My Dreamcatcher is a demon

The house is less home than it’s ever been, if anything it’s more distant, estranged, suffocating and what not. and as more and more people come in and go out of life as if they were waves, I do not know anymore what to do, I find my panic attacks on the bathroom floors increasing at a scaring rate, the people gradually decreasing, the percentage of nihilism in my existence ever increasing, and I don’t know anymore, I find the self in a mess, I don’t know what I am, who I am, what am I supposed to be, and I don’t know anymore, do I even want to be a part of this game anymore, do I, 

Do I,

I’ve been painting my facial expressions for as long as I can remember, and I’ve been trying to ignore things as hard as I can, and trying to accept the choices I made, forcing the self to believe that it has all been worth it, that it’ll be , 

But will it ?.

I want to go hone,.Where is my home

Where can I be myself where can I be happy where can I spend a whole day and not cry for no silly no serious reason, where do I not need coldplay to fix my broken pieces, where is my home, where would I be not afraid, 

Please,

I want to go home.

Is anybody alive,.

Anybody out there not dear,

Is anybody listening ?.

My dreams are distorting, spirit is crashing, I can’t seem to find a way out, none, cannot bring myself to care anymore,

Does anybody have the time to help

Can you take me home?

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Vocabulary

All I want to do is lie down and stare at the blank ceiling wondering over the unending misery this burden of existence feels like, there are little hurricane of fury and fear hovering inside of me, and everything that seemed possible and happy and just within reach seems like a distant dream, it’s an unpredictable chaos, the future, a haunting horror, the past, a monotonous torture, the present,
There’s no escape from the thoughts, the fears, the guilt, the sadness doesn’t find a way out, the things that hide in me come out again, words feel like awkward efforts to immortalise the self, dreams- distorted illusions of what is never to happen, Maybe we’re all mad here, maybe the self is insane,
It’s troubling, inescapable, almost inexplicable, and somehow,

And for the very first time since I remember, my mortal vocabulary too is at a loss. 

Maybe 

I revel in Shakespearean sonnets, soar over the possibilities of witchcraft and wizardry, distract the self from grim realities of everyday life, interrupt in self-indulgent fantasies,

You’ll find me scribbling something at the corner seats of pizza joints, clicking duck-face selfie with cappuccinos, lost completely in the world of words even as I travel thy world, have mastered the art of disguise, nailing those fake candids, fake laughter, painting that smile,

More often, I’m found looking fondly at my little library, sniffing the pages of my Tales of Beedle the Bard, sobbing over bigger infinities, looking for Alaska all the way through Paper towns, singing Titanium in closed rooms, swinging over the tunes of Sheeran, obsessing over incorrect use of language, fretting over blue ticks,empty inboxes, a hundred percent battery, I’m as fragile as glass,  rely on Coldplay to fix my broken pieces, always wondering why are Angry Birds so furious after all, trying to seize moments, freeze time, hoping to dominate thy muggle world,

My thoughts are darker than your Kohl, fantasies glossier than your nail color, and even as you’re (sometimes) bitter than my over-caffeinated drinks, I find myself steady in this alley they call life,

So, I flash my “close-up” smile with those Snapchat filters, trying to untangle both my curls and life, being a hypocrite, hurting, healing, swearing and sobbing through life, dancing over joys you call trivial, (secretly crushing over Farhan Akhtar), going insane, day by day, word by word, haunted by heartbreaks, endless regrets, infinite ‘what ifs’, 

Counting on the lights to guide me home, trusting the forces to shoot me down, believing in your love to keep me alive, 

I’m vulnerable, trusting, hanging on to the last thread of hope, Surrendering my soul to you, I’m readying myself for anything and everything

Yet another morrow ends, darkness dawns, birthing millions of stars,
Hovering over us as infinite possibilities,

Maybe, everything is possible. 🌸

So it goes

What if i sneeze my secrets away, or stutter about all that that i dream about, all which i don’t think out loud, the essence, the meaning, the perspectives to stuff beyond me, my words do not equate to my soul, not all the time,i steal phrases, sometimes emotions, i take my tears, turn them into pieces of art, this insecurity in that poem, that incident in that prose, and yet,
So much is lost, in the bridge where fiction ends and i begin, that sometimes i forget, what i am is not what i preach, what i preach is not what i believe in, what i am, i find hard to believe,
And so it goes,
You find it weird,i guess,”you used to talk so much, what happened”, you might have forgotten, i was a human then, i am a writer now, i lie, hide, conceal, i find it hard to share,
Anything, everything,
Tell me your story, go on, i’ll listen,
But i can talk no more,
Words will be enough, but neither you, nor me, a morrow won’t do justice to discuss all that had been,
And, we, busy beings, can’t have another day, anyway,
And so it goes,
You talk, i listen
I write,
And listen to the unending remarks,
“Why don’t you talk anymore?”,
And nod silently.

