Tag Archives: literature

What fuckery is this?

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I look at the long stretch of road ahead
As I drive home after a day of doing nothing
The truck I see in my rear view mirror
Looks very tempting to crash into
I imagine how it would be
Tilting the car to the side
And
The collision would have me drifting off
Off the highway to the other side
Impact from the collision would leave me unconscious
I hope dead
But then someone laughs
I think in my head, or the radio

You see the thing about bipolar disorder is that it creates scenarios
Shit that won’t happen but it is fun to imagine
My mind will convince me that it’s the best thing to do
Crash my car
Break stuff
Vandalize public property
Or go on an excessive abusive spree

Disturbed cognitive functioning sometime means that I alter my perception of reality
So I’ll imagine cruising down the highway at 100km an hour
After having a wonderful time out
And suddenly it would hit me that I don’t want to live anymore
At times I will go silent in a second
Because the happy switch that made the world seemed perfect
Was flicked out
It’s time for the gloom to take over

When you swing between extremes
You’ll be out hiking with your best pals at 8 am on a Monday
Laughing and dancing
But the very night
You decide that you’re not leaving the house for the next five days
The very sun you embrace
Is like thumb pin pricks on your skin
And your bones decide that the weight of all of this is too much
So your mattress on Wednesday will have imprints of your skin
On Friday the voices will haunt you
This is not real, you know it
Yet you won’t move
Because,
You know that happy days have a price tag associated with them
And this
This is the price you have to pay for being so happy the previous week

Sometimes, you imagine that nothing is real
And that you don’t want to wake up from this
Other times you slap yourself because it’s unbearable

Your friend comments how happy you look
And you don’t tell him that you’ve practiced this smile in the mirror
All the way from home

So next Monday
You refuse to give up
The world is not beautiful and it’s not painted in your favorite colors
And sunny days are not the best ones
A lot of times you want to kill yourself
On spot
But you don’t
Because, fuck! You deserve to live and carve out the life you want
The happy days will be back
You’ll live this one through as well
Till then,
Scream on your way home
Don’t crash into that truck

Gypsies in Love

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A gypsy heart
You and I
Wanderers running in search of the next best thing in life
Present known

A nomad soul
You and I
We danced our way through life
Tomorrow unknown

Khanabadosh, someone once said
You’re one of them
He is too, the woman pointed
Bound to leave eventually but you’re meant to be
Somewhere up in the constellations

I don’t believe in chaining people down
You don’t believe in commitments
We head for a shipwreck among the stars

Let us drown
Let us drown
Among the ones where we belong

It’s 2 am and I see no God

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“That is the thing”, the voices whisper, “pretend or give up” and there is an urge to reach out to someone at God fucking 2 a.m in the morning with the words, “Help me”. But, I don’t because anxiety screams, “why the fuck would someone be up at 2 a.m in the morning on a Sunday?”
Contemplating on ways I would like to ask for help without actually appearing weak. For you see, I’ve pretended to be strong for so long that these self imposed restrictions make it hard to reach out or break down.
It’s hard to ask for help when you’ve been on the other end. You’re the helper, not the helpee. You’re the anchor at the bottom of the ocean that does not let others drown. You save. You don’t ask to be saved.
The realization that I’m drowning comes in too late and there is no end in sight. How does one swim against or with the currents when they were made to sink?
But that is the thing, “you cannot drown at the bottom of the ocean” it whispers.
That is the dilemma. You’re going to suffocate but it won’t let you die. You’re going to be in the dark for ages but this won’t let you die.
You sit here at 2 a.m talking about drowning in a nicely lit room but you’re suffocating and the world outside doesn’t know.
The only way to deal with this is to make art out of your personal tragedy. Coping, is the most bravest word in the dictionary because it shows the determination of an individual to survive against all odds. It is a depiction of standing against the strong waters at the bottom of the ocean while every particle is willed to drown you.
Tomorrow is another day. Another day to ask yourself, what is tougher? Pretending to live or trying to die.

I’m drowning. I see no God down here. Is it too late to say, “Help! I think I won’t make it.”

Confusions

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I’m not good at letting things so. I guess that is why I try not to get attached. Attachment means vulnerability and I’ve never liked being vulnerable. Sometimes; it means exposing the galaxies inside your chest but how can I if mine is a black hole? I have no justification for what I do at times. The constant manic cycles that leaves you bloodied. Running back to you on lonely nights just to howl outside your door. At one point in time I thought I knew what love was like. It smelt like your cologne and cigarettes. Love tasted like tobacco and caffeine. Love felt a lot like shutting the world out on rainy days. Love was sneaking around with the adrenaline pumping through our veins. It was stolen. Our love was always stolen and sneaky. It was a chase. I still have no justification for leaving.
Sometimes, I wonder if I’m not able to let go of you or the feeling of love?

