Little Dreams

Life would have been so much easier if everybody read The Little Prince

And the rapist didn't show up on your facebook.

Eulogies Are Painful

It's a beautiful, rainy night here in Calcutta and I wonder if I'll ever get a chance to spend another monsoon with you, or atleast someone like you.

It's hard to sleep at night not knowing if I'll ever be as content again.

Not happy, just content.

Adulthood is nothing but acceptance;

Of loss,

Of rejection,

Of dejection, 

Of hurt,

Of heartache.

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

You never will be.

But this deep, painful loss has only taught me to hold on.

For it is always calm again after the storm, you just need to wait it out.

Time.

I just need a little bit more time to get over you. 

I'm trying.

But I miss you so much still.

I love you.

I did and always will.

We will be together again some day.

One day.

It cannot be that we weren't meant for greater things, you and I.

If not in this world, then surely the next one.

You make a goddess out of me.

And like a fool, from time to time, I forget.

But you are my karma, you are my salvation.

I have forgotten what you looked like.

I have forgotten your touch, your taste, your smell.

And yet your voice remains etched firmly in my memory, the sweet nothings you'd whisper in my ear.

For everything you were and are to me, I'm thankful.

I'm so thankful for all the love you gave me, although it didn't last forever.

I was your first and also your last, I know love because of you. You make me the lover I am today.

Thank you.

I am you.

You are me. 

You're not gone, I just need to join you when its time.

And when we meet again, I won't ever let go.

I promise. 

Everybody deserves a second chance, don't they? 

Done And Dusted

His touch burns my skin,
His kisses scar my body,
And yet he leaves me craving for more.

I want to explode into this great nothingness that consumes me.

He enters as gently as he retreats.

The traits of a coward, no more.

But tomorrow will be a different day.
He will be nameless, faceless.
Not worthy of even a memory.

Former Lover

Social media is the devil.

I see a picture of you, you look the same even after all this time.

Your wrists, your fingers, your hands.

Your neck, your chin, your lips.

Your stubble, your ears, your everything. 

That same smirk on your face. 

So familiar.
Like the smell of rain, but only a distant memory and nothing more.

Your touch would drive me insane. Your kisses felt comforting. But I'd be lying if I said I've found no one like you.
I have.
Many, too many.
They're all just the same.
Generic men in their 30s.
All the same.
Always, all the same.

Everything is a loop.
I've given up control.
After all this time, I've resigned myself to my fate.

Stag, Royale

It is a problem when you drink yourself silly on weekdays and then force yourself into bitter sobriety over the weekend, when it's just the reverse for everyone else.

But I stay true to the thing I love most, music. Never a tiny compromise there. My morals are not that weak.

There has been so much sex.

The drugs have been endless, relentless.

I crave only for the rock n' roll. 

It's getting rather easy, playing this fool to the world. They walk all over me at the slightest chance they get, I don't even mind anymore. The alcohol numbs the pain. So I do the only thing I can do-play.

My relationship with the outside world gets worse, the better my relationship with my guitar gets. It is a greedy kind of love, it consumes me; wanting me all to itself, it won't share me with the world. I let the feelings pour out. They don't have to be heard, they just need to come out.

Great artistry comes with great isolation. Or something like that. It is scary, so scary. And yet if I don't believe, now, then what is my strength but a farce? 

Losing all perspective feels a strange sort of liberating. 

I am no longer me.

I am.

I am.

Only here, now.

I am.

I am.

It's divine to watch the turbulent sky, crying from the suffering. Hurt and yet still so majestic, like the lioness. 

My pride cannot be hurt so easily, who am I fooling. My pride is in my ability to be a child, a dog and when needed, a lioness.

I am here to experience greater things.

And those who love me know that they will love me forever...

Men Who Are Whores

You inspire me, whereas you use me.

Art.

Art and craft.

The chase must have been such a thrill.

And you're done because you're bored or disinterested or whatever.

Your body doesn't feel the same anymore.

Something's changed.

We're no longer making love, you're fucking me. 

Fuck fuck fuck, how did I get here.

Fuck me, then fuck me over.

So predictable.

You're done? I'm not even close to being there yet! 

Sex.

Sex.

Sex.

Sex.

Come, I let you in.

Just so you can shut down immediately after.

Your lack of any sort of integrity no longer surprises me, nothing surprises me anymore.

How did I get here? What did I do to deserve this? I do not know. But I'm so used to it. It's one goddamn loop.

I want to hold you, tell you everything you make me feel.

Even though it won't have any effect on you, your walls are back up again.

But I want to.

I want to tell you everything I have in my heart.

And when I'm done I want to kiss you goodbye, hoping secretly you won't let me go.

Even though you will.

You seek attention like a child, everything is just a facade.

Baby, you may be a star and everything fancy but you ain't no lover. 

You're just another whore. 

Existential Crises and Other Demons

The blue in your hair is starting to fade,

There are shadows under your eyes.

Your beauty is on the inside, you tell them.

But who's listening?

When did it Stop Making Sense?

Why has it stopped making sense? 

Plug in and play, girl.

That's the only thing you can do. 

Fight fire with fire, but always remember that you're only a little girl and the world is a big bad wolf.

You can't tame it, only protect yourself.

Dinner's getting cold.

You're no longer stoned.

And in some cases, wanted. 

And as dawn breaks, you shut me out.
One last cigarette, I'm scurrying to find clothing.
A year later, full circle.

Sober recollections are strange.

I see them all there, in their own spheres.

Some very, very old acquaintances and some new ones.

