, emerging
bent over and fucked in the head
i puked out the world and watched it assemble itself
and scuttle away on filthy claws

leaving me there all alone
i sat on the pavement
with my head in my hands
a bad taste in my mouth
spitting colors
all the colors
--
i can do this all year, i swear.