Incoherent Thoughts. Please Bear With Me.

Love, money, drugs.

Ain't got the first two, but the third one is always available in abundance. 

Please don't patronize me, I can pay for my own drugs, thank you very much. I'm probably going to outrun you in all races of your own choice.

I may not be the sharpest or the most attractive tool in the shed, but you'll know how much you need me only after you've lost me forever. Go ogle away, you fool. That's all you're good for anyway.  

Girl in an adult world.

So young.

How young is too young?

They'll include you in the Big Boys' Club but your contemporaries will hate you. Good. Give them a reason to hate you, those assclowns. 

Come back home, still wired.

Plug in and play.

Play.

Play.

Play.

Write.

Write.

Write.

I'm embarrassed of some of my songs all of a sudden, they seem juvenile. I can't relate to the person I was two years back. Not only was I extremely stupid, but cocky about it too. After a while it becomes inexcusable to pass off rubbish as music. 

So many people cheating their way through the maze, breaking the system. That's okay though, fads don't last forever. 

Stand up tall.

Stand up for what you believe in.

I should use that pretty little head for more positive things perhaps? 

But my pity party can wait for another day. I can't say I've been the obstacle to my own success. I'm trying, dear lord, you know how hard I've been working.

I've been pushing myself to write better, more meaningful music these last few months. I've been gathering life experience and holing up in my room like a junkie-playing, playing, playing. Writing, writing, writing.

I write not to have a hit song on the next record that will make people dance. Once was good enough for me.

It's easy to forget why you started out sometimes, you lose your soul bit by bit chasing new dreams, superficial dreams. There is no end-game, a continual process of working for something and being severely disappointed on not getting what you want. 

I don't need drugs to fuel my creativity. All of that substance dependence bullshit is a weapon for the weak.

But maybe I am weak.

Atleast today I am. Or maybe it's all the drugs.

I want to play guitar. I only want to play guitar. My hand hurts but I want to play. 

I want someone to roll me a joint.

I want to sleep.

I want to make out with a good kisser.

Maybe not in that order.

I want to write a love song. Or two. Or twenty. Or twenty million.

I wrote only one today though, for my strongest love. I feel strangely satiated. Bottle up your feelings for obscene amounts of time and your hate will age like fine wine.

I use my rage. I use my rage kick you out of my head.

I don't care much about being loved anymore, it feels like my life has just begun.

Catterpillar becomes the butterfly, remember? 

I am a moth.

Fierce.

Strong.

Gentle, but ugly. 

They lust for me, they want to stick their genitals in me.

"Come"

I open my legs.

They all run away in fear. 

"Sex with you is so great"

"You are the best"

Yea, I've heard these rehashed lines.

I'm not some fucking sex trophy you can display on the mantle. 

They pretend like you are an everyday occurrence. 

Generic lines to further prove that you aren't special, an everyday bang. Ordinary, climax-less.

Performance gives them anxiety.

Fucking virgins.

Spineless.

Passionless.

Indian men. It's always the emotionally unstable generic Indian man with undying love for their mother, ex-girlfriend and that one female friend they won't shut up about. Dicks throbbing for a release. Just that. 

Girls are drugs.

Does that make me smack or pure heroin? 

Lick me and see.

I dare you. I double dare you.

But I will cut out your tongue and gouge out your eyes if you stray.

Don't come to me to kill your time, because you have nothing else to do.

I am not your fucking playtoy.

I will eat you alive.

Spit out the bones for vermin to feast on.

You don't know me.

I am vengeful.

I am cruel.

I am a mirror.

I merely reflect back what you show me.

Narcissists are the worst kind of humans, close second only to the abusive ones.

A lover in every flavour.

Oh my, what fun!

But wrong wrong wrong, all wrong. 

Drug addicts, psychopaths, compulsive liars, abusive future wife-beaters, smooth talking cheats.

But my favourite kind is possibly the kind which douses me with a strange kind of animalistic passion, sets me on fire and watches quitely as I burn away. 

They don't care, no they don't.

Just about anybody with a mouth could suck their limp dicks. It does not matter. They wouldn't be able to get it up anyway. All the details of the sexcapades they bore you with-you feel pity for them. You don't even feel about about being used by them, you pity them and their inability to love. 

Fucking lowlifes.

I'll write that tell-all book when I'm old and senile, because let's face it, I am such a cliche. But I'll never kiss and tell. The As and the Bs and Ys and the Zs- they could all be the same person. Usually they are the same person, although in different bodies. 

