Flashbacks

Raw Draft
Is it weird to not be visible,
When you stare at yourself in the mirror?
Er, Edit,
Is it okay to not see your reflection,
When you stand right infront of a mirror?
I can't see myself,
I can't feel myself,
But I know it exists,
My body,
Me.
It is somewhere,
Existing.

Flashback
11:00 PM
Slow and quiet,
One step at a time,
Hold the door,
Don't let it squeeze,
Shut it gently,
And count to three.
That is how you escape from a house,
That is how you prepare for hell.
Slow and quiet,
Baby steps to miles.

There's a bottle of vodka,
Almost empty,
And ashes of cigarette,
Who's smoke now stings.

Flashback
3:00 AM
I didn't grow up like this,
To be here,
Smoking weed,
In arms of a stranger,
I didn't grow up to be like this,
But I'm kissing a man,
With smoke rings on my lips.

It's a mess,
The room, my life and me,
It's a mess,
And maybe mirrors don't reflect mess,
But only consequences that follow,
I can't see myself,

Neither do I want to,
Anymore.

Flashback
12:00 AM
How did I end up like this?
Wondering, I entered,
Slow and nice,
Like a lady.
A lady,
Can a lady behave like this?
Covered in pearls,
I often see monsters in masks.
'Drinks', I should stop wondering,
I'd rather drink to stop pondering.

Existential crisis,
Is that a thing?
Maybe nobody ever saw me,
Like I can't, today?
There's a vodka bottle,
And a mirror,
Nothing to acknowledge,
So I shatter their existence,
Fast and strong,
In a throw.
Just like my demons,
Maybe I'd see me too.

Flashback,
1:00 AM
"you wanna go home?"
That's what he asked me,
"Home",
I'd love home.

There's a knock on the door,
Was I noisy?
Another thud,
Maybe life is too much,
Yet nothing at once.

Flashback
4:00 AM
I'm still kissing a stranger,
Still smoking,
Still alive.
I'm still alive.

I'm not visible,
But I'm not dead,
I'm not rainfall,
I'm a hurricane,
I don't often live,
But when I do,
I sweep the whole city away.
I'm not dead,
Not until you remember this,
Not until you read this,
And I hope, never to be.

'SAVE DRAFT?'

If only life asked the same.

5 Things

5 things I wish I knew earlier.
ONE,
Small houses and small homes aren't the same.
When I sit in the backyard,
Haunted by the memories,
I realised I had a house to myself,
But no one to share my home.
I wish houses were smaller,
And homes bigger.
TWO,
There is no language for pain,
When my tears roll down,
In pain and exhaustion,
I often don't understand the language,
I don't need to.
But I feel the pain,
No language can ever win this crown.
THREE,
You're normal even if they don't accept you.
Often I see love come with barriers,
But how do I open them,
When the gates shout abnormal.
My friends aren't socially acceptable,
But they know how to love without discrimination.
FOUR,
There is no worst heartbreak.
Whenever the end feels near,
Something worse is hiding underneath,
There is no worst, only worse to come,
There is no best, but better to come.
FIVE,
The worst isn't always that bad.
In a middle of a nightmare,
Ir a furious rant,
There will be moments that make you,
Make you stronger than before,
Humble for yet more.
You have to play it coy,
And you learn to survive.

ONE, My house is a home
TWO, To a language of pain
THREE, sheltering those who've suffered
FOUR, preparing them for worst
FIVE, bringing out their strength.
ONE, My home
TWO, shares pain
THREE, Of socially unacceptable
FOUR, In their worst
FIVE, By being their home.

Look - Smile

Here's a thought,
If we can watch something so huge,
Up- afar in the spatial infinities,
Does that make us superheroes?
Anything that we see,
The stars, the moon or the tree,
Or even the phone beeping, right in your hands,
It's image is formed within a virtual circle of 25 cm,
So in a way, unknowingly,
We hold the whole universe within this 25 cm,
For some the circle is bigger,
And for some a little smaller,
But within 100 to 300 cm square,
There's a whole new Universe,
Your universe,
You're a universe.
But if everyone is a universe within themselves,
Aren't we all colliding with each other?
I know it doesn't make sense,
Our feelings are not the big bang,
There's no theory that I want you to believe,
But isn't it so wicked that we're so Complete within ourselves?
Could we confuse the blood for the stars,
And perhaps you could tell me of the moon.
And I know it's a burden to carry a universe everywhere,
But I see you carry love with it, in here.
And I know it's getting harder to wake up these days,
It's a xenophobia of the universe within,
But when you see yourself in the mirror tomorrow,
With anxiety and self doubt dripping from your forehead,
Stand in the middle of the circle and pay attention,
Look up into the eyes of your reflection,
Look,
Smile,
Because this is what a universe looks like,
The one who've survived a million collisions,
It's warth and heat,
You're a surviving universe,
And you have survived long enough,
Look,
Smile,
The world is too small,
To dictate a universe,
The world is too small,
To destroy a universe.
And here's another thought,
If infinities lay around so close,
Wouldn't love be closer;
And us the closest?

