Dawn breaks, 

another day,

hope leaves this body,

cell by cell.

Today I am 50 percent melancholic

and 50 percent sure that I want to kill myself.

Tomorrow, the equation might change.

I'm a coward who puts on a brave face.

That's what I am.

I don't have the courage to die today.

But tomorrow might be a different day.

The equation might change.

I've been missing.

I've been missing.

I'm a 100 percent sure that nobody's looking for me.

But what they don't know is that the disappearing act is for real this time.

It was never meant to be.

I was never meant to exist.

A worthless, mediocre life that ultimately amounted to nothing.

But tomorrow will be a different day.

Tomorrow I will be gone. 

As Above, As Below

I turn twenty fuckin four this year, would you believe it! I made a bucket list of all the things to do before 30 and even though I've crossed a lot of things off that list, I doubt I'll be able to complete it. It's the second month of the year and I hate 2015 already. I feel like life is stabbing me in the chest every goddamn day of this year. Everything is falling apart. I am falling apart.

I've never believed in god. I can't believe in something I can't see, touch, feel. I believe in the universe, but does an entity that we've christened "god" exist? I don't know. I don't believe yet.

This year, I want to find myself more than anything else. I want to understand myself, slay my demons and let go of my tendency to be dependent on others' love. I need to find my peace. I need to find my light.

A ship lost at sea, my mind's been adrift for too long now. What the fuck am I doing wasting my time trying to write that one song which will change me forever?
I've been trying so hard to bring out my monster, give it a voice and make it sing. All my new material is grotesque, intimidating. But this process is taking a toll on me. I cannot separate my art from my life and I can feel it slowly taking control over my entire life.

I want to sing better, I've been practising hard.
I want to play better guitar, I've been practising hard.
I want to write better music, I've been trying hard.
I want to be happy, how do I do that?


Ideas they come and go, sometime I hold on to them, milk them into a song. But only in vain. Anything I try to write is shit. Absolute shit.

All I want to do is find myself, maybe then I'll be able to write a decent song.

Consensual

what causes one to be cruel, so cruel?
what makes one act like a savage, a beast?
centuries of evolution and yet you cannot think beyond yourself.
living in perpetual gloom.
and memories of days bygone.

I open my eyes and I'm a nymph at 12. I figure I'm Lolita, I can handle it all. But I'm not Lolita. I don't know what a man's genitals look like.
"Touch it", he places my hand over his dick.
It looks like a worm, a snake, a deformity.
I can see it grow slowly and steadily.
I am scared. It intimidates me.
He places his dick in my mouth. It tastes sour, like death. My death.

I'm in my training bra, didn't anticipate we'd come this far. All I wanted was a kiss, nothing more. I didn't know there was a world beyond a kiss. He squeezes my nipples, for I do not have a breast he can hold on to. It feels strange to let someone see me naked for the first time.
I'm embarrassed of the hair around my vagina.
I'm embarrassed and petrified as he slides his fingers around and then into it.
It hurts.
It hurts a lot more than I can imagine.
Just one finger.


Is this what adults do for recreation?
Is this what grownups always fantasize about?

I see him looking at me as he makes me suck his dick.
I understand that he feels a great deal of pleasure.
I am sexslave. I'm his sexslave for the evening.

"Are you scared?" "No"
I lie. I'm not a convincing liar but he needs to hear what he wants to hear.

It is the month of December but somehow I do not feel cold. Only scared. Broken.

How did I get to this part of my nightmare?
He was stronger than I imagined.
I had nothing on but a pair of earrings.
He was dressed, except for the dick sticking out of his pants.
(Or did he take his shirt off? I can't quite remember)

Degradation.
Humiliation.
But a severe breach of trust, more than anything else.

I lay there like a nymphsexdoll. He couldn't get his dick to go into my vagina on the first try. He told me that it would hurt and reassured me that "I" would feel good. I did not believe him, not a word he said. But I was too lost to respond, let alone fight back.

