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.

Familiarity

Familiarity.
The taste of your mouth.
Your tongue.
And mine.

Stroking the beard on your chin.
My fingers trace its silhouettes.
Strange familiarity.

Wet and warm.
Reminded of how I feel inside.
Your hands.
Your lips.
Your ears.
Your teeth.
Your nose.
Your fingernails.
Your hair.
Your Adam's apple.
Your genitalia.
You.

Explosions in the form of orgasms.
I explode.
No one seems to do it like you do.
Surreal.

But I no longer crave for your love.
I enjoy the pain in the form of fornication.

Don't love me, have sex with me.

Winter Afternoons in Dilli

They're playing AM by the Arctic Monkeys in the next room and here I am, in bed, refusing to get out and say 'hi'.
What is the point? Everyone's just going to walk all over me, like they always do.

I can't believe I've let myself become this person. So lonely, so insecure, so broken. Like picking at a scab that hasn't healed, my wounds get opened and re-opened again. I don't know why. What am I doing wrong?
Am I not worthy of love and attention?
Why do I get treated like shit then?

People say that they've changed, changed for the better. But nothing ever changes, only time. I can't see into my future anymore. It's been so long since I last felt loved that I've forgotten what it feels like.

My life could have been all about the sex I had with A, while listening to the Arctic Monkeys and Bonobo and what not, but unfortunately, it isn't. It's only about the battlescars that he left behind. It's only a tragic tale of falling in love and having my heart broken, my sense of self taken away.

I can't remember the last time I had goosebumps on my skin when somebody touched me, ran their hands down my back. I can't remember the last time someone kissed me and saw straight into my soul. I can't remember. Why can't I remember? Has it really been that long?

I find myself becoming possessive and jealous, bitter and negative. This wasn't me. I guess time's changed me into a new person and unwillingly I'm just going with the flow.

Maybe I'm one of those people who'll end up alone no matter how hard I try. But it's okay, I'm trying to toughen my heart till it becomes a stone. I'm trying hard, very hard, to give up on the idea of love. Maybe it does exist, just that I probably will never find it. That is my curse.

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.