Purgatory

And I was told to love you,
because without you the emptiness would be too much too bear.
And I was told to forgive you,
because the hatred for you would eventually kill me.
But the truth was.
Whether you were there or not.
My life was a rapidly moving train.
Derailed by the speed of pain,
I watched the slow motion disaster unfold
before my very eyes:
too horrific to move, too awful to turn away.
I tasted the misery on my tongue,
felt its crawl on my skin.
As the universe opened up a black worm hole.
Spiraling down as it burnt up.
The darkness consuming everything around me.
And I fell.
Not knowing which way was up or down.
Into the abyss as it cascaded with tears of the dead.
And I could have asked you to stay,
just so I wouldn't be alone when it all came crashing down,
but I recall a faint voice in the back of my head
saying this was a perfect replica.
Identical to the precise moment I fell for yo.
And  fell for you.
I fell for you hard.
And I could have buried my head in a pillow
and yelped out in pain,
but the misery clawed at my throat,
and I was too busy trying to survive.
Too busy missing you to remember to fight for air,
and my lungs ached for oxygen
but the insides of my thighs had a deeper aching,
for the kiss of your lips.
And my tears fell but my hands were too busy
trying to reinvent the touch of your fingertips on my skin.
So they drowned me.
And they all told me to forget you,
because regretting what you did was better than regretting what you didn't do.
And I called their bluff,
as I pulled up my blue sleeves to reveal my tattered wrists.
Because never meeting you
would have been so much easier
than whatever purgatory this is...

Dead love

I.
Cannot.
Pick up a pencil.
I cannot paint a stroke.
I cannot pen a fucking word.

I cannot cry a damn tear.
But i ache to feel something.

I yearn to be numb,
in the pain of your resolution.
I cry out for the shame,
but so suddenly, I cannot.

I waltz from lover to past lover
searching for what i had with you.
But nothing ever feels the same.
It never feels right.

And I would hate you,
but I'm too busy reminiscing,
your toxic kiss.

And I would have killed you,
but I'm too fucking busy trying
not too love you.

And some day will come,
my 'dear' friend.
When its all faded away.
And I will reach into your wretched cage,
feel the chilling ache of your frozen heart
and I will reach in and grab
the remnants of my own bitter heart.
The misery gnawing at my fingernails,
bitten raw in anticipation.
Our song will fade.
And I will regain my soul.

But until then ,
until that last hour.
Do not stop,
telling my bleeding ears
the venomous lies of shrapnel words.
Don't stop kissing my skin,
until the yellowing puss of your 'I love you's.
For  I cannot reclaim all that is and what was mine,
until I have die.
So dance with me.
My sweet ecstasy.
The misery of cocaine.
Acid tripping circuits and faintly intoxicated glimmering stages.
Until I am dead.
Continue until I die.
Until we are dead...

Untitled

Alone.

Without a face.

I stood before you , and with my quivering hands,

sprawled up , out into the night sky, 

like an offering to the God on high.

I surrendered my soul

and you...

Like a frightened child

fell at my feet 

and chuckled. 

It was the end of an era 

and you were beginning a fresh,

a new,

with a lover that was not me...

Thus was the journey of my love for you...

The women in the window

Often she would sit up until late at night, just so she was alone enough to hurt ,or for the pain her mind would create, for the pain she couldn't quite forgive the world for and it was quite a saddening shame, because when she was wild and free she was happy and oh how beautiful she was when that happiness overflowed. But when the moon began its slow descend and began to let the sun breath, you could always find her, sitting up in her loneliness...

And with a bottle of whisky in on hand and another cigarette in the other her inner war began. A raging tirade of assaults and gruesome murders taking place on each and every page Scorching her soul from the outside in, she was born different , dying from the moment she took her first breath, each chapter was a massacre that worsened her grief until one day, her story would end...
You could take another swing at her, it wouldn't do you any good. She was her own worst enemy, you couldn't hurt her even if you tried...
 The women in the window.