Oceanic tears

I could cry you a river,
You'd like that, no?
To drown yourself in the ecstasy,
To swim ashore in your appreciation.
I could cry you a river,
You'd like that, wouldn't you?
Everytime when you'd etch into me,
And everytime when I'd rinse off my sins,
Your remains would still be woven into me,
Maybe that is why your memory always win.
And now it's like I've never known a different way,
I've never known not to be insane.
On day's, I still round you up,
With a heart in my hand,
A little sanity I could've gathered,
If it wasn't for the knife with which you perforated.
With a Bleeding soul seeking to heal,
I could still bleed you river,
And you'd like that, or maybe not?
When the little peices of the soul would clog,
The adrenaline rush would be on pinch of fog,
A little by little I'd pop the pills,
Leaning on idiosyncrasy,
And a little questionable imagination,
My monster claws would dig onto me,
And I'll be diluting my love with vodka and whiskey,
And my skin with freckles underneath the concealers,
And a broken heart underneath a Starlite sky,
On illusions of movies and living a lie,
I'd still cry you a river,
In the sincerest child's smile,
And in your soul stirring art,
And in the magic of mundane,
You'd sit there to complain,
That I didn't die making it an ocean.

In which everything I write

In which everything I wrote became about you,
And everytime your name pops up, it becomes about love,
And everytime I shove the word 'love' out of my throat, it becomes about heartbreak,
And everytime I talk about a heartbreak, it all comes back to you.
In which every prose and every poem Instilled in my notebook,
And every heartbeat loud and clear,
Clear enough to convey it doesn't beat for love,
Loud enough to shout it won't stop over a heartbreak,
In which everything I write becomes about you.
It's not me, it really isn't.
My hands are a little selfish, you see?
And so is my mind sometimes.
So what is it even worth, if it is hope that is indeed lost,
Because when I talk about hope, it becomes about faith,
And when I talk about faith it's mostly about trust,
And when I talk about trust, it's about relationships,
And what good are relationships if not in love,
So when I talk about love, you shove out heartbreaks from your mouth,
And everytime I write about heartbreak, it all comes back to you.
But it isn't me, it really isn't.
My needs are selfish, you know?
I need my coffee hot and my my room cold,
And I need a pen to write and believe it's not about you.
But everytime I hold a pen, it's despair I jot,
And Despair is never about me but always about you,
Because where will I find despair if not in love,
And love can never be about loving myself now,  can it be?
So it isn't me, it really isn't.
My body is selfish, you know,
It wants water- boiling hot, to burn my sins off my skin,
And it wants the skin to be smooth,
Even if it means to rip off my soul along to make it worth the woo,
Because this body wants to feel beautiful,
But beautiful is painful,
And painful is love.
In which everytime it comes to love, it soon comes to heartbreak,
And when it comes to heartbreak, it comes to you.
But what good is beauty, if it is hope that is lost,
And what good is hope if it is love that is indeed lost,
And what good is love if it is defined by you and not me.

Little less sad

I paint my nails in colors vivid and vibrant,
They make me look less sad- the painted nails.
I go out and party with my friends,
It makes me tired, but tired is better than sad.
I laugh alot- clear and loud,
Enough for everyone to hear,
It makes me look happy,
And happy is a lot better than sad.
I bring in the avocados and all the non comfort food,
Cooking requires work and time,
And cooking is is still better than sad.
I seek questions and tangle myself in 'whys',
Knowing things, well knowledge is better than sad,
Do you know human skin sheds itself after every two weeks,
Knowing this is comforting.
Knowing that every touch  - unwanted (or wanted)  has been withered away,
That it isn't only me who's abandoned of love or freckles,
Knowledge is comforting,
And comfort is a lot better than sad.
But do you know not all the cells renew itself or wither away,
So in a way the sincerest kiss is still wrangled up in my wrinkles,
It makes me feel a little less alone,
And a little less alone is a little less sad.
I visit the graveyard- it's dark and dull,
It makes me compassionate,
A little grateful to be alive,
And to be grateful is better than sad.
I think about the conventions of the society,
How it wraps everyone in anxiety,
And seeing others sad makes me feel a little less alone,
And a little less alone is a little less sad.
And every night as I try to sleep over this sadness,
I'm awaken by my conscience,
Driven to my tombstone of shame,
How I've practically made notes on being a little less sad,
But now that I've realised, have you?
To be a little less sad is to be the saddest.

Eve

I wonder what happens to the modern day Eve,
Who bites the apple from the sacred tree,
Like a burnt tongue touching some hot tea,
What will be the punishment of being in love since three.
The gods did what they do the best,
They cursed the humans with love but least,
I touch a man and he turns to a mannequin,
A human with no love to return, just as human-less.
I wonder what Eve would've done,
When she realised she bit the apple.
I wonder what I could've done,
When he held my wrist and plunged his lips on me,
Calling this love when I pushed him away.
I wonder what will he tell me next,
A crimson kiss or my anxiety is a kill,
Or that forced love is love, nevertheless.
I counted till four, the last time I met you,
You held my wrist and called me a whore.
You told me it was my anxiety that separated us,
My craziness, the way I put my heart above.
I wonder if the God cursed us with love,
Or if they showered it on us, as a bliss.
You whispered in ear telling me I am a slut,
When I pushed you away when I saw my heart cut,
And the wrist that was slaughtered as the side effect,
Do you realise how many lives your words take.
Right where you plunged your lips on me,
I promise you my crimson kisses will stain your soul someday .
I know we ate the apple and the deeds done,
And now all of the world is pissed by us,
So when we love, we create our happy story,
But through the same love, we watch it get destroyed.