I shut my eyes and felt pain. Nothing but pain.
It was nothing like I had imagined it to be.
He grunted and pushed hard and I prayed for the ordeal to end.
I wouldn't let him see me cry.
I wouldn't give him the pleasure.

It's been over a decade since the incident. I've been called a "sex goddess" by a few men I have slept with. I have seen the pleasure in their eyes as they orgasm. Sex with me is a high, I've been told. But nobody knows that they're fucking a dead person.
I die the moment they enter me. Nobody has been able to make me feel alive.

What's the best sex I've had so far in life?
I haven't had any good sex.
Nobody has loved me the way I deserve to be loved.
I have merely given my body to those seeking pleasure.

I'm quite mad.
But that's okay, I like to believe that I'm saving myself for the right person when they come along.

And one day when you see my face in the pages of a magazine, you will realise that the scars you left on my body have long faded...

Humiliation, thy name is love
The more I seek you
The more you run away
Like a child whose whims are not paid heed to
I turn away from you
I will learn to live without you
Maybe tomorrow, if not today

what's the baddest, nastiest thing you could do to me...in bed?

Even More Resolutions

6. STOP READING THE DAMN TABLOIDS.
I have been reading the newspaper religiously for every day since class V and it's time that I stopped reading the supplementaries on entertainment that come with it instead of reading them after I've read the main paper. I can do without learning about random garbage at the start of my day. Also, Calcutta has some really ugly people who seem to feature almost every goddamn day, I could definitely do without my morning sickness that their dumbandovermadeup faces induce.

7.  EXERCISE!!!
My greatest fear is to wake up one day realising that I have a paunch and that it makes my navel piercing look like that of a cheap hooker's.

resolutions twentyfifteen

1. DON'T HAVE SEX!
I'm getting too old to be fucking someone who ultimately doesn't care about my existence. Sex is special and like any good drug, if you go overboard, you end up ruining your life as well as the trip. I wish I could go back in time and explain this to my younger and naive self. But I guess it's better late than never.

2. WRITE! WRITE! WRITE!
It doesn't matter if it's good or rubbish. I need to cut myself some slack and just write. I desperately need to get rid of this writers' block.

3. READ MORE.
Self-explanatory, this one. The last book I picked up and subsequently abandoned was Murakami's Colorless Tsukuru Tazaki. I feel terribly guilty,

4. DON'T DO DRUGS UNLESS IT'S A SPECIAL MOMENT.
It loses it's charm when you do it too often. Don't.

5. DRINK LIKE A 30-YEAR OLD.
Go easy, go slow. It's about time I started to drink in moderation. Early morning rum and a joint needs to stop. The party ended a while back.

Cuts Like A Knife

It's hard to sing love songs when you have no love to give
Your friends are getting married
And all you wish for is to see the stars at night
Lay on grass
Let the dew kiss you
"Life goes on" they tell you
"You'll find yourself in someone" they tell you
But nobody knows that your heart is full of pain.
An attempt to love is only in vain

Not Old Enough To Be Young Yet

It's always the same dream these days, always. Vivid, vivid details and pretty much the same storyline. I'm pregnant and soon to be a single mother. It always ends in miscarriage or in death. I wake up crying the same tears literally every goddamn day. Is it because I don't think I am capable of handling my own life without someone else's support? Why do I keep seeing the same things and the same people?
Yesterday it was a previous lover and his new found romance, completely oblivious to my pain and today it was just me trying to run without falling down (which I did btw, totally killing the baby in the womb), away from a beast who was trying to kill me.
The supporting characters in my dream are always so indifferent, so apathetic. I'm scared of falling asleep because it's been 5 days in a row and I'm starting to think that I am in fact losing my mind.

