Every day I wake up,

Hoping it'll hurt less.

But it doesn't.

The sadness is neverending, continual.

What am I doing wrong?

I ask myself.

There is no answer.

I want to stay in bed and never get out.

But it feels tainted. 

It has witnessed far too much longing, loss.

Alone.

That's what I'll always be.

Big Long Now

I feel like I am overworked to death these days, which is why I need an outlet-getting high during whatever little free time I have.

This short detox is bringing in strange epiphanies. For me, weekdays are always more fun than weekends. The problem with the Calcutta clan is that since we look out for each other as a family, sometimes we tend to forget that we are all eccentric and our lifestyles and choices are not normal, ie, average.

I'm practically losing my mind trying to manage bookings for the band (so far we have not asked a single promoter/organiser/venue for gigs. They come to us, leading me to believe that it's more important to practise and create music than spend time hooking up gigs) along with writing guitar, keyboard, vocal parts for the new songs. All of this is taking a toll on me physically and I think it's time to hand over the management aspect of the band over to people who do it professionally. R and I have been doing this from the beginning but with all these gigs pouring in, we're both losing our minds trying to sort everything out. It doesn't help that people tend to take my being a woman for granted and just assume that I want to suck their dicks. As if. I have enough substance and I'm here to stay, I don't need to resort to cheap hookery antics to be heard.

For those constantly questioning my credibility, well I have nothing to prove to them. If there's anything that I've learnt in my 24 years of existence, it's that the universe works in mysterious ways. I don't expect things to be handed to me, I would rather work for it. If at 24 I don't have to take my clothes off and sell out and still be noticed, then I am probably on the right track. I just need to keep at it no matter how broken I may be from the inside.

It feels great to think that I have experienced so many moments of love and light in my journey so far. I don't want to be on the fucking cover of magazines. I'd rather play a song to twenty people and get them to see the world through my eyes.
Everybody's chasing all the wrong things and here I am, laughing at how short-sighted people really are. Nobody wants to look at the bigger picture. Good for me, less competition to deal with.

I spent the last evening getting drunk and then having a heart-to-heart with a few children outside a fancyass mall, nagging them to go to school during the day no matter how horrible they may feel about it. For them I was another human with short lived compassion-something that they're used to, but for me it was a learning experience. People with so little, yet so happy to just be alive. I don't like talking about my relationships with those worse off than me-be it humans or animals because compassion is not something you boast about, it is something that should be ingrained in all the cells of your body. The strange irony is how people treat me though, how poorly they think of me. Or rather how they don't think about me at all.

But that's alright. It doesn't matter. Life is unfair, some people are cruel. My greatest fear is becoming one of them-heartless. I think I really will pull the trigger the day that happens.

Hopefully in the next two years, I will finally muster the strength to leave all of this behind and go live in a yoga camp to purify and enhance my soul. That is something I've been wanting to do for quite some time now. I don't want to headline festivals if it comes at the cost of having my heart broken over petty people and things over and over again. The reality is strange, disillusioning. It's not what I want-the fame and the glory.

One day when I'm at the peak of my career, I shall walk away from it all and dedicate myself to the opening of my kundalini. But not through drugs, through meditation and celibacy.

I am done having rubbish sex. I am done looking for love. Every blow has made me stronger and I'm not going to let mediocrity satiate me.

I want bigger things in life, from life.

I won't back down till I find it.

We Dance Alone-Beck

"Darker.

We dance alone this way.

It's getting darker.

We dance alone this way."

Not all memories were bad. Some were only full of love, endless love. I try and replay them in my head when I go to bed.
Love/sex.
Sex/love.
Like a drug.

Your body against mine.
Swaying together.
Brain imploding on drugs.
We dance.
Feeling you so close to me.
Hungry.
Hungry to get inside me once more.
Eager.
Eager to be consumed by you.

Stay indoors.
Never leave the room.
Fuck.
Fuck.
Fuck.
Set a record, top the last one.