Anyway, I can't believe we've digressed from the point completely. I guess I get carried away sometimes, even more these days. I can't focus because my brain is on a drug climbdown.

Agony.

Anger.

Fatigue.

So the young, bright, boys and girls of Calcutta usually gather during weekends. They form cliques. They always do.

We feel like royalty in this slum. Envied by so many, looked down upon by most. Most people can't stand us because they can't quite understand us.

We stick together because in reality we're the outcastes.

Aliens.

Unemployed, on pen and paper.

But we still play our music. 

We keep playing.

Till the sun comes out. 

Pat each other on the back, go home.

Smile.

Try to sleep.

Feel so inspired. Write a bunch of mad new songs. 

Will your song change the world?

I don't care.

Will your song make someone feel?

That's all I dream of.

Chords. More chords. Not complex, but a million different inversions, all with a million possibilites. Every song has a story to tell.

It can be the greatest fairy-tale you'll hear.  But don't try to look for the origins. Don't read too much into it. You might get your heart broken by the reality of average men and the average sex they have to offer.

I smoke my pot and act like my life is a movie. It's all just a figment of someone's imagination where they're possibly imagining the best sex they could, but unfortunately for me, it's not good enough. Midly satisfactory, at best. 

Fuck you.

You stand so tall. You act so proud. 

All these cloaks of security, to hide your flaws.

You pretend every day.

You pretend to be a big strong man when you are just another child.

A brat.

An absolutely generic, average brat.

I have seen so many like you, what new do you have to offer?

So easy to read, predictable, outdated.

You don't have possess the capability to understand and experience pleasure. You're too consumed in your own bubble to enjoy the state of bliss my body has to offer to you. 

Go ahead, think about all those women you've fucked as you stick your dick inside me. 

How does it feel, warm? Tight? 

Are you having fun shutting your eyes and picturing someone's face on mine?

Yeah, please just ejaculate already and close the door as you leave.

I just want to get this done with.

And then throw you out like the piece of garbage you have proved yourself to be.

Standing ovation for you.

Don't worry, it happens to other guys too. As often as you. 

Haha.

No it doesn't, I'm just saying that to make you feel better. 

You may be the star of your show but for me, you are my circus monkey. I observe and I sit patiently. I will go away when your tricks are over. Forget that face, all the details, till you're just a memory. 

Insipid, uninspiring.

Yawn, every time I think about your pathetic sexual prowess.

"Atleast the face slapper would bloody fuck me right"

 

Fuck you and your bullshit machismo. 

You have no heart. You have no soul. You are incapable of love. You don't amuse me anymore. There's nothing remotely attractive about you anyway. 

Just a pity fuck. 

Before your time's up.

Don't flatter yourself. 

I'll suck your limp dick for you. 

Till it's no longer limp.

I don't love you, I don't even give a shit about you actually.

Just like you don't give a shit about me.

But don't worry, I'll play along and encourage you to believe that the shitty sex you have to offer "totally rocks my world." 

Sex-god?

You're a joker. 

I drop them clues around like a master criminal.

Bonobo.

Sex. Sex. Sex. 

Don't forget just yet. 

If I die tonight, you would die with me too.

Wouldn't you?

Stick like glue.

So tight.

Dendrite.

Let's get high.

One last time.

To my lover I ask, 

"Do you love me for I am a girl, 

Or, do you love me for I am a woman?"

He has no answer.

Stick yourself into my vagina

Climb into my womb

And stay there,

You child. 

If I wanted to pet you all the time,
I'd just get a dog instead.
Please don't flatter yourself.


If I wanted to face a beast,
I'd just look in the mirror.
You're just like everybody else.

Force Feed Indifference

I'm off Facebook for a week. I want to keep myself away from the negative shit that circulates in social media.

I've been sketching again. 

Like crazy.

Although it's mainly doodles of faces, memories, body parts etc. My peculiar need to remember the tiny details makes me pour it out through my art. 

Intimate. Imperfect. Fragile. 

I have a date tonight and I'm not really looking forward to it beacuse I don't even know what I am looking for at this point. It's exhausting to be in a field which requires creativity on the daily basis. You're required to play the role of a magician, a wizard perhaps. I get horrible blocks sometimes.

Am I going to use him as my muse then? Nah, I just want a conversation with someone from a different world as mine. 