Prjkt X

My folks leave for a vacation tomorrow and I'm looking forward to having the house to myself, not because I can party and let people trash my place but because I can finally write write write and write some more.
I'm falling into the stereotype of those who drink to make themselves not think about all the heartache. Is it healthy? Ofcourse not! But what choice do I have?
Also, alcohol is better than relapsing and starting to do dendrite like a juvenile delinquent. Sometimes you know that some things are really bad for you and yet you just can't stop doing it. I want to be 13 again, still fresh from the wounds of the rape. I don't know why but I do. Maybe because I used to think that from that point on I thought that my life wouldn't be sad anymore, the worst was over. But growing up makes you realise that life is just sad, it is always sad. I may not have been raped again since but people have kept breaking me down, the cycle never ends. I may have stopped doing dendrite but the trips are always the same. Everything is a loop.

My resolution for this year is to definitely stay away from drugs and not abuse them. After my last acid trip last year, I realised that drugs only work for me when I'm alone or with someone I can shed all my inhibitions with and since there is no latter in my life at the moment, I'll have to take extremely good care of myself, nobody's going to do it for me.

Real life is not a fairytale. I am not a princess and there is no prince who will come and rescue me. Miracles are not real, only tragedies are. But it's okay, I'm starting to master the art of getting by.


I need to do so many things.
But there's so little time.
Let me waste one precious second
Trying to make this fucking rhyme.

Attention Seeking Bitch

Sometimes you need to feel good about yourself, you just do. Especially if you're a girl who's been battling depression and eternal melancholy. I always thought of myself as antisocial and largely unwanted, but being single for the first time in a long time has made me realise a lot of good and bad things about myself.
I used to always think of myself as vermin in social situations-ugly, unwanted and unnecessary. I guess it's hard to come to terms with someone ignoring you and looking for greener pastures when they tell you that they "love" you, but with time I'm realising that this is not true. Atleast not for me. There are people who would be perfectly happy to dedicate their entire evening for my company, even if there's no guaranteed sex afterwards.
It makes me feel good about myself somehow.
 I don't need to be all over a man just to get his attention and neither do I need to make someone feel inferior about himself. I can be me and people will like me for just that.
It feels strangely liberating to be able to be who you are and still be wanted by men who will find you beautiful and intelligent and sexy and all those things. It feels good to know that the problem does not lie with you, like you thought it did. You're not an inconsequential mass of nothingness. You're beautiful and you're special-any man who fails to see that and lets you go is daft and you should never waste your time running after them.

Thank you to the beautiful, extremely gorgeous guys I met tonight. Even though I"ll probably not see you all for a long time and even though I've never touched/been touched by any of you...thank you for making my day, someone as incredibly ordinary as me. Thank you for making me realise that I am hot stuff indeed and any asshole who fails to understand and value that is losing out on the best they could have ever dreamt of.

Neglect

I've spent about 90 percent of my life so far being severely neglected emotionally. Let's face it, I've never been anyone's priority. I've realised that no one will come around and fix that for me, it's probably how I'll live out the rest of my life. It hurts to toughen up, but I'm trying quite hard.


I've always found myself alone during especially tough times, but I've lived through it all somehow. I don't understand why I still think, deep down, that there is someone who'll come and save me, someone who'll fix me. It's been 23 years and counting, I don't think my life will pan out that way. I need to stop getting my hopes up so high, it'll lessen the heartbreak.

My 2015 has been a wreck so far. I don't know why life's becoming so hard all of a sudden. I'm sinking deeper and deeper into this blackhole of complications and heartache. Every person gets one tragedy per life, I can't be the girl who gets raped, whose soulmate dies and also the one whose parent most probably has cancer.

I deserve a happy ending, I deserve love.
Too.

New Year, New Woes

I stand still as life passes me by. I stay holed up in my room, staring at the computer screen for hours and hours at a stretch.
It feels strange to see a visual representation of the music that you make, the notes that play in your head.
The waves, the dots, the frequencies.
It gets more complex everyday.
More waves, more dots and more frequencies.

Sometimes my melody looks just as bright as it sounds, sometimes it looks lonely, lost.
I'm painting these pictures, but with music.

This year I need to finish what I start though.
Tie all the loose ends.
Cut the negativity out.