We're on the bed.
My head's sliding off the edge.
Ecstasy.
You see it in my eyes, don't you?

I picture your face, drowning in pleasure.
You're in me.
You want to stay in me forever.

You mark my skin.
The scars remain long after you're gone.
For future lovers to see, back away.
Tainted skin.
Bearing testimony to the extreme pleasure once experienced.

Hard.
Soft.
You know every inch of my body.
I know every bit of yours.
Secrets we'll take to our graves.
Of the winter and the summer of extreme pain.
And extreme pleasure.
Six different places, over two years.
Six million orgasms, over.

Ghost

I dig and I dig, his face crops up in one of the pictures. His facebook profile no longer exists, so I can't send him my periodic rants like I would. His best friend in the whole wide world-gone three years now, why does his facebook account still exist? I see people post messages, share their news with him like he still exists.

They're gone.

Brothers before lovers, it seems.

Good choice.

Too bad it wasn't me.

He's not waiting for me, he really is gone.

Everything has changed.

All the memories are starting to fade and I feel so ashamed.

The ladies' washroom upstairs at Olypub no longer exists.

In fact I don't even go to drink at Oly any more.

Our pot dealer is quite possibly dead.

I don't smoke weed anyway, it's been quite some time since I last did.

I can no longer smoke chillums, it hurts my throat.

I have mastered the art of rolling joints though.

Our restaurants are no longer the coolest ones in town.

Nobody uses MSN or Yahoo messengers anymore.

I don't have any curfews. I feel like an adult, but not quite. 

Pujas are the worst. 

I miss him the most during the pujas. We'd keep bumping into each other, like the pujo miracle of sorts, little did I know that it was life's one of many cruel jokes on me.

The CCD near my house has shut down, shifted to a new location further down the road.

The bench near it we once sat on is gone, broken beyond repair.

As is my heart.

This Loss,

So deeply personal.

Loss.

Love.

Loss.

Everything is broken.

Every memory seems fuzzy and disconnected.

But I remember the way you'd look at me, comfort me.

Love.

So much love.

That strange reality check. Of being replaced.

So I retreat further back into my shell. It's time to put on that mask again. Be a warrior for the world to see.

"tor bari bhoot hoe ashbo and finish that long forsaken desire..."

I am the girl who survived it all.

Sex like Lenny Kravitz-Fly Away. Yum.

Sex like The Rolling Stones-Rain Fall Down. So yum. 

Always finish with Led Zep. 

Is it fair to use someone as your muse and just that?

-why not honey, you're an artiste, you can do whatever the fuck you want to. Use them, abuse them. You have all the power. Greatness is a responsibility. Are you ready to handle it?

I fucked X and Y to rid me of my writer's block. That's all that there is to it. I am a bitch, yeah I am.

What to do.

My heart was broken by someone who promised me the moon and gave me hell instead.

He's in my head.

Like random shots from a movie, a porno.

Fuck me.

Fuck only me.

Fuck me like you do.

I want to scream. And cry. And orgasm.

But only you know how.

You know all the secrets hidden in my body.

It still bears testimony to your love and your hate. Some scars still remain, I run my fingers across them sometimes.

Me and you.

The last leg.

Hard.

Hard.

Hard.

Gentle.

Gentle.

Gentle. 

Push all the right buttons so I'm yours. I'm ashamed of dropping my guard so low. I'm yours. I'm yours to ravage. 

Don't tell me you love me when you don't mean it. 

You're not here.

You're not here to hold me,

Kiss me

Make love to me. 

 

You're not here when I need you the most.

Nobody's here.

I am all alone, trying to figure my life out. 

Replace me with someone else already.

I'm just another girl.

I'm just another fuck.

I'm just a passing phase.

I didn't mean anything to you, anything at all.

That's all that there was to it, wasn't it?

The promise of an 8 city/10 day tour and hopefully one outside the country next month is not sparking the kind of excitement as one would expect. 

I've been busy holed up in my room writing, which has made me completely oblivious to the fact that I need to start prepping for live gigs as well, it is nearly time. 

