Stain Matter

No, I'm not the deceiving calm before the storm. Neither am I the devastation of Pompeii.

I'm the middle ground of constructive destruction, a slow death of crack cocaine.

I'm the Lysergic acid diethylamide trip of 18 hours; I see unicorns who are grotesque and demand to rape the weak members of their herd.

I'm a narcissistic cannibal, I spread butter on my skin. My toasted tongue is on the verge of tasting gun's metal before that final pin drop silence.

A wobbly ground, the marshlands have gathered and are filled up with creatures to bid me a farewell.

I am Jack's bursting vein on the forehead.

I'm Donnie Darko's multiverse with no deaths recorded.

I'm shit.

I'm stain matter.

Why?

Why can't the entire macrocosm as we know of it be devoured by a gargantuan black hole?

Why can't I eat everyone I love dearly so that they are always within me and never leave?

Why the entire mountain of my molecules go in a tizzy of Brownian motion when I don't understand others?

Why it is not my business to take care of my loved ones who are distraught but are too proud to ask for help?

Why cannot I make peace with the fact that my mind is handicapped when it comes to dealing with authority?

Why is my vision bleak when it comes to my rebellion? 

Why am I not good enough for the ones who I really want to like me and why does it matter so much?

Why can't I love a flake of skin on myself with the smallest fraction of intensity I shower upon my obsessions?

Why am I blinded by my false notions of being important to anyone?

A Night of Nothing

This night presents the largest arid desert with no place for the dew drops. 
They fell out of the bulging skyline and into the abyss just below. 
The angels are all sadists, they watch the thirsty die; writhing with hallucinations because of the dehydration. He is no human, he has strings which are pulled softly. 
There is nothing new in this adventure, already so much to feel that nothing is felt anymore. 
The fairy godmother came and shrugged her shoulders, now is not her time to conjure up tricks. 
Now is dead. Now is gone. Cheeks to kiss and hands to hold yet the story has no end to unfold.
 Now we stand in the majestic arcade which makes us delve into our deepest desires and finally walk towards our coffins made of beach sand. 
We sleep alone as always, her voice invoking false hope, like a fatal siren. 
ZzzzzzzzzZzzzzZ.

Can I?

Can I be that shooting star in your personal cosmos which brightens your life for the fleeting moment, never promising a commitment but the ephemeral stay changing your entire course?

Can I be that paradox which is hovering over your head ubiquitously but also disappears at a quick snap of your fingers?

Can I be that lonely toy in your collection whose every broken part you save and glue it back, the one you keep coming back to after the initial exhilaration of the new one's?

Can I be that cotton sheath you wrap around your skin which breathes your pheromones and you replace after it is filled with too much of you?

Can I be those escaping words of small talk you have to whip out to counter the growing sense of disquietude so that I'm always present as a shield?

Can I be the hand you hold in your soul shattering breakdowns and downward spirals, the hand whose skin you can shred into tiny bits when you feel nervous?

Can I be that fogged up glass on which you blow and paint your one worded dreams?

Can I be that ripped ego and the regret of a final goodbye? Could I ever ask you so much?

Toxic

A slow toxin
biding away its time
Disguised in sweet nectar
As they relish the last drop
Lick that taste on lips
Reminiscent of times
When it seemed rare
A special breed
They were proud of
Then distance of days
turning to minutes
Veins oozing full of it
Now they are addicted
Afraid of its loss if ever.

The toxin unaware
It cannot change itself
Everyone loves it
Only in beginning
Then pieces start falling
It loved them back
The more it stayed
More it was hated
But they also kept coming back
They shun its love
They don't feel worthy
Confused of its role
It grew cold
Recluse, a hermit
Imploding.

Say goodbye
Time has arrived
Toxin flows far away
To never bother
It tried to love itself
This land has no takers
Anger only speeds
The inevitable
Covered with ants
Truth in a larvae
Pushed too far
Stay high, stay possible
Bye.

My Time Of Rain

Soothing apocalyptic wind traversing
With each whisper it softly delivers
A message it seems, incubated in haste
Yet it penetrates the layers beneath
Reaches out to the shrivelled boy
In debt to his emotive abilities I remain
Awake only in deep seated need for rain
Drops smear the thoughts he voiced
Penned down on a parchment, dirty white
Holding him makes me relieved
The insanity of guilt, the rotten insecurity
Disappearing now, making me free
Oh no!
Fake a smile for the approaching stranger
Stuck in a paradox of need and paranoia
Daily cycle of familiarity, impatient fingers
Time speaks clearly; too soon I dwell
I lose control again, the boy hides well
In my time of needing the rain again.

Let Us Leave

Let us carve our felonies deep
Etched into the searing skin
Stare at them in pained nostalgia
Let us drink our pockets full of sin
Celebrate our depraved imagination
Destroy the mandate of rules within.

Let us take hold of our slumbering wants
Discover the man behind the fogged glass
Let us be bare and unguarded
Showcase our corroded yet young heart
Let us be proud of our longing
Elevated beyond comprehension of freedom.

Let us be not aware of the purpose
Wild frenzy to feed our corpus
Golden age was never to be claimed
Let us flesh out our innate love
Spread it around and save a little
For only it matters in the end so brittle.