Depression | Part 2

Dear silent lover, 

For whoever, it may concern as I cannot form a shape or name to the image of something so constant in my life. And I address you dear for the fear you left me bubbling in the pit of my enclosed perimeter, where I built walls so that no one can access it; but here you are. With a smile so pure, that venom drips from the corner, tinkling my innermost rivulet, to let go of the emotions that I have bundled up in a reservoir that has a limit before it might explode.

I have forgotten the hang of writing letters, or poetry for that matter. But the more I am with you, in the shadows of a full moon night; I get to feel the birds ringing in my cerebrum. The warmth your care provides endangers me to give up and roll in the blanket of your quirky laughter and just… be. 

For millenniums, I have become a sculpture for your love to be moulded into the shape you want. Now, that I am what you wish for… I suddenly became your reason to be rapturous; while I tarnish the image of being good and morbidly happy.

For you, I have let my guard die in front of my own eyes and the stippling kisses leave an everlasting mark on my skin, so pure, so real; that I can’t believe when it’s over, I can still feel you and nothing in the form of words can I ever describe. 

Dear dearest, take me, leave me naked and bare me to the stars above and leave me in the bed of roses for your anger to be unleashed and be finished with this demurring ecstasy. 

For I am nothing but a petal in the eyes of you to be fallen in love over and over again, even though I doubt if I will ever be good enough.

Dear anxiety, depression, sadness, loneliness, and all things ugly but great teachers… I present you this!

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••• silver sanity •••

 

user img
the doors to my cathedral
were open with haunting symphony
echoing in between
galaxies and hallucinations

I bathe in silver beam
as the sun spits out monochromatic
drool of endless summer

but

the sweet divination
of the moon
in between cold burst of silent synergy
had me gasping
underneath myriad of stars;
surfacing
with a new wave of energy

…another dawns breaks into her hair, bleeding nothingness…

monochrome photography of sad woman
Photo by Alexander Krivitskiy on Pexels.com

you ever heard
of that annoying click
of a wacky keyboard
at three in the morning
where a forlorn ghost
tries to knock
on the barren wall
for umpteenth time;

yet, the backspace
giggles as she race
down the words
into large pile of trash,
making clean white lines;
which needles of a bored clock
snort
converting… prose

ii

midnight
is for lovers
that make love to rattling silence
as each held a cigarette
with its white horse
marrying the dust-
settling over life
of the just breathing mannequins;

and the eyes of the painter
smoothens smudges
created by her own careless
blotches of mascara,
sighing into nothingness
smashing butt of the smoke
into palette
of misspelled promises

iii

the hour speaks
less of a story tale
as the cast of her brain’s charade
falls dead
into her bare arms

with a broken bit of charcoal
and endless wit of a dirty coffee mug

iv

her sigh sent chills down the hallway
like an echo

as she collects monochrome
to paint a happy smile
over the rich tones
of another unhappy
dawn

_________________________________

Writing after so long…. So damn long…. Too far away from good! but I am keeping this for now.

Clouds.

black and white clouds dark dark clouds
Photo by Seatizen.co on Pexels.com

a shift-
in the isometric projection
of yet another cloudy morning;
alerted me,
from sipping too many
caffeinated melancholy.

I,
in the backyard of another
unwanted lyric,
forgotten in the aftermath
of too many saturated sunrise drinks;
watched mesmerizingly,
the puffy smokes
braiding with each other-
to form a masterpiece
in the canvas
of everything mundane and bleak.

the cryptic calenture
of my ecstasy
was shoved out through the window
like used tissues,

but my imaginations
soared into galaxies;
and for a minute
I was convinced
that my Lord above was entertaining me.

blackened blankness

lighted candle
Photo by Rahul on Pexels.com

glass floor
crack as I waltz with the moonbeams
singing songs of
broken wings and fire

the age of growing up
receded, leaving me breathless
with no dreams

barren, I
wake up with charcoal stains on my face
and run-down crimson welts

a pretty distraught sight
to greet morning to

yet,
the morning song
remains the same,

with punctured lyrics
and dismantled refrains

a song
too lethargic to wake
me up

The tears have stopped ever since…

Life got in and I forgot to be completing my National Poetry Month writings in, now its June… So, Imma skip that out and post something that I wrote recently 🙂

grayscale photo of water illustration
Photo by Hossam M. Omar on Pexels.com

and when the wind
slowly caress my cheeks
in precision strokes
like that of an artist, I sit still
lamenting to the halfway

moon-
hidden behind laced clouds
like a shy bride

the dreams painted on my
charred diary, blurs,
as I pluck feathers from the
dream catchers

the metaphors clogged
up inside my trajectory veins,
send waves upon fear
as I wait in rain
for the music to stop

and the words,
they haunt inside sleep
and laughter; waiting to be released
from the turbulent storm.

but when they emerge;
they spread like ink bloats
spilled from an overfilled pen

I sit naked to the stars
that twinkle in defiance;

I no longer
contemplate if their actions
fall under my
weighted scales.

Spurious (NaPoMo 2)

user img
smoldering solitude
between the distance
of my winged eyes,
creates hazardous aura-
as I paint
charcoal stains
down my chin
to this cheap sequenced dress.

the tequila swab
did nothing to stop
the birds
from rupturing my ribcages.

I end up
open palmed
in the solitude of
a distorted imagery.