I enjoy this isolation and solitude for most parts because it's an exercise in controlling my sanity, or whatever is left of it. 

At 24, I realise that I've come a long way. I've won most of my battles with the past. I no longer have any demons to fight with, like I'm cancer-free after over a decade of struggle. 

There is something about this city and the people here that always helps me get back on track everytime I lose perspective of who I am and what I stand for. It is home. 

This dystopian world needs real role models, adults who are more adult than you and have their shit together. I feel incredibly lucky to have all these great souls to watch over me, guide me through my dark. It may sound rather melodramatic, but for the first time I'm in love with someone I should have loved right from the start. I am starting to fall in love with myself at last, after all these years of self-hate.

I have to cut myself some slack sometimes. It's perfectly alright to make mistakes, I'll learn as I grow. 

The important thing is to keep holding on.

Up.

That's the only way to go.

It'll not be very long before I finally get  what I want. I just have to want the right things.

"I have no charm.

Only crippling self-doubt.

Does it make you worried,

I'm so numb I won't scream or shout.

My legs feel so heavy.

But my socks, they match.

For your inflated ego,

I'm such a great catch.

You eye me like prey

And I play along.

I am ridiculously stupid when I'm drunk,

Forget my right and wrong.

Fall for the ugliest girl in the world and I'll show you, what love is.

My emotional bankruptcy 

Is a blessing in disguise.

My complete lack of self-respect 

Makes me immune to your lies.

You're so cold, baby, so cold

And I thought I was mean.

You keep me in the corner,

Where I cannot be seen.

Fall for the ugliest girl in the world and I'll show you, what love is."

"Fall for the ugliest girl in the world and I'll show you, what love is.

It's always the ugly ones,

It's always the lonely ones,

It's always the crazy ones that care"

-Ugly Girls, Untitled Project.

Two, Four

Three days of constant drinking, some rare moments of sobriety in between.

Since when did I start doing neat shots? Oh well, it's my birthday. Anything goes. Cheers to me.

Let's call the dealer one more time.

It's on me.

Everyone is wired.

Everyone is wired.

Everyone is wired.

A few hours later we're on a massive group comedown of sorts. Let's drink some more then.

Party's not over yet. 

One more day.

I like the company. Few people. No drama. My boys pretty much put everything together for me because I'm busy being a hot mess.

But I fix my face, wear some nice clothes for a change. Colour my hair blue, atleast it turned out well. See, everything is not so bad.

Snort some.

Snort some.

It's my birthday, go ahead you do a line as well.

Everybody snort, it's my birthday.

Bring out the guitars and play some music because that's the only thing we're good at.

23 was as rock n' roll as it gets.

Gotta get back to work now.

I'm 24, the party's over.

I looked up my rapist on facebook. Yes I did. I stalked him for weeks and cried myself to sleep thinking of what I could have been without his guest appearance in my life.

After months of agony, I sent him a message. He responded. He remembered me. I pretended like nothing ever happened. We decided to meet at a coffee shop. 

Numb, that's what I felt during the cab ride to the destination. I didn't overdress, I didn't underdress. I wanted him to see who I was now.

"You were my first kiss"

"Something told me that you'd grow up to be a good kisser"

Grow up. I smirked.

He placed his hand on my lap.

I was still numb.

We got up to leave. He was short! In my head, he was a tall giant towering over me, a wolf with hungry eyes. 

But he seemed tiny, insignificant almost.

I wouldn't give him a second glance if he were a stranger.

Big bad wolf.

Pedophile.

Sick.

He called me many times, sent innumerable texts afterwards but I didn't want anything more out of this.

I found what I'd been looking for, my closure.

There are times when you have to feign your strength. It's the only way to move forward.

3 days till I turn 24 and I've had some strange and hard hitting realisations this past one year.

"Fighting to stay alive, turning insane.

Discarding all compassion, every membrane.

It gets heartbreaking after a while, all this hate.

