All to the Self

And again, the weight.

The weight I vowed to never nurse, now has again found its nest deep within my bosom.

When will this end? 

May

It’s a great day.

But not great enough for you, to come by, as how the universe promised you would. 

The clock is ticking down, to the last, Oh to the last day, of my May.

Where are you? 

I now am slowly losing faith, and when the clock strikes 12, everything would have been, gone. 

069: For the Fascinating Fuck

Skin on skin we are nothing more,

but people yet be here before.

Now, living in our borrowed thrusts,

our piled up bodies laden lust

Safekeeping, souls then tucked away,

hollowed out beings for the day

So we borrow time, we heave, moan,

settling for lips to pawn and loan

Nonchalance, physicality;

just touch and go, for you and me

With trousers down, every guard’s up,

eyes closed, drink from the other’s cup.

Yet until when this charade lasts?

Until one gives and cries aghast?

When one breaks on a simple bend?

No longer there to lie nor lend?

A truth we know: someone will lose

when one ducks out or one does choose.

For built-up worlds we can’t sustain,

our bodies fleet, We can’t remain.

So with this resolute farewell,

know demise awaits if we dwell,

On every caress we did steal,

things we’d regret to want to feel.

***

“We’re just having fun.” You said.

An apt numbered poem, for the apt numbered act, of which we never did reach.

The falling action that our climax never did reach.

We just, 

died. 

***

Thank You, I know now you a boy in a man’s skin.

But that’s all You can ever be. 

For the sake of not so random rants

To slow down, can be quite a feat for me lately.

I am lost in the motions of the moments that life radically throws at me. I am always found in the most compromising of positions (no, I do not at all attribute it to chance). I am at the epicenter of pivotal and mind-boggling situations.

Imagine all that. Now, imagine it in fast forward.

That is how I go day to day, again.

I have wormed my way out of this and have been dedicating my life to stillness and silence, but since last December, I have had neither.

My life has evolved into a crazy scenario with no means of a pause. No breathers for me, no stops, no nothing. I keep on going as the world does.

And once again, I am tired.

I want the calm I used to have, the peace I used to nurse, the quiet I used to be able to live in. But I somehow cannot leave this life on loop. It’s as if I have a bad case of wanderlust and a truckload of addicitions that I care not get rid of. A life led in beliefs of hedonism that seems so grounded inside of me that no matter how hard I try to shake it off, I just couldn’t.

I always push myself to try though, to try and reclaim the old calm.

But everytime I do something just one question remains: Do I WANT to?

Some say i am at the phase of sheerly pleasing myself, but then why is everything so tiring this way? Why is everything incredibly pointless to me the moment I open my eyes for yet another go at what people would say as a life in paradise?

The question remains ever so steady in my head: for a girl that does only and everything she wants, why is she then unhappy as she is unsatisfied?

***

A life so grounded in wants and whims seems so light and never will it dim, yet in counts of blurs, calamities it will breed, until the time my hands, feet and heart, gives and bleeds.

Questions, questions and more questions, on being young, stupid and unsatisfied.

To appreciating and being grateful to my places :)

Filmsy iron gates protect me,
from every fear and failure.
Deliacte ceiling swags remind me
of the billowing thoughts in my head.
Plastic woven chairs envelope me,
comfort in its makeshift embrace
Groups and couples surround me,
and I feel more intact.
The sun now peeks in setting,
telling me I can rest.

Home is relative to what you see
in filmsy gates and plastic chairs.
Home is relative to how are
under ceiling swags and the setting sun.
Home is relative to how you feel
surrounded by people, alone in your seat.

Home is relative to what you carry
in your hands and in your head.

***

To my sanctuary, pristine and void of memory.

I love you and how you cradle me, and how you make me see me, how I can be, ultimately happy, ultimately whole, ultimately alone.

Xocolat, your staff will get a freakin’ box of pizza from me on my birthday! :D

Oh my haven, oh my home, and how you and no one can ever understand :)

How to be Alone (a very truthful and comforting poem)