I Can't Let You In

I can't let you touch me,

I'm too broken and too fragile.

He came and he plundered

My sense of self, my sense of self-worth.

I can't let you kiss me,

My tongue only spews venom

He kissed me till I bled

And now I have not a drop of blood left.

I can't let you hold me

The goosebumps on my skin are permanent.

He scratched at pawed at his will

And discarded me when he was done.

I can't let you love me

My heart's too broken for love

He said he'd love me forever

But he couldn't even for a minute.

I feel like I am completely unloveable. 

Maybe I really am.

I get my hopes up every time

Only to be let down by the same man.

I haven’t slept for two days now. A piece of Styrofoam and a white cloth over it cannot be called a bed. It’s strange how the more you lower your expectations of people, the more they somehow manage to let you down.

I’m starting to think that maybe humanity does not exist at all any more.  Everybody is out there to make money or to be famous. I don’t know why it’s become so incredibly important for everyone to do something “cool” just for the sake of it. Am I immune to this circus? Maybe I am because I don’t want to do the drugs they give me. I don’t fancy making contacts by sucking dicks and fellating whoever promises career opportunities.

There’s fungus growing on the floor of the bathroom of the room that we’ve been given at an Indian “DIY” “indie” festival. By indie I mean being treated like shit just because you’re not rich and famous.

There’s a pest colony on the makeshift plywood walls and I watch intently as bugs crawl around, around me, existing perfectly in their sphere as I struggle to fit into mine.  My body has broken out into rashes, I think I’m severely allergic to something present in my room. But does anybody care? Who am I kidding, of course they do, what are the free shoes for! Apt compensation perhaps?

I’m finding it increasingly difficult to work in an environment that has absolutely no consideration for basic human needs, especially that of a woman.

For today’s gig I decided to not say a single word in-between any song. For those of you who may know me, I am quite chatty when I am on stage. But I did not feel that connect today. I didn’t feel the vibe. A gig can be fun only when I feed off the energy of the place and today all I saw before me were people trying so hard to convince themselves that they were having a good time. I saw members of the crew who only cared enough to be a part of the festival because I am assuming it was a “cool” thing to do. I saw people drunk out of their minds on the free booze that the place had to offer.

Where is the fun in pretentious shit like that?

Anyway, my attention shifts from the insect colony to the remnants of a half smoked cigarette lying on the floor-burnt up and abandoned, not even consumed to its fullest glory. Some people often become half-burnt cigarettes. I try to convince myself that I will not end up like that, bigger glories await me and it’s only a matter of time.

You see, my dream is not to be rich and famous, my dream is to make others dream, my dream is to make people feel the things that I feel, see the things that I see. 

Success is not accolades or pats on the back. It's the satisfaction in knowing that you've been true to your work, true to what you believe in. 

I see many people in and around, so cool, so shiny, so incredibly full of themselves. Unfortunately, I too, seem to have become one of them.

Vegetate

Bit by bit, the little girl grew up. She learned from experience. She grew from her everyday victories, survived her daily horrors and made it. She learnt to live on her own.
She may have been tired, she may have been weary. But experience taught her to hold on, to carry on.

Day after day, she picked up new messages from the universe. Messages that told her that she was going to be okay and some along the way which scared the daylights out of her.

She grew. Like a creeper basing its foundation on a big, firm tree of her own beliefs, she grew.
She dreamt of becoming her own big, strong tree someday.
Growing little by little in the light everyday, she forged on.
For the light had taught her that even though she may not have reached her sky yet, it was still better than laying on the ground, waiting to be picked up...

Bunny Rabbit Reprise

I can dye my hair blue, I can get another tattoo
But it all seems so pointless when I don't have you.
Who do I impress, who do I charm?
Everyone except for you only causes harm.

I can revisit places that no longer exist. Pick up habits of the past.
I can move to a new world and move right back.
Nameless, faceless, they come and they leave.
What is the point of it all, when I don't have you?

Sing to me in my sleep tonight.
Invade my dreams.
Bad marijuana.
Black nail paint.
Your obsession with metal music and my intolerance.

Twisted nick-names.
Insulting but heartfelt.
Why make me dream when you can't fulfil them?
What is the point of all this, when I don't have you?