You're left wondering it at all, love is in your fate..."

The new Ganesh songs are strange and a departure from the previous lot. I am prepared to face the brickbats once they're out because I don't know if people will like them or not. But I'm not scared. During the making of In Technicolor I promised myself I'd step my game up on the next one. I've written all these fancy new tunes and not as a songwriter, but an aspiring producer. It's taken me my sanity to get my shit down right from scratch. But I feel so empowered, proud almost.
The most nerve wracking part of the process was actually taking my shoddily made sessions over to the magician for him to fix, tweak and most importantly like. I'm like a child with my eyes always wide in wonder at his studio. It's so exciting to be spending the time recording our demos. When you're hi-fiving after a good take, you know you're on the right track. You just have to keep at it. There is not a moment when I don't learn something new.
A 24/7 school situation.
I channelise all my energy into work, or atleast try to.
It keeps my mind off the fact that everything else is in shambles.

I don't want to think about it.
I don't want to think about it.
I'd be so great if I could turn all the hurt into hate.
I'm extremely productive when I'm bitter.
I get shit done.

There's so much work left to do and so little time. We start our boot camp rehearsals for the tour towards the end of the month and the mere thought of it makes me so tired and worn out. I'm not complaining though, the reward comes in the form of being able to travel and share your innermost feelings with other people. With the newer lot, honestly, I'd be happy if it stayed with them and nothing more really. The songs will not be fucking chartbuster material anymore, it's time to grow up a little bit and take those tinted glasses off.

All of this is real.
All of this is happening.
Do all the drugs you want to,
but the demons are not going to go away.

My mood affects all of my music. At least for suyasha 2.0 it does. I've been swimming in a sea of endless melancholy and I really do need to snap out of it.

"Feeling bad over the person who's never even made you orgasm?"
"Not worth it, baby."

I've told her, him too.

But I can't tell you.

You don't exist for me.

Houdini.

Pretending to be,

Someone you once knew. 

Angles

My 13 year old self laughs at the condition of present me. 

Fucking junkie. 

But hey, I've got a good heart.

Wanna break it? 

Do you wanna break it?

My 17 year old self laughs at the present me.

My inability to get over shit.

My inability to see the good in myself when I can so easily see the good in others.

I think it has something to do with the rape

-that constant feeling of not being good enough.

My lovers have been cruel to me in the past,

which hasn't exactly helped the cause. 

But the cruelest lover has been the one who went away without taking me along.

Leaving me here, to rot amongst vermin.

While he gets to be free, forever young.

It's not fair.

Forever innocent, capable of no wrong.

It makes me angry that I crave for someone who doesn't exist anymore.

Not for anything else, but for the guarantee that he won't break my heart.

But he has already, the biggest heartbreak of all in fact. 

I want to be 16 again and fall in love.

Fall in love hard.

Heartbreak at that age is minimal, the world seems full of possibilities.

You and your lover are invincible.

Nothing can shake your world.

You plan a future together, not caring if it comes true or not one day.

He says he'll protect you from all your monsters.

You believe him.

You believe him when he tells you that he loves you.

His eyes don't lie, you feel it too.

You kiss.

You hold each other.

You're not going to let go.

He tells you his dreams for the future and how you're an integral part of it.

Plan it all out.

Well, I'm here.

Still following that plan.

Working so hard.

But for what?

You're never coming back are you?

It hits me that I'll probably end up alone forever.

Charming as some of them are, the clowns these days don't know how to love me.

They don't bother to dig beneath the surface,

It doesn't matter to them.

I don't matter to them.

And now I'm starting to think that everything we had was a lie.

Did you even exist?

Your face is starting to become a blur.

I try so hard to remember the tiny details but I can't

I think that's the saddest thing about people dying on you.

They start to fade from your memory eventually.

It fills you with guilt.

Like you're dishonouring them by moving on with your life.

What to do, I can't marry you and have your babies anymore now, can I?

So I'm going to end up alone?

Zemblanity.