Happy Birthday

Only memories of a Christmas eve remain, the best in my life I think.
We could have been childhood sweethearts, the ones who grew up together. Did everything together.
We could have been the old couple we saw once, fighting to stay sane, but so deeply in love.
We could have been married, we could have started a family.
With pets. So many pets.
You could have been a regular nine-to-five Joe.
I would have been your average Bengali Jane.
But in love, in so much love.


I wish I could spend my entire life rewinding and replaying all our memories in my head.
Winter evenings.
Summer afternoons.
Christmas eve.
Your sweet sixteenth birthday.
Your first kiss.
Our first kiss.
We could have reminisced our wild, wild days as we grew older.

Drunk. Hormonal. Doing bad drugs.
But so attracted to each other.
I couldn't take my eyes off you and you couldn't keep your hands off me.
People said that we'd make a good looking couple.
I wish I could marry you.
I wish I could have your babies.
But most of all, I wish I could stop you before you plunged into darkness.

The price of being fiercely independent is total isolation.
Is it worth it then?
Is it worth it to 'be your own woman' and all that jazz?


I wouldn't dream of a life any different from this!

When I was tripping on acid the last time, it was a dare to myself. Could I do it? Did I have the guts? Would I be able to survive myself? It worked out pretty well I'd say. I faced my demons alone and survived somehow. Life is like that too. You can't expect someone to be there with you forever and for always. Sometimes you've got to figure it all out on your own.  It feels strange when I think about all my losses over the last few years. I love and I lose. It could be a person or it could be a pet. I lose them all.

Today marks the second month of Shoshibabu's passing. My heart feels empty, still sore from loss. It's strange to think that Shoshi never met him or rather he never got to meet Shoshi. I bet they would have gotten along like a house on fire.

He used to like cats so much. He'd pick up strays on the road and randomly stroke them. Or would he? I don't remember, my memory is starting to fade.

I don't remember what he looked like, only hazy memories remain. Like photographs, in fragments, in bits and pieces.
But I remember his voice so well and the way he'd say my name. So seductive. So smooth. I remember the whispering. The tension and the compassion.

What else do I remember? I remember watching him as he licked me. His eyes shut and his focus only on me. I remember our reflection in the mirror as we made love in the winter afternoon sun.

Polythene bags and tubes of dendrite
Crying and depression.
Chillums and yet more chillums of ganja.
Kissing.
So much kissing.
And talking.
So much talking.

He wore black nail paint the first time I ever saw him. I was in class 9, he was in 11. He was so cool and I was so naive. I believed him when he told me that he was okay, years later. Why wouldn't I though? The boy never lied, at least never to me.
I knew I had something special with him with that one kiss. We couldn't stop. We stood and kissed under the stars. He'd never kissed someone before, he told me. He never kissed someone like he kissed me, all his life. How could he? Soulmates aren't that easy to find.
He liked other people and I did too, eventually. But we always came back to each other, we found our way back to each other. Fate, too ,played matchmaker for us. We'd bump into each other at the least likely places after months of non-communication. It was in our destiny to end up together. We joked about it all the time and I feel stupid thinking that I did believe, at one point of time, that we'd be together forever in the end.

It's not the sex that I miss. It's the comfort in knowing that I have someone in my life who understands me and lets me, well, be.
I miss his warmth. I miss his smell. I miss standing on my toes to kiss his face. I miss his arms around me and I miss him crushing me to death with his hugs. I miss the ecstasy and the euphoria. I miss the adrenalin rush. I miss the butterflies in my stomach.

It felt so melodramatic the time we were fornicating and 'The End' started to play. We kissed with such urgency, like we knew we didn't have much time. We really didn't. That evening was the last time we ever made love. It was a sign.

He left as beautifully as he came into my life.
Both Shoshi and him.

On the road
On the run
Life is so incredibly hard
And yet so much fun

There's sweat dripping off my skin
As I move to the beat of the drum
Every moment I feel myself grow
And I wait for my moment to come

Sometimes I'm floating with the wind
Sometimes I'm soaring in the sky
I may have no direction or sense of self
But I do have a bagful of drugs to get me by.