old things

is it really possible to lie to the people who know you the best? which is that one name you'll be screaming when you know that you're going to die in a few minutes. what do you do when you finally wake up two days later to realise you're still alive?
i'll tell you, you call up your best buddy and ask him to drive down to your apartment and get your old phone. you will then stare at the old pictures that you didn't have the guts to delete and listen to the old recordings that still sound great.
you will not call that one person and when you finally cross paths, you will raise your chin and joke around. you will pretend that your life is one big party and you'll let that person know that you don't care about anything. you don't care that the person has changed or doesn't care about you anymore. you'll walk with a strut and come home and gobble down two extra pills and cry a lot. you will ignore the throb in your wrist and you will continue typing. and then you will stare into space and go back to being the shy recluse you love being.
you will clean the table over and over again till your wrist starts bleeding. then, you'll wipe the blood, bandage the wound and start cleaning all over again.
you'll see your future right before you and realise you've left all those you loved far behind and they've taken their own paths. you'll wish them luck and have the overdose you've been saving up for after you've met all those you love with your tiny little heart.

slow poison

just the other day, i was sitting and staring at the glass of pepsi before me. well, that's it. i was staring at the glass and the glass was gaping back at me. this went on for a few hours and then i was asked to leave from the restaurant. apparently, you cannot order just one pepsi and sit at the same place for a few hours. i didn't seem to comprehend this weird rule. so, here i was, rudely thrown out of the deserted restaurant. i stood on the footpath and looked around me. not knowing which direction to start walking in, i did the age old, 'inky pinky ponky'. thus, after my educated choice, i began walking. i stared up at the sky. it was a nice blue. there were tall, green trees around me as well. suddenly, i heard a loud horn. turning around, i stood witness to an extremely thin man flying off his bicycle. he had been hit by a swanky porche. i laughed at myself. the guy in the said car swore at the poor soul now on the road. isn't that what happens in all walks of life? the lesser individual who chooses to live life timidly gets trampled over.
with this great but useless thought, i continued walking. after about three hours, i reached home. i live with two other women. so, obviously, when i turned the latch of the main door, i was greeted with loud cries from one end of the house and incessant wailing from the other. i dropped my bag onto the couch and went into the kitchen. making some tuna on rye for myself, i settled into the uncomfortable couch. as the television came to life, one of my room mates came out and threw a photograph at me. "he cheated on me, again", she informed me between sobs. i looked up at her with sympathy. i placed a tub of chocolate ice cream into her hands. she smiled at me gratefully. my silence seemed to provide her a cue to begin her story and so she did. at the end of her long story, she asked me a question that had my tuna flying out of my hands. "honey, how do you deal with the pain of what he did to you?" she asked pointing at the photograph hanging on the wall in front of me. i sat back and stared at her. deal with what? what is dealing? its been well over a year and i still walk around like a moving bus knocked me off my feet. i walked over to wall and ran my pointed finger down the picture. at our smiling faces. cheek to cheek. i remembered what my mother had told my sister when she first came to my apartment. 'she still has his picture on the wall. 'still '. what a sad little word. it made me realise time and again, that i was stuck within some old, overturned pages.
there is a hole in my heart. and it isn't even my fault that it is there.
after my short discussion with myself, i strode across the room to the large mirror. i stood staring at the image in front of me. large, lost eyes. smileless lips and a thin frame. i felt like lashing out at the mirror. screaming at myself for being like this. no tears came to me. "darling, call the cops, i shot the mirror. Finally!!"

shortcut yourself and i'll turn it all around,
plastic and glass look the same;
from this side of the room.

i think its going to rain and then the shadow goes away.
for a moment, i think, its today and now;
but from the look of it, maybe, its tomorrow and never!

what is a blog??

i was just reading the mangonation blog the other day and that's when i thought to myself whether my blog is a blog?? i mean, there they have reviews and views and lots of really cool stuff. and i have sad, long stories. yelch! what should i write about in my blog. yes, owner of mangonation, i'd like some help here. alright, that's all i have to say. for now.

old rubbish that i forgot to throw out

Suddenly, the fatigue returned within the tiny veins running through the length of my arm. None of the old memories played as experience and the very realization of not knowing chastened my heart. The dreamy and velvety curtains of desire seemed to steam away with your deception. I closed the oak door behind me only to be mocked by the blinding emptiness left behind by the footsteps now stone cold. Hopelessly, turning on the coffee maker, I realized that the machine wouldn’t fix itself. Throwing it against the wall didn’t really bring you back. Big words and painful accusations pulled us apart and drew the blinds on our life. I pen a line in the dust that had settled on the kitchen counter. The house looked the same, but my sunken eyes and chapped lips told stories of its own. The crack down the dining room wall seemed to deepen as I stared at it with a steadfast gaze. My eyes searched for the broken ashtray, not finding it, I flicked the ash into the empty champagne bottle. Everything seemed broken and empty around me. My heart felt the same.
Forever stuck in a memory, I hear your voice across the large bedroom. Its soothing sound made things feel less alien. How long will your scent stay with me? As long as the sun shines into your large brown eyes, you’d once said solemnly. It felt the same, just as yesterday. And slowly yesterday entwined into the present day, feeling dry and meaningless. Tiny droplets hung onto the window pane reminding me of days of chai and pakodas. The incessant ringing of the telephone forced irritation to flow through my blood. My throbbing headache seemed to take over my entire being. I wished hard to the mum Gods that the call would hold my mother on the other end. Any other voice would just make the hard day harder still.
It didn’t seem to matter who was on the other end of the phone; I just stood above the useless machine squinting at the fading color. I strode aimlessly to the other end of the room. I wanted the entire house to fall apart around me. I wanted the world to stop twirling on its little axis. I wanted to drink away all the misery. I wanted to feel the poison run down my throat. Destructive thoughts struck through my mind and ripped my torn heart. It feels like I forgot your love, because I can’t feel its warmth inside me anymore. I feel cold and alone. Left vulnerable, yet again. Tiny fragments of your existence haunt me as I fall asleep only to open my eyes to painful sunshine and an empty pillow. The silken white sheets no longer feel dipped in crimson regret. Stained by bleak desire, they fall motionless around my frozen feet.
If I could;
I would;
Close my eyes and fall into the black hole of raw love.