Closure

Make love to me,
pour out all the remaining love,
but more importantly,
all the hate.

I'll be satiated if you want it rough, hard.
I'll be equally ecstatic if you want it tender and slow.
You're the king on the throne.
I'll suck you dry.
I'll let you do it any way you want to.

I am your heart, your slave.
I always will be.
Your nymph.
Your lioness.
Your child.
Your lover.
Your parent.

Penetrate my soul again.
I know you want it as much as I do.
Why do you lie to yourself?

The Art of Chase

Tired from the sex, so sleepy.
What time is it?
I'm too cosy under the sheets with you to care.
Your watch lies somewhere on the floor.
I see the veins on your hands.
Long arms, strangely slender wrists, holding me as I try to sleep.
It's been awhile since I last spooned.
And my heart is beating crazy fast.
I'm a junkie on cocaine.
You see, just like you,
I'm playing with fire too.
So risky, like our sexual misadventures.
Can you feel my heart beat though?
Do you care?

Lovers in their infancy, sleeping together for their first time.
And yet there's a strange sense of comfort.
Satiation.
There's no hurry to wake up and run this time.
But it will all be over soon, I tell myself.
Don't fall for it.
Don't fall for it.

You're gone before I can catch my breath.
You fill me up with hope for a second only to snatch it away.
I don't know what to make of what you really want from me.
Sex?
Love?
Company?
Say it.
Say it or I'll never know.
Or maybe you never will.

Maybe the moment has passed already,
I waited,
I waited for you,
then I grew tired and weary and stopped.

You go your way and I go on with mine.
Impasse, or is it?

Sola Sistim

The universe works in mysterious ways. Sometimes you need a sign when you're lost. I found mine today while working on the pre-production of a new Ganesh song. Album 2 will take some time sure, but I noticed how I've grown (hopefully into a musician?) since the last record. I swore to myself that I'd get my act together before the next set of songs and acquire enough skills to not just write better but arrange and ideate better. So I worked worked worked to reach a simple goal: enough skills to play every damn instrument (except drums, which I programme) and make complete songs, instead of just a basic chordal structure with lyrics. I've been focussing on upping my production/arrangement game instead of being a chick "who sings in band" because she has a pretty face and a passable vocal texture. It helps a great deal that I'm blessed to have been working with someone who's worked with some of the best in the fucking world. When someone with that level of expertise pushes you and brings out the best in you well then you really have no excuse to not believe in yourself. Some of my older songs make me cringe so hard, I literally want to go back in time and un-write them. I like where all this new material is coming from, for both GT as well as the grunge project. They're strangely intimate, these songs make me feel rather naked. I've put it all on the table, this is who I am. My songs are possibly the only way to get through. Maybe, just maybe, to one person out there. One who will understand me and more importantly, love me slightly more than I love them.

I don't know if I'll ever record the songs with the grunge project, let alone play them live. It contains some of my most intimate thoughts and feelings so far and maybe the world won't even ever know about them but that's alright, I'm not here for bullshit reasons. I wrote these two songs called 'Ugly Girls' and 'Downer' which make me want to cry at my vulnerability and naivette. Is that a good thing or bad? I don't know.

The GT songs on the other hand are angry. Think about it, India has failed us as a country and nobody wants to do anything about it. Why not? What are we so afraid of?

Say My Name is for the youth. They must think. Now is not the time to settle for this b-grade society, the youth possesses the power to write history. Why must we forget?
The grunge project has some songs which I know people will either love or absolutely hate and whatever the reaction, I don't care. It's me, in my truest form. If the listener has a hard time accepting me then I can't really help it now, can I?

