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Friday, 22 September 2017

My Days

I've run out of free space
On the walls of my head
To mark lines to count days
When I feel like a ship;
Rudderless, sailing without a sail.
On some days there is a snap
And I find myself an oar.
There is a surge, and I row,
But just as quickly, I get low.
The ship sinks, fading away
And I am one with the water—
Cold, blue, clear, blackness.
There is a rush underneath
And waves pull out my ship.
Hard creaking floor and skin.
Up and down, up and down,
Close, closer to the sky
But never, ever, close enough.
Seasick, lifesick, I belch,
And fall into the water
Again, again, again, again

Thursday, 10 August 2017

A Bit of Honesty?

I don't like forced conversations. They hang on to the boredom of every tired soul and pull at my slouched shoulders.

I don't like forced smiles. After I am done lying to the world, my still face returns to me and sticks to my tongue like an ice-cube.

I don't like forced anything. There is a slim chance that maybe I don't like anything right now and I choose not to force myself to like.

Thursday, 3 August 2017

Leaving On a Jet Plane

I am sat on a seat— one I probably paid too much for — on a plane to Gauhati, and then home, and my nose hurts from rubbing on it a bit too much because I've been crying. I'm crying because of all that I'm leaving behind, because of all that I've been a part of, because of all that I'll be missing, because I couldn't stay longer, because fate is such a bitch.