For so it goes;

Beneath the lies

These tears are fresh, real, innocent, and full of longing,
They do not understand the ways of the world, the triumphant tales of time, the incessant wondering, the hopeless waiting, the needful wants,
always the wants,

Broken,sometimes bleeding, we refuse to heal, let go, let in, break down the barriers, build more walls, everywhere, all the time

An abandoned star, lonely on its expedition, from daylight to darkness, holding back, probably just accepting,
The unrequited fate,

Why are forevers not ever enough?

Fictitious things

Dearest

I do not know how to begin, this is the first time I am referring to you, first time my muse comes from the time before my adolescent phases, my dear, I must apologize, I do not think a lot about you, it’s been a long time,but every nineteenth of this month, I whisper birthday wishes in the september breeze, hoping and believing they’ll reach you,
Maybe they do.

Do you remember me ?

You taught me in middle school, you taught me what a kind and nurturing presence can do to kids, and while others were busy thinking they were too cool for the world with the most weird possible combinations of hair styles, bathing in dozens of perfumes, the overly bold lip glosses, being too young for lip colors, trying so hard, so hard all the time to grow up, to show they were ready to adult, to be, you forced me into a world of words and numbers and chemicals, and all that was pure and innocent in the world,

You’d smile at me every time I entered, and so did many others, god, they were such happy times, such love, such pure, innocent affection, which never asked for anything in return, such happy times with sour candies and awestruck eyes filled with wonder and amazement and what not,

It’s been approximately eight years and sometimes I think about you and those times and I wonder to myself

How did it all go so wrong so quickly and how did I never realise where it was all going, how come I never realised I was drowning until it was too late, I was too late to be saved, rescued, and now it’s just a never-ending ocean and I’m trying to keep struggling to swim, swimming to stay put, exist, 

How do you live with yourself,

Knowing what you know, all the hatred, disgust, problems with no solutions, the misunderstandings, 

How do you live with yourself,

Knowing things are never going to be the same again, knowing things are never going to be, anything, that it’s just going to suck for a while, that this is it, life, and how is it that nobody ever teaches us how to survive in this world following Darwin like madmen, I’m not the fittest, am I not going to survive at all,

How do you live with yourself,

Clinging on to the tiny thread of hope, longing, wanting, feeling, breaking down, bit by bit, irrevocably, waiting, wanting, needing, needing, needing,

Tell me this,

How do you live with yourself,

How do you,

Live,

At all ?

I mean, what’s even there to, 

It’s all so trivial,

All the things we pretend our important to us, mark it off in our bucket lists, waiting, crossing off, doing stuff, 

Watch the northern lights, o, how does it help, how does getting a dog helps either, or learning a new language,

Nobody’s there to listen anyway, why waste words,

Why waste all that struggle to survive in this world at all,

It’d be better off anyway,

Won’t it ?

Dear,

You wouldn’t recognise me if you see me tomorrow, or any day,

You wouldn’t recognise me, not anymore,

I’ve become indifferent to the world, I do not care anymore, I am just staying put, not hoping anymore, just waiting, waiting for the tide to come my way, and when it does, for of course it will, I’ll probably be the happiest,

But now,

I’ve realised something,

You wouldn’t care either, would you?

Nobody does, it’s not in human blood to do that, 

Probably,

That’s why I find myself incapable of the same too, 

Teacher,
I’m clinging on, my dear,

Just like you told me to,

But not to hope anymore,
Happy birthday, I’ll whisper to the winds again, 

And that is where I end and I begin,

Another me,

Another story,

Perhaps,

I’m giving in,

Adulting,
No hagrid knocking down the door, no wandering around , no longing for the deathly hallows,

Not anymore,

None
Nothing

Silence