My one concern is the lack of women songwriters/producers in the country and I have this incessant need to reach out to young girls out there and tell them that it's okay to have an imperfect body, they are beautiful regardless. It's okay to be awkward and graceless. If someone as mediocre as me can be at peace with herself despite all the shit that life has thrown at me then so can anybody else. There are a few gems in the "scene" but somehow the number isn't multiplying as rapidly as one would think. Why would it, it's a nightmare to be a female musician in this country. You are judged, at every step. Anything you do and say will be held against you. You will be called a prude and a slut at the same time. You will be judged for your body and your face and nobody gives a shit about where your music is coming from. Some women have been trying to change that for quite some time now. They're my heroes and always will be. However, it's time I stepped up my game a little bit as well.
I've been working really hard since the release of In Technicolor and those who've been working with me have in fact complained that I need to chill the fuck out and take some time off sometimes.
My body feels broken. My head is in a perpetual haze. But lord knows how hard I've been working. I have nothing to prove to anyone, it will all show in my work.
Also, will people be able to handle a female perspective on sexuality and intimacy? I'm dying to test the waters, I feel no fear in being judged.

I will do my bit and raise some questions that matter. Anybody who questions my motives should get ready to apologise profusely to me, not for hating on me but for thinking I'm like everybody else.

I'm not.

I'm here for a reason and I will go gracefully when it's time.
I care about money and fame as much as a poor man cares for caviar. 

Love.

It's the only thing that keeps us alive, gives us a reason to live.
I'm a junkie and always will be.

I have experienced too many horrific acts of savagery and hate. I will not let this perpetuate.

It ends here with me. 

I will martyr myself for love.

For I know that it exists, it's right there in the future waiting patiently for me. 

Love.

It will tear me apart at every step. But I'm an obstinate person, I will keep going till I find it. I will embellish myself with all the experiences life has to offer along the way.

Love.

I believe in love.

I'm not afraid to express it.

For Pete's Sake, Fuck Me Right

Maxi Priest-Close To You

Lo Fidelity Allstars- Battleflag

The Dandy Warhols- Bohemian Like You

Marilyn Manson- Personal Jesus

Tv On The Radio- Satellite

Sneaker Pimps 6- Underground

The Rolling Stones- Rain Fall Down

Underworld-Sola System

Goldfrapp- Ooh La La

Groove Armada- I See You Baby

Iio- Rapture

Britney Spears- I'm A Slave 4 U

Air- Sexy Boy

Madonna- Justify My Love

Lenny Kravitz- I Belong To You

Justin Timberlake -Sexy Back

The Pixies- Where Is My Mind

Bryan Adams- Inside Out

Chris Isaak-Wicked Game

Deftones- Sextape

Broken Social Scene- Lover's Spit

Touch & Go- Straight To Number One

Nine Inch Nails-Closer

Led Zeppelin- Whole Lotta Love

You Were The Last High

"And I have known love like a whore,
from at least 10,000 more.
Then I swore when you were the last.
You were the last high"

And I lie awake in bed, recollecting snippets from the past. Well, sex, more precisely. It kills me to think that the intimacy I once found with someone will never come back in my life. What if 2014 was a sort of sexual peak? 
Everything went horribly wrong, but it does not take away from the fact that there was once a man who fucked me so hard, so proper that it left some permanent scars on my body and my head. It felt liberating, raw and most importantly, real. It felt like he was helping me slay the demons of my past by inflicting the cruelest acts of savagery. But the yin to the yang was the extreme moments of tenderness that we enjoyed sometimes. It was long, emotional, intimate. I don't even look for that intimacy anymore. 
What's the point.
Slap on some makeup, smile coyly.
Be a girl, flirt a little.
Show some skin, feign interest in their boring tales of conquest.
Even though I want to ask them to shut the fuck up and take their clothes off.
It's so easy to get laid.
But I don't want shitty sex.
I want what I had with him and just that.
And it's only because I know I can't have him.