The creases on my face become more prominent the older I get.
But you beautiful, beautiful boy, you'll never grow old.
And tired.
And cynical.
And alone.
And lonely.
You'll never again need to fall in love.

And now, after all these years, I realise that I don't want to either...

Third Day of a Seven Day Binge

If you think about it, it's kind of fucked up to have Marilyn Manson on your playlist for sex. I get off on violence and cannibalistic urges. What to do.

I like it rough.

I like it hard.

I like it impersonal.

Carnal and dirty.

Animalistic.

Raw.

But passionate, oh so passionate.

I'm the kind who'd fuck your brains out and turn around and go to sleep. No cuddles. No romance.

I don't trust love.

I trust pleasure.

Endless pleasure.

The pleasure that stimulates my cunt, stimulates my brain.

My window to a different dimension.

Orgasms that show me the way.

Into the light, the white light.

Take away my power over myself.

The gates won't open otherwise.

The walls won't break down.

Kiss me as hard as you can.

Kiss me everywhere.

Mean it.

But how can I get there if the journey is gentle?

My body is the vehicle to my salvation.

You can scratch it.

You can sink your teeth into it.

Hold it tight as you send me into another world.

But at the end of the day, can you love someone you have sex with?

Can you have sex with someone you love?

memorium

All my losses have made me a bitter person.
The loss of innocence.
The loss of love.
The loss of loved ones.
The loss of a will to live.

Sometimes when I'm lying in bed trying hard not to break down and cry, I anticipate my cat curling up on my leg and gently purring me to sleep. But he's not around anymore. I miss him so much. I miss him like a mother misses her child. I try to think about what an eventful, what a privileged life I have, I don't have to worry about two square meals a day unlike so many people. However, deprivation is a relative thing and just because I don't live in extreme poverty and sorrow, does not mean that I am not suffering. It does not mean that my suffering is irrelevant, not painful enough.

Slowly but steadily this depression has taken over all the cells in my body. It now dictates who I am. It controls me. It causes me to isolate myself from everyone around me. I've built myself a nice wall and I allow nobody to break it down anymore.

I like to think of myself as a princess sometimes, waiting to be saved from her loneliness and her unending tragedies. I have waited to be rescued for quite some time now and I'm starting to think that there is no saviour, there is no prince to my story. It's just me, alone, all alone. I will either have to rescue myself or perish nameless and faceless, not to mention loveless.

Where is my will to hold on?
It never existed perhaps.

Sweetest Taboo

I think about you sometimes these days, now that I am alone.
Your eyes.
Or rather, your gaze.
The way you looked at me and leaned in to kiss me.
Your chin.
The hair that fell on your face.
Your flavoured lip balm.
Your soft lips.
The softest lips I have ever kissed.
Your gentle body.
The goosebumps on your skin.
As I made love to you for the first time.
Our first.
Our last.
And the in-betweens.

Secret kisses.
Secret love.

The way you made me explode.
The way you made me cry.
Pleasure.
Pleasure.
Pleasure
Endless pleasure.

Your beautiful neck.
Beautiful bosom.
Beautiful hips.
Beautiful soul.

The taste of you in my mouth.
The taste of you in my mouth.
Seems like a memory from so long ago.

Why did it end?
Why couldn't you make up your mind?
I would have kept you safe and you could have kept me sane.

Can he love you like I used to?
Does he know your weak spots?

Paradigm Shifts and Maintaining Your Sanity

My life's is at an unreal juncture. Musically, I'm achieving all the little goals that I had in my head. And yet it does not heal me. I have a gig, a pretty major one, a week from now featuring the best musicians and the best music that has come out of Kolkata recently. I still don't know how I figured, how my songs figured in that list. It's somewhat nerve-wrecking having to sing songs by songwriters who I have admired and idolised all these years. I am super nervous. I am super excited. But the melancholy grips me like a blanket on a cold day. 

What am I doing wrong? Am I not working hard enough? Why am I in so much pain then?

All these opportunities that come my way, what good are they when my soul refuses to come out of the dark abyss that it's taken refuge in. 

Courtney Killed Kurt

Shallow lives, shallow sense of self

"We're on the map, yeah"

"We've made it"

Look at all these shiny people.

Look at their opulence.

Their quick wit.

Their seductive ways.

"We're on the map, yeah"

"We've made it"

They eat off our palms now.