This tinder shit is not for me, although I hear this is how people hook up these days. I'm not looking for a random fling, it's too easy, there's no challenge involved. You don't even have to know the person who's sticking his genitalia into you. Now where's the fun in that? 

Striped socks and I dropped some acid some weeks (?) back and pretty much lay and watched the stars all night. It made me realise that I'm not who I used to be when I was 18. My needs are different, my wants are more emotional and less physical. 

We talked and kissed. It was nice. Simple, uncomplicated. 

You can fuck all the people you meet.

But after a point, you crave for more.

Intimacy, emotion, a connection perhaps.

It's not easy living in a world so completely detached from their spiritual self.

 But I will never change my ways. And for good reason, the world needs more people who, erm, feel. 

I will kiss you till you feel me in every bone.

I will love you till the point of breakdown, so you can love again.

Like a child.

In all it's innocence.

And fear.

But mostly, hope. 

Dignity

You're gonna badmouth me?

Tell them your dirty lies?

Baby, I'm a ronin,

I will survive.

Junkie

I get raped when I fall in love.
I get beaten.
Bruised.
I am left feeling abandoned when I fall in love.
Cheated on.
Hurt.
And yet I pick up the pieces and shake it off.
"I am a ronin"
I tell myself.
Perhaps things will change someday.
But they never do.

Live one more day.
Die a million deaths.
I can't control my depression anymore.
It's spiralling out of control.
I dream of death.
It makes me happy.
Maybe I'll be happy when I die.

There's no point living this shitty, loveless life anymore.
I don't even want love anymore, I want death.

Striped Socks, Reprise

My bed smells of him long after he's gone.
As do my pillows.
My sheets.
Sweet smell of intimacy.
And endless slumber.
But it's over now.
My heart is strangely broken.

My heart skips a beat,
The joys of waking up next to another soul.
So innocent, as he sleeps.
Unfamiliar lands don't seem like a scare.
Just a holiday.
Just a trip.

But he's gone.
So far away.
I try and forget his face.

Oh, the void.
Kills every time, with every guy.
Why haven't I gotten used to it already!

We frolic like children, without a care in the world.
His mouth open only slightly, as he orgasms.
I take a mental picture of his face.
For I want to remember.
His eyes.
His lips.
His beard.
His hands.
His torso.
I want to hold him forever, for some strange reason.

I kiss his face incessantly.
I want to fill him with so much love that all the dark in his heart goes away.
All his miseries.
Sorrows.
Fears.
Heartache and heartbreak.

I want to share my love.

For it spreads like a disease.

One I can't control.

We're lying on the floor
Looking up at the stars
So beautiful
I wish for the moment to never end
For it is pure perfection
Two souls coming together.
On a summer night.

He kisses me with careless abandon.
I want to keep kissing him forever.
We effortlessly slide into each other's arms.
Like veteran lovers.
Fitting so comfortably, like his striped socks.

Lonely Press Play

Passing through just a phase,

I will be fine,

I tell myself.

I keep telling myself.

It's just a storm

It'll be over soon

I tell myself

I keep telling myself over and over again.

Every day is the same.

I'm sinking deeper

Without an anchor

I've become so good at masking this bottomless pit

That I convince myself there is none.

One day when I'm older and hopefully wiser,

I will laugh thinking I almost gave up.

But my future seems too distant and too bleak. For now.

So 'when I'm lonely I press play' 

Journey

Stretching out my arms to you,

But they only reach a certain distance.

It is up to you to you embrace me,

Open up to me,

There's nothing more I can do.

Than wait.

When I get tired of waiting, I will go away.

And never return. 

Lovers In Summer

I want to tear you apart.

Break down your walls.

High, like the Great Wall of China.

What causes you to be so scared?

I want to consume you.

Cell by cell.

Your love.

Your hate.

Your indifference.

I want it all.

We are all so broken.

Craving for some attention.

Like dogs,

But without their kindness.

Humans without hearts.

Cruel.

Villanous.

I dreamt of you last night,

Of our summer rendezvous. 

Bodies entwined.

Lips locked.

One.

Complete.

So vulnerable.

Goosebumps on my skin.

I swear to god I could have cried.

Even though I am emotionally bankrupt.

I've been conditioned to pain.

But I'll snap out of it soon.

Don't scar my face.

Don't scar my body.

Don't scar me, again.

Don't be like the others, please.

Gentle lover.

