Category Archives: pretty&broken



Give yourself time and maybe you will be lucky enough to forget.
Time and human distress travel in parallel paths. Time does not heal. Human beings just get better at tolerating it. You get conditioned to the pain, making it a habitual part of your existence that puts an unstable mind into a more stable state. Human beings do not like an unstable state of mind. Time is relative to pain in the sense of making us more tolerable and later immune to what had hurt us before.

Foreign In My Native Land


“They wouldn’t understand you,” she said and I knew what she meant. I have multiple people trapped inside who refuse to leave me alone unless their story is told.I feel every emotion with twice the force and sometimes days go by without feeling anything.

“Love is constant and you’re not.”, she said

I don’t have a constant.
I have variables.
I lack empathy.
I have a false bravado.
I don’t have weak knees.
I have a stiff back.
I refuse to let my guard down.
I will drown you within myself.
I love you.
I refuse to be with you.
I am voices trapped inside your head and the person you know but never meet.

What the fuck is going on?


My entire life has been in a metal cage labelled with the word “maybe”. Maybe, if I score the top position in my class then I would be happy. Maybe, switching to a different field of study would calm me down. Maybe, a part-time job would help me be mentally stable. Maybe, spending on this shirt would boost up my happiness.
If I socialize more? I will be happy. Take more pictures. Better pictures. Pout more. Smile more. Hug more. Forget everything on the dance floor.

“Young, wild and free” are my ideals-and if not? Make them!
It was all set in the future while my present became more intolerable. I don’t like to remember it, the past, I mean. It seems like a landscape rather than a string of time. Will this pill make me happy? Or maybe if I smoke this then everything will be okay. We’re all very happy. Can’t you see? My facebook wouldn’t lie. My instagram post would be worth it with the proper hashtag.
Their mask of happiness is more convincing than mine, I NEED THAT!
It has been a chase for things that I placed too far and out of reach, just so I could run towards them. Running gave me purpose. Running killed off time. Running towards these things was a distraction-a way of not thinking about anything that bothered me. Run like hell but don’t look back. Don’t stop and reflect. Don’t ask questions because if you do, you’ll lose.
I’ve always liked things to fade away in the background rather than confrontations. Oh Jesus! How I despise confrontations. The better I am behind a screen is exactly the value of worse I am in reality. What is reality except for a self-constructed viewpoint to justify the present. We’re a generation that rarely like the present and focus more on the future.
So where were we? Oh yes! It was a chase, to a better college, a better job, a better holiday and sometimes a better lover. Running after it and attaining it was somehow my mechanism to make this existence feel validated.
I needed my existence validated and if someone else tells you that they don’t? I call upfront bullshit on that. I’ve been running like a hamster on a wheel that has consumed too many antibiotics. It’s a race with my insanity and the world. I don’t really know what i’m running from or why. I simply do not know why I attribute things the value I do and then chase them.
Never once had it made me feel complete. I still do it, maybe out of habit. Maybe, I have conditioned myself to believe that the attainment of next goal holds the key to my salvation.
Fast car, big house, two kids, stable partner, a nice job and quarterly holidays.
But why does this plan seem broken? It is flawed. Whoever made this was just another hamster caught in the wheel. How do I stop this? How do i get off this wheel that won’t stop?
Someone help. Pull me. Make this wheel stop. I don’t want to chase these things. It makes no sense. But where will I go? All around I see are hamsters caught up in their wheels. Running. Running. I do not want to be the odd hamster off her wheel in this laboratory.
Shutup, they say and let us run! We’re almost about to reach our goal..

The plague


Sadness is a lot like plague. One day you wake up to realize that you have the deadly sickness. Something in my body hurts. The pain has no source as I coil up in between sheets and cry. All I utter are empty prayers to a God who I only crawl back to when I’m down with the plague.
Have you ever seen smog in mid-winter covering the city? It feels a lot like that inside my chest. My bones have become hollow and crooked. The dim sunlight steals a glimpse into my room through the curtains as the fan sings a familiar tune. The plague paints everything in shades of sickness. Lost friendships and broken bonds ooze out of my veins like blood gushes out as it meets the blade.
Suddenly, all that I have ever tried to hide stares me in the face. Monsters under the bed and skeletons in my closet come out to dance-they dance under the sun. Demons don’t hide in darkness, that is a myth. They walk and dance under the shining sun.

Sadness is a lot like plague, love. One day you realize that you have been cured but still wait for it to creep up on you someday soon.

Perpetual states


A lot of people I have met are fearful of returning to the same state they escaped from. I see wounded souls and battle scars, hidden beneath laughs and cigarette smoke. “We’ve made it this far.”, they say, and clink their glass to the muse of unawareness and celebrate their strength. Runners, is what they are. They won’t tell you how far they have come but would rather claim to be grounded and still. Rubber spines and crooked bones. Mascara stained and rogue lipstick. All covered in shades of charcoal black. I’ve seen them escape into an alternate reality and that is why I get scared when I see that they wear the same charcoal shade underneath their skin that I do.