They fill our heads with praise.

Shallow shallow shallow shallow.

So shallow.

Nauseatingly sweet.

Unnatural.

Be the Love of my life.

Bring me down.

Tear me apart.

Devour me whole.

Kill me.

Kill me please.

Kill me before I kill myself.

I cry and cry and cry and I laugh sometimes.
How could my life possibly get any worse?
Every living being that I love and one that loves me back dies on me.

Do you know how broken a mother feels when her baby dies on her?

My loss is so deeply personal.
Nobody can help me recover from this.
I am alone.
All alone.
All those who claim to "love" me are just vultures.

There were good days and there were bad

it didn't matter in the end

the hole in her heart

is where her demons hid.

So strong, to the world

So fierce and brave

The little girl grew up fast

Learnt never to love again.

They cut her 

They burnt her

Yet she lived

It was her curse

The only way out of her hell was indifference

Live and Learn

There are few things more heartbreaking than a sick, possibly dying pet. I have grown up around and with a dog and a whole bunch of cats. So I don't know what life is like without having them around. My dog died when I was quite young. She was old and sick and it seemed like a good thing at that time-to watch her go. She would accompany my grandfather as he picked me up from the bus-stop and everybody would go gaga over her from the school bus. I have been told that when I was younger, she would sit beside my cot and keep an eye on me. She'd growl and bark every time relatives or acquaintances would come near it.
Dogs make the best pets, they say. It is quite true. Cats can never be your pet. They become the eccentric family member, the non-conformist, never your pet.

Shoshi was found when he was barely a month old. He was the cutest, jumpiest little thing. I brought him home in a shoebox and fed him some milk and a little fish because I was unsure how old he was. On his first night at home, I was absolutely petrified like the mother of a newborn baby. I made a bed right next to me and put him there to sleep. I kept the lights on and woke up in the middle of the night to see that he was missing. It turned out that the fucker, barely a month old, had climbed down my bed and was frolicking around under it because he could not sleep!

To see him reduced to a bag of skin and bones, barely breathing breaks my heart into a million little pieces and I can only stand beside him as doctors and their assistants try and do their best to revive him.

It'll be a miracle if he survives. I'll have to hold my breath for the next couple of days. Let's see what fate has in store for him. He's too young to suffer. Please don't make him suffer, universe. That's all I'm asking for at the moment.

Observations, part deux (?)

• Life feels liberating without a phone, social media accounts etc etc. I think I'm going to be phoneless on purpose for a while now. Facebook makes me sick and a twisted individual, but it's okay, it's amusing to see people so content having achieved so less in their lives. Girls who take selfies everyday and post them with song lyrics as captions don't annoy me anymore, I feel sorry for them. Boys who stalk/prey on women via facebook are always going to be doing it virtually because in reality they lack the balls. 
• I'm done trying to get people to love me. I have never been the one to compromise when it comes to work, family, etc and it's wrong of me to compromise when it comes to relationships. I feel like I owe it to myself and I deserve better than what I've been getting. Love is a sham. Love makes you weak. It fills your head with unrealistic expectations.
• The first incision is always the hardest, the most painful. Mostly because you can't quite anticipate the amount of pain you're going to feel. I feel like an emotional, insecure teenager with body issues cutting herself to feel good. Would you rather cut yourself or do bad drugs? Or both? 
• Lonerism is a good thing. It gives you time to figure out who you really are. If it were upon me, I would never leave the confines of my room. I'm scared of the big bad world outside. I'm afraid of the men who will lure me and break my heart. 
• Everything is always about sex. The older you grow, the more complicated it gets. Your cunt craves for what your heart warns you against. It's easier to get laid when you are young, you don't care about consequences of who you choose to sleep with.
• Am I a slut for enjoying sex as much, if not more than, a man?
• My soul mate is dead. My soul mate is FUCKING DEAD. There, I've said it! Chances are that love will never be my thing. Maybe I'll find fortune and maybe I'll find fame, but that is where the buck will probably stop for me. Neglect breeds strange feelings. I don't think I'd like to procreate and transfer all those fucked up things onto a new generation.
• I love animals and food more than people. People let you down, always.
• One day when I'm 30, I'd like to be dead. Or sooner. I just want to say what I have to say and then exit gracefully. There's only a certain number of years one can live alone, on their own. It becomes painful after that. I feel out of place almost everywhere. I don't think I belong. Or is that because I've had a broken heart for as long as I can remember and I've forgotten what it likes to be happy?
• I can't seem to remember the last time I was genuinely happy. Maybe when I met my best friend. We were sharing our sob stories. There's something incredibly comforting about having someone around who won't judge you for what you do and who you are. Wish I could meet more people like that. 
• Tripping indoors is still not my thing. I'm too much of a vagabond to trip in a room. I need to be somewhere outside, under the sky. I could spend my entire trip looking at the moon. Everything I see and everything I hear and everything I feel, it's all in my head. These are manifestations of my thoughts. I control my trip. What does enlightenment feel like? Powerful, confusing and lonely.
• I'm going back into my shell again. I'll come out only when someone coaxes me out of it. Half-hearted attempts aren't good enough for me anymore. I've been under lockdown for 4 days now and I don't want it to end anytime soon. This is my honeymoon with myself and nobody is invited.
• Everybody is selfish. Everybody is a liar. I'm not everybody.