A poem for your manipulator

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I’ve been too afraid to lose people. So much so that in order to make room for their personality, I diminish mine. I learnt it from my parents. My mother turned from monsoon rain to a chaotic thunderstorm. My father became the ruins rather than the fire.

I make room for his,
dreams
aspirations
hopes
love
goals
in this process of providing space. The little of myself I was left with is crumpled in the corner. To keep a love one has to bend.
One has to change.
One has to make room.
One has to apologize.
One has to let go because love,
Love is worth keeping
Love is worth fighting for
But love is toxic
When he tells you that you should be sorry for your choices. When he makes you feel like you do not exist except for his shadow. When he makes sure you know that he has the string and you’re just a puppet. When his silence screams at your face more than his words. When he tells you that he will leave. When he emotionally manipulates you with your answers and you can’t do anything about it. When he takes the little space that you had.

I’ve been too afraid to lose people. But, I’ve realized I’m more afraid to lose myself.

14 days of mania

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“What the fuck”
The voice screams
From the back of my mind
This other half talks sense
As I continue to
Drink and ridicule
A friend sitting in front of me
I feel it
The manic me, you see?
The charmer
Witty woman
Intellectual
Who throws metaphors like ropes
Reeling people in to her trap

This person who screams sanity
Outside the wall of my cerebrum

I ignore

 

Dear, you
Shut the fuck up
You’re not being funny
You’re being cruel

Episodic
I know that this is wrong but I continue
I continue to indulge in wordplay
In luring the other person
Like
A spider dragging in its prey
Being a charmer
Before
I dissect their entity
Raw open
Exploit it
For the inner sinner

Frankly, I enjoy it
As sanity screams to be let in
Inside the house
Where
Manic me, resides
Until next time
The insane one says
As I creep under the sheets
From a night out
Haven’t slept for more than four hours
For the past 14 days
Deeply saddened on what I did
But heck, I was the life of the party
“You’re happy” they said
“I’m always happy”, I lie through my smile
Because I am not
But you see
How do I tell you that I love this
I love the manic me
The conqueror
The winner
The one who emerges victorious

Euphoria doesn’t last
Sadness settles in
“Like always” I mutter to the other self
As I wave to the manic
The hypomania is over
My mind welcomes
Depressive mania
With open arms
As sanity screams
Oh fuck! Here goes another 14 days

Life taught me love

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I have learnt
That
Loving and living aren’t so different
Both need commitment and time
You need to put in effort
Until, it becomes involuntary
So on days where you don’t feel like breathing
Your lungs refuse to give up
And just so
Loving someone is the same
On days when you feel like leaving
Someone ought to hold you back

My body is no temple

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I have read a lot of books
That tell me
How my body is a temple
I should consider it sacred
Worship and respect it
Because, if not me
Then who?
I’ve read a lot of poetry
On intentions and aspirations
How positive energy heals my temple in rubble
I wish that I could tell them
I do not consider
This body of mine
A temple
My body is no shrine
No place for the holy
It is a forest
In between is a swamp
You will find only twisted pathways
Wetlands that will drown you
A bottomless pit
For an excuse of a heart
A shallow hole that only wants
It functions on parasitic needs
The canopies have poisonous snakes
Spiders hide in the ground
If you think this is
Young, wild and free
I am sorry
To deceive you with my words
It is a forest
That does not give birth to life
It is overshadowed by rage and cruelty
Left by inhabitants that once tried
To make a home of it
It is not free
The vines will trap you
Hang you in mid-air by your throat
If you dare venture in too deep
There is nothing saintly cherished in the atmosphere
So, if you think that this body is a temple
Go look somewhere else
Because, this is a forest
Thick and Cruel
It will devour your heart
Make you a fool

No going back

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As I grow old, a part inside has become deeply aware of time. It is not something that I am surrendering to consciously but rather, it is very unconscious. I’m becoming more conscious of how I spend my time and the people I spend my time with. Counting my days is easy, heck I’m just 21 years old. My accomplishments as a person have started to define me. I am the product of all that I have conquered. This includes my fear of the dark .
Victory small or big is still victory.
Growing up is not fun but it’s the only choice I have. I cannot go back in time so just as well go forward.
“Age is just a number”, this is a tiny piece of wisdom that usually pops up when discussing the relativity of time.
But how do I sweep my realizations and regrets under the rug that came with time and of age.
Time, however, can be on your side. I’ve learnt this. I have also learnt that a single moment can cause inevitable changes forever.
You know how when you’re drifting off to sleep and this sudden sensation of falling down hits you? So you jolt out of your dream into reality.
That sudden plunge feels like eternity but in reality is just a micro-second.
Sometimes I feel that becoming aware of time is a sudden plunge. Because, I’ve always been more carefree than I would like to admit.
My friends are growing up and people are changing. I have no definite plan for the future. It used to be scary but now, it is not.
 
I know that I’m falling right now but eventually I will wake up.