She hated the weekends because she thought they brought out the worst in  people and for those around her they did, and it wasn't always to no avail because it was for these moments she wove her pains between the lines of her beautifully donned lies, and she would sit at that old typewriter,hunting and pecking every word until her heart was empty and her soul was bare and the demons inside her were starved and her masterpiece was complete. But the time would come and just few moments before dawn arose he would come home and perhaps her joy would return, no one could ever tell, for he loved her in a way that both invigorated and suffocated her. Giving her life and taking it all away, simultaneously. She had never been as alive as the moment whence she had met him and yet, it was at that precise moment she had begun to die...
Her slow suicide.

She loved him the way prisoners grew to love their captors, the way lovers learnt to love being apart. She loved him with all the glories that she once had  and all that she would one day have, until she had nothing left at all. And it was sickening to stand back and see, how in the moonlight, tiny cracks in her smile would begin to show . How she had scars that not even time could heal. She had spiders and monsters lurking never so far deep beneath the surface of her glistening skin and bellow those , low and behold, was the worst kind of hell. Fires and pain, sadness and  the most excruciating of eternal aches, but beneath that , all the hollows of hell. She had paradise...
Sweet, soft and serene, she often fought to save this, or to Shield it from her cruel world, no one could tell but she was always afraid. No one person could get down there, never even near. Down those levels to all such as this, but he...

He was the little hope she still had ever reserved and then one day he had all of a sudden left, and now, now she is the tragedy of pity you see before you. Cold and hardened by her pain, often none could tell if he would return and mend all what he had shattered... And now as she is the women in the window, as she always had, she sits at her desk, buried behind that old typewriter beckoning the moments before dawn to break, it is never unseen in her eyes, that there is nothing, not a damn thing more tragically beautiful in this whole damned world than the way she loved him and you may say that they might have been together for the briefest eternity or the longest moment in time but it is always with sinking heart that we are to know, they were never together at all...

The Manic Depressant Files.

Everyday life was a battle.

She lived like the arduous were unconquerable alps, never ending peaks

 and the effortless were unfathomable gallows spiralling into rapidly descending pits.

Soaring from mushroom cloud to cumulus nimbus of doom,

Each one shattering the small hope reserved to jump to the next.

She was a soldier, sent to battle with only her bare  exposed heart as a weapon.

A country, a small island, landlocked by continents at war.

She was no man land, dancing a waltz that only she knew:

Ducking and diving through fallen debris and flying shrapnel wounded souls

Who could love a  girl whose wounds covered her entire face.

Whose skin was a thin tattered cloak of pain, anguish and unsurpassed mistakes?

Who would see deep beneath the measure of self loathing despair to the women who lay there?

Long since forgotten…

Now she waded monsters and demons, in search of her next fix.

The devil that would play in her veins making her forget.

But she wasn't always this way.

There wasn't always a pernicious thicket of thorn bearing foliage and detrimental hate,

No she too was once so beautiful.

A sweet little girl with pigtails, played in a park,

With no one watching, she was well on her way to paradise…

Now she clung to the memories of that state

Waiting for them to come and take her away.

And sometimes she thought it would be better that way.

Men in cloaks as white as the bright heavenly light,

To take her away to a place where she could never hurt herself again.

Where the year old  needles and blades couldn't slice jagged flesh from her unwanted body

And no, she probably wouldn't bleed ever again but at least there,

Wherever there was,

They couldn't hurt her there.

So she'd gladly welcome her cocktail of pills and gulp down her last bottle of rum.

And pray that when they found her she would be dead.

But if for some reason she heard the faraway sirens whirling in an approaching distance

She hoped to hear them say she were a danger to herself,

Knowing full well that she were a danger to them all

And so her fairy-tale show would end

And in a place where the walls were softer and the sounds were sweet.

She'd have three meals a day and a few more pills to take away the pain

And say goodbye to the horrid numbness that ricochet and say hello to the rest of eternity.

She would fly away tonight and then,

Only then would everything be okay.