Drunken Monologues

It takes two to tango

three only spoils the game

have some

have some

have some shame.

drunken monologues have no worth

drunken monologues, set in stone

"if I could physically feel your love

I'd love you with every bone"

The good men are gone

only the louts remain

am I

am I 

am I going insane?

drunken monologues, how it starts

drunken monologues, every time

"I'd give up the whole world for you

if you ever choose to be mine"

Where is my will to play along?

Where is my will to save myself?

kiss me

fuck me

then keep me on the top shelf.

Drunken monologues,

just because I can.

"You're a waste of my memory.

You're not even a man."

After an evening of drinking and having songwriter to songwriter conversations, I realised that I underestimate myself most of the time. Which is a good thing I think because I'd rather be a wallflower than a pompous yet untalented bitch. Support comes in from all quarters when people see a spark in you and I can't let my inner demons take control and take that spark away from me. 

Everything outside my bedroom feels like a stage. I have to pretend to be fine, I have to pretend that I'm perfectly sane and perfectly happy. It's like a gig. No matter how bad things are in your band, no matter how underconfident you are or how everything is faulty, you have to play your music and camouflage all the negatives for your audience. They must never know what really goes in that head of yours. My life is just like that. It's turning out to be quite fun that way too. 

The good thing about being young is that I can make all the possible mistakes because I have time to outlive them and learn from them. 

My cunt is my third eye. Men have the equation all wrong. All the secrets of this universe lie in the cunt. You can only experience salvation if you have a pure heart and the courage to let yourself go. Most people will never experience the things I have because they're too busy trying to keep up. Keep up with their daily task of wasting themselves, wasting away. The power of this infinite universe lies in the cunt. Anybody who's ever had a spiritual experience would be able to tell you that. It is the gateway to the other dimensions. But do I need somebody to open the doors for me when I travel to the other side? As much as I need a Siamese twin! 

Wisdom Teeth

The blood that runs through my veins,
feels contaminated,
feels inadequate.
I'd bleed myself dry if you wanted me to.

I'd do anything.
I'd do anything to be alright.
I'd do anything to be alright with you.

The thoughts that cross my mind,
seem shallow,
seem banal.
I'd spend a lifetime in darkness if you wanted me to.

I'd do anything.
I'd do anything to be alright.
I'd do anything to be alright with you.

These demons on my back,
this burden on my chest,
I'd do it and then do it again,
Just because you want me to be the best.

I'd do anything.
I'd do anything to be alright.
I'd do anything to make you alright again.

Toxic

Loving me is like a disease, every person I know who has loved me has had bad things happen to them.
But it's not fair. Why do all the good, nay, great human being have to go through such struggles?


He is such a great boy. He is such a great human being. He does not deserve this. It breaks me to think that such a devastating thing can happen to him. I know he'll make it though. I know he'll win this battle. He has a pure heart and a golden soul, he'll make it. It's only a matter of time.
He's young and it's still in the primary stages. His body can fight it off. I believe in him.
All cells in his body are pure, as his heart is. His aura is golden, virgin. Please make him better. Please make him un-sick. Please spare him. Not him. Free him. He doesn't deserve this. He deserves so much, so much better.

Good things happen to good people.
Good things happen to good people.
Good things happen to good people.