My hormones are through the roof for some reason. Maybe because of the drugs? I seem to have this massive urge to swallow.It's been a while I sucked a man dry. The next person I fuck is going to get very, very lucky.
I wonder if my lovers reminisce as fondly as I do. Does A remember the blowjobs? (how else would you say it without sounding crude?) Lovers are the luckiest people on earth, those who have experienced the act of physical love. For A and me it was always very animalistic. With him there was this strange sort of comfort. I mean I actually liked blowing him. I had a vivid dream about the two of us in his car, fooling around and some. This wasn't uncommon for us. We fornicated like rabits. All the time. All the time. All the time.The antics of us deranged lovers included romps in the car, on rooftops, hotels outside the city, a fucking tent in the middle of nowhere and what not. It was different each time and strangely satisfying. I don't think I ever wanted him to pull out, on some of our god days. I really could write a novel on our sexual adventures. Unfortunately, It's all in the past now and that makes me sad.

I don't know if I'll ever find that connection with anyone else. Honestly, I don't even want to because the comedown is the worst, it hurts too much and I don't have the strength to do it all over again.

"you were the last high"

You know when I fuck the next guy, I'm only going to do it because my body needs it. I fell in love with you hard, harder than anything else in the world. To compensate I do my drugs now. Maybe if I do a lot of drugs, the pain will go away. 
I don't know.
This seems to be the only way out.
Fuck them all just because I can.
I don't care if that makes me a slut.

My heart is broken, my lover's made a whore out of me.

End Note

Girl, in man's world. All of a sudden it hits you how alone you are.

Realisation happens at a 1am cab ride home alone, when you're high as a kite, wired out of your mind etc etc. 

There's nothing you can do but cry it out once you get back home maybe.

Your heroes tell you that your new songs aren't infact shit, as you were dreading. You feel temporarily satiated. But next what? It doesn't take away from the fact that you're on your own, completely alone out there. You literaly have no love in your life, everything is just a formality.

You fall in love with men who promise you the world and ultimately break your heart. They abandon you at the first opportunity you get. "Stay strong", you tell yourself. But then what?

You're still alone, even though you've tried so hard to adapt yourself to their needs

I tied a noose around my fan and thought of ending it today.

I don't know how much longer I can fight the feeling to kill myself.

My depression has reached a new peak. I think this is it for me.

Honestly, I just want to record these new songs I've written.

The leave.

I think I've sufficiently expressed my state of mind.

Ian Curtis was my age when he off-ed himself by the noose.

My time is up when I am done recording these new songs.

This world has been cruel for me. 

My heart is too broken to recover, possible.

I need to go now.

Goodbye, world.

The Time She Got Raped

He watches me burn away.

Burn to the ground.

He says he'll kiss me and make it all go away.

But he does nothing, only watches silently.

My first kiss.

I have dreamt of this for a long time.

I am so infatuated with him.

I can't believe he's kissing me.

Why does he not stop there though?

He takes my t-shirt off.

I am in my training bra, he squeezes my non-existent breasts.

Calm yourself, there is nothing to worry about.

This is how adults express love.

He kisses me all over.

It feels good, I won't lie and say it doesn't.

But I'm so uncomfortable and my body is starting to shake.

I break free from his grip but he pulls me close to him again.

This time I am scared.

He takes all my clothes off.

"this will hurt a little"

Why is he putting his finger there.

It hurts.

"you're so tight"

"It's making me horny"

"Do you love me? Why don't you show me how much?"

I won't let him see me cry, I can do that once he leaves.

"Touch it, I'll be very happy if you do"

He takes his dick out of his pants.

I'm naked to the bone, he's still got all his clothes on.

"I know you want it"

Ah, the textbook line for rapists.

"I love you"

He lies. 

I am instructed to put his genitalia in my mouth. I am confused and scared. This was not part of the plan. 

I want to run away, there is no escape. 

He's fingering my undeveloped 12 year old body.

It hurts.

It hurts so much. 

I've never believed in god but I pray anyway, for this to end.

He makes me sit on top of him.

"Give me a hug"

He enters me.

In and out.

In and out.

In and out.

In and out.

My eyes are shut. Maybe this will all go away if I keep them closed for a long enough time.

But the humiliation is not over yet.

"Suck it"

He ejaculates in my mouth.

"You're such a good girl"

"Let's keep this a secret, okay?"