Gluing pieces of me back together with your kisses.

Make me feel like a woman, again.

For I am no longer a child.

I will survive, again.

For I am no longer afraid.

You can't break my heart if I don't give it to you.

Love is an elaborate lie.

It does not exist.

You've been duped.

As have I.

We're too old to play this game anymore.

Come to me.

Let me comfort you.

Chase your demons away.

I am here.

At your disposal.

Games People Play

We're rocking back and forth
Or would it be politically correct to say up and down instead?
I'm in you.
I'm into you.


My friends and I are snorting drugs in a kitchen.
We're wired and bouncing around like toys.
Wasted humans.
Human waste.


I like the way you look at me.
I know you want me.
You know I know.
Make a move already.


My friends and I are hatching our conspiracies.
We're going to take over the world one day.
Be my bitch.
Be my knight in shining armour.

My Own Nightmare

The past week has been excruciatingly painful owing to my personal crises. But my nightmare is over now. I feel blessed to have people in my life who I know will help me out every time I hit rock bottom. I couldn't ask for more, really.

I made a song I want to have sex to. It's quite aptly called 'I Am My Own Nightmare'. I figure I'll have to be a little bit stronger if I want to live this sex, drugs, rock and roll lifestyle. It is not for the faint-hearted.
The problem with being a girl in a man's world is that you eventually start thinking and acting like a dude without even realising it.
You say yes when someone asks if you want to snort some cocaine, you say yes when someone offers you a drink, you say yes when someone asks you if you're single. You say yes because you don't care about the consequences of your actions, you figure you'll deal with the shitstorm if and when it comes.

I am a badass, yes, but what if I don't want to be sometimes?

I want to remember the tiniest details of eventful days and nights. But I can't. I forget faces. I forget names. I want to hold back sometimes, dial down that crazy. This is what I have become.

Drugs and rockandroll.
Drugs and rockandroll.
Drugs and rockandroll.

Meaningless relationships, with people who love the idea of me, never me. I tried so hard but in the end I couldn't. It's humiliating to let someone treat me so badly for no reason. At what point did I become so deranged that I chose to continue fucking someone who'd done the cruelest things to me? It's not fair I pretend to be such a rockstar when in reality I'm just a little girl looking for some love.

But my last relationship with a guy taught me to change the way I look at love and affection. It doesn't even matter who I choose to fuck, I'm never going to find the things that I'm looking for, simply because my perfect man doesn't exist. At best I can hope for good sex once in a while.

I'm going to keep snorting all these drugs and seducing all these men and women. I WILL sleep with 30 year olds and possibly older ones. I don't care. I am evil incarnate. Someone broke my heart and now I have none.
I am not looking for love anymore. It doesn't exist.

I Am My Own Nightmare-Plastic Parvati

If

If I told you it was yours,
would you make me keep it?
would you force me to keep it?

Would you believe me,
would you trust me,
if I told you it was yours?

If I told you it was yours,
would you love me?
would you console me?

Would you hold me?
Tell me that all will be okay?
It is you I need the most.

If I told you it was yours,
would you accept it?
would you at least try to be by my side?

I am scared.
I am hoping it isn't what I think it is.
I wish you loved me. I wish we were in love.
But that's okay I guess, accidents happen sometimes.

I will deal with this on my own.
I will deal with this on my own.
It is my cross to bear.
You will never even know.

Rain Fall Down

You can never win if your heart is not pure.
Stop playing victim in situations you aren't.
You're the villain, you stupid boy.
You're the villain of your stories.


I know when someone else makes love to you, you'll be thinking of me.
My body.
My heart.
My head.
My sex.
Your hands on my back.
My hand on your dick.
Etc.
Etc.
Etc.

You can woo all the people in the world.
But they'll never love you like I did.
You can put your dick in her face
Her hands
Her vagina
And yet she can never be me.


It's just a matter of a good fuck.
You won't get it though.
I dare you, I double dare you.

I will haunt you for as long as I live
Eat away at your conscience
Reminding you of your ugliness every time you touch someone else.
I dare you to get my sex out of your head.
I double dare you.

And as for me, I'm trying to be an adult.
You know I don't kiss and tell.
I have my flaws, but I am invincible.
I have been through your hell.

No Sleep For The Wicked

I see them swarm like bees around honey,

Thirsty eyes,

Thirstier souls. 

"But baby, 

I don't do em boys your age no more"