I believe in you, universe. Please make this happen. I shall lose faith in you forever otherwise.

The Tenth Day

It was a few years ago, our last together, when we accidentally stumbled onto each other. 'Durga Pujo' is the magical time of the year when miracles happen. Miracles and chance encounters have happened for as long as I remember. That was the last year a miracle happened, for me. I met you. Of all the people in the world, it was you I bumped into and I wish I could do it over and over again.

What if soulmates really do exist? What if you were my soulmate? Does that mean that I am destined to be alone forever, now that you're gone?

I hate this city during this time of the year. I hate stepping out of my house. What is the point, it's not like I'll see you somewhere, amongst the crowd. The last time we met was probably when I fell in love with you. You looked at me with such kindness, such compassion. The lust that brought us together was replaced by a sense of belonging. We someone fit into a perfect mould together. Our connection was so surreal, so strong and yet neither of us knew that this wouldn't last forever.

I wish I hadn't turned you down when you asked me to be your "girlfriend", I was scared and I didn't know that the time we had together would be so short. I wish we could have settled down eventually, gotten married and even have a kid maybe. We used to joke about things like that, things like how I'd make one lousy wife and you'd be a shitty husband and how we'd be the worst possible parents for a child. The jokes have stopped now. My reality is that I'll probably land up alone, trying to navigate my way through a series of bad relationships and meaningless sex.
I wanted to grow old with you, I wanted you to be a part of my life. I know you're still around watching over me. I know you're happy when I am happy and you're sad when I am. But I miss your embrace so much.
Sometimes I want to stay in bed and sleep forever to ease the pain of not having you around. I try and replay our first kiss over and over again in my head. But the details are getting blurry as time passes me by, your face is starting to fade.

Maybe in a few years, when I'm done living this life, I will come and join you wherever you are. The white light found you before it found me but not even death can keep us apart forever and it is only a matter of time till I find you again and this time I'm not letting go...

Come Inside, Come Around

I lay there on the bed-vulnerable like a domesticated animal. He wasn't around. He never was and he never will be. My eyes red and puffy from all the crying and my throat sore, I wondered why my life had come down to this. I was losing all control and like a diseased limb, I realised that I had to cut myself off from his toxic behaviour, before it was too late.

There were many firsts with him, things I now wish I had saved for someone else, someone who will take better care of me. But what do you do when your heart is broken over and over again by the same person who promises you that this infact is the last time?

Men often prove their superiority over you by making you feel like a whore and he was no exception. I let him come inside me-a first (and probably the last too) and while I could feel a connection as he thrust his manhood into me, it was only temporary. I was discarded like garbage the minute he pulled out. He was done. The act was over. I meant nothing to him anymore. That was all there was to it-I was his sex doll.

I cried myself to sleep that night. I was alone in a room far away from home. He was right outside laughing smoking drinking and having the best possible birthday one could ask for. I was his trophy on display that he left for others to see. He didn't hug me to sleep like I thought he would. He didn't comfort me even though he knew that that night was a milestone in my life. He didn't defend my honour. He didn't defend my pride. He didn't defend my womanhood. I was his prostitute. I was his slave. It had always been that way. I was too blind to see otherwise. But I know now. My epiphany, though painful, happened during these last few days. I cannot control how people behave with me but I can control who is in my life and who isn't. It hurts like hell, but I have to let go off people who don't and can't take care of me. It's not worth the pain.

It hurts when people let you down. It hurts when someone you try to make love to ends up leaving you feel like nothing but an outlet for their sexual appetite. I was probably only just that to him. Everything else was lies-lies that he rambled to get what he wanted from me-my body.

I am no longer attracted to him and I no longer crave for him. I may be wounded and my heart may have this void but I guess it's better to suffer alone than be with someone who doesn't treat you right.
They say that being brave and keeping your heart open to love is like playing Russian Roulette these days. I've been shot down over and over again. It's okay though. I still have a lot of love to give to this world, it doesn't matter if it's not him. Someone else will come along in my life soon. I can sense it.

When he tries to kiss the next girl in his life, I hope he remembers the pain he caused me and I hope he can't shut memories of me lying on the bed weak and vulnerable when he thrusts into the next girl. I hope he becomes a better person some day. I can't wait forever though.
I've moved on.
I'm gone.