Life lessons


More often than not, I have read that people will come and go. Nobody will stay permanently in your life and just like the July winds don’t stay long enough to beat the heat, people won’t stay for long. I’ve always tried holding on to them because to me society dictated rules that we’re more individualistic. It has become a fashion to complain about the temporariness of things. Commitments are a drag and we move in a circle with a pace that gives us limited time.
Men and women around me joke about love being an illusion. People giggle at the word compromise and call it a weakness. If they can’t handle you at your worst then they don’t deserve you at your best-is a phrase my friends often repeat.
Why do we expect that someone will tolerate when we’re brought up on the ideals of being rigid?
I remember how he looked into my eyes and said that they we’re too big. About how my nose was too small and hands to thin. He told me that brewing poetry behind closed doors was insane. He had to leave because I’m too weak. During that moment I thought about Bukowski and Hunter.
“Your love killed you so let us drink to that.”, said Bukowski.
“The ticket was worth the ride but it is time to get off”, said Hunter.

I let the beliefs of the society settle in gradually. So they defined my ideals, that love is an illusion and compromise is weakness. Accommodation doesn’t mean that they can walk all over me. Now, I smile at people who were once close and don’t let them know that they killed my soul.

Wonderful, isn’t it?


Sometimes the walls close up on me

And then by the door stands sadness

As I curl in with my sins

Sometimes the walls close up on me


It seems like a carousel

A kaleidoscopic pattern of future dreams

Hanging in between hope and despair

It seems like a carousel


Am I alive or long dead?

Questions that cannot be answered

By the living or the dead

Am I alive or long dead?


I would chase down my demons

It is a pattern of loathing

As I run away farther but only come close to myself

I would chase down my demons


I think that the world inside is more colorful

Never coloring within the lines

Telling myself more truths than lies

I think the world inside is more colorful

The guilt of running away


“Please, let it go only for these three minutes.” , the same voice keeps repeating in my head as I fall back on the couch in a state of numbness, on the verge of blacking out. Drum thuds pound their way in my heart, but this time it feels good. I look at my phone. I look at him and grab his hand. We’re both two wasted youths caught up in the little world created to amuse, ourselves, till sadness creeps up on us. Depression and I share momentary eye contact as it smiles from across the room.

“Let it go. Live this moment.” my mind keeps on trying to convince my heart. It is funny how I, need permission from my demons to grant the pleasure of being a wasted youth among many wasted youth. I’m begging for peace and clutch his hand more tightly. I don’t want this to end but it will. Numbness is my new reality, until I get sick of it and crave for the pain. It is a petty circle, if you ask me.

I smile.
I’m smiling because everything is in Technicolor. I’m a terrific actor. A contradictory state of mind which adheres to the policy of being indifferent and numb, but, hurts every God damn minute from within.
I’m lying about everything to the people around me and I’ve lied so much that it somehow became the truth.
A centipede on the floor. It is such a graceful insect but all the more lethal.
Jesus! I compared someone to a centipede once. I think the more sophisticated and graceful a person appears, the greater chances of them being charming killers.
You know? The kind that slit you raw open on a stone slab but this one is still the better kind.
I’ve come across those who run your mind into a corner. Your mind gets shoved into a darker place from where recovery is harder than living with a knife jabbed into your lungs.
You look at him, again.
He is not going to be your savior. You’re not going to be his redemption.

Let me call it a night? Temporary death always helps in getting over such phases. In my religion, permanent death shifts you to a time where the soul never sleeps. I don’t know how much of this is true but to be honest? It scares me. Not being able to escape certain states is what causes panic. Oblivion is the least of my concern but not having an escape is what means hell to my soul. Escape has always been my way through life-running away, avoiding situations that consume too much of soul than I have to offer, staying away, cutting them off and most importantly not looking back.

I do look back but mostly to run away farther from things in life. I’ve been called an “inconsiderate fuck” by plenty around me. I might be running away from something as I type this.

Maybe it is a yes? Maybe it is no? I really don’t care and tonight is not the night to figure out life. Maybe tomorrow, maybe never and maybe it will finally unfold as a cruel joke when I’m dead.

Lies save more lives


On the 24th of November, 2015

I promised myself to be honest

Honest towards my feelings

Honest in my opinions

Honest towards other people

I decided to give honesty a try

Changed my stance from a “promise” to a “try”

I knew how hard it would be

To be honest

In most aspects of life

Turns out? Nobody expects an honest reply

Nobody expects honest opinions

Even, I refused to accept myself

Ended up slitting wrists and crying in the shower, instead


Lies save more lives

Truth rarely does

It is okay to tell yourself

That everything will be fine for you at the end of the day

At least, that lie saved a life

Mine-if not anyone elses