The first lover.

The boy who lost me.

The guy I flaked out on.

The one whose heart I broke.

The newish one.

And the more I try to remember, more memories pop up in my head.

But I can't remember your face. I just can't. And it fills me with a strange sense of melancholy. Time heals, but time can also be very cruel. All I have of you are my memories and like fabric, the threads are slowly coming undone, they're starting to break and disintegrate. I hold on as tightly as I can, whatever little I have left of you.

You're not here.

You never will be again.

Everything that I believed in- all gone.

I don't want to lose my faith, it is my only strength.

I have always believed, believed so strongly and yet my universe pushes me down to a deeper, darker abyss. It is as though I have to fight my way back up again like I always do. This is not the first time and this will certainly not be the last. I should know by now. Bla bla bla. 

And yet I'm starting to get so tired already. I don't know how long I can hold on anymore.  

Foreword

His skin breeds strange familiarity. I caress, I bite.

It's been a long, long time.

Two of us, that's it. That's all I ever wanted from him anyway.

I'm loud and I'm drunk but it's okay.

Hashtag girls just wanna have fun. 

Game Night

I cancel yet another date to be with my friends. He's nothing like you anyway.

Priorities.

We're drinking little, but drinking nevertheless.

And I'm not thinking about you.

I'm not thinking about you.

I would be lying if I said I never wondered what could have been, but you're not here. My love for you blossoms like a flower, but it is starting to wilt slowly.

I want to hold on, not let go, I don't know for how much longer though.

I'm not thinking about you.

I'm trying hard not to think about you and how you hold me in your arms as you kiss me. 

The mental image of you holding me so close, so close is stuck in my head.

You and me. You in me.

It's that one moment of intimacy that I can't seem to get over, the craving for your warmth and also your skin.

I want you. I want you. I want you.

I want you so bad.

I want you so much it's starting to hurt.

This mild obsession.

I'm not thinking about you, just reminiscing. 

Back to Back

It's been a while without the sex and the drugs. The clarity doesn't feel too bad. The uphill struggle to open up again has been fruitful because I feel like I've written my most favourite song yet. This leads me to believe that sobriety post-binge is much needed.

Don't get me wrong, I love a good fuck and I love good drugs but sometimes you really have to clear your head out before you dive in again.

I wonder if he feels my love for him when he's away. I wonder if he'll feel my love for him when he's away.

In March this year, I decided to actively fight my depression. I forced myself to get out of the house and plant myself in unfamiliar situations around unfamiliar people. It was scary to say the least. But I did good, it did me good. My black hole is for me to wallow in, not for the world to see. 

I guess artists are a bit more sensitive than regular folks, it's a pre-requisite almost. It doesn't matter what form of art you create or practise, it is essential that you are capable of feeling-it's a superpower almost.

He recites poetry as we sit under the evening sky. His voice is magic. We get off on cheap thrills like stealing kisses on the streets much to the envy and disgust of others. The romance, oh the romance! 

This summer, I thought I'd get my brains fucked out and then go back to work again. Instead, I found intimacy and I don't mean to sound like I'm growing old but maybe I'm starting to prefer the latter over the former. It could be just a phase before I go back to my old ways again but it's lovely, I hope this lasts for a little bit longer. 

Brave/Stupid

You give me all that I want,

So here I am, 

Running away.

"Don't fall in love", I tell you.

But you're not listening.

I mean what I say, I always do.

We hold hands and you give me butterflies.

I am 16 again.

I am strangely nervous about giving you my body.

Only when the time is right, only when the universe approves.

There will be love, there will always be love. 

Growing Up Pains

Is it alright to write music from your personal experiences of people around you or does that make you an asshole?

Well maybe I am incase it is but the gap in writing the new record has definitely brought some interesting changes. I guess I've been surrounding myself with people who are as sensitive so the influence has definitely rubbed off on me.

It's another summer. I've downed a couple of vodkas and all I want to do is play guitar and reminisce. But so far this summer has been of a different kind of love, so unfamilar.

I feel like a child, incredibly vulnerable.

Don't take advantage of my love.

Please don't take advantage of my love, I'm begging.

Annual Heartache

Nearly a year ago we were together. You whispered sweet nothings into my ear. I was slightly drunk, but not too much, just enough to lower my inhibitions.

I wanted you.

I wanted you to show me how attracted you were to me.

I wanted to explore your body, an unfamiliar territory. 

You kissed me, made love to me.

I was only looking for sex.

You took my heart, I couldn't get you out of my head.

We watched the stars at night-my favourite thing to do. 

Tonight, I don't know why, but I'm thinking of you. 

No Angel

(Former junkie trying to find intimacy in a world of instant gratification and banal sex)

There is a sense of resentment and latent hate in my head today and I don't like it one bit. 

I'm at the Orange Festival in Dambuk, Joseph Arthur is on stage and we're up next. "Please play my song, please play my song" I mutter to myself. He does.

I run to the front from our makeshift greenroom. It's raining as he plays our song. It's such a beautiful, beautiful tragedy. 

"Don't know why I'm still afraid, if you weren't real I would make you up..."

I go back to the summers we spent in my room, making love. We were so fucking great together. You were the yin to my yang. Maybe if I'd loved you a little bit more, you would have stayed. But I was so young and so caught up in my own tragedies back then. I am sorry for not reaching out to you more. I'm really really sorry. I guess this will be my cross to bear till the day I die. I beat myself up every other day thinking I could have saved you, if only I hadn't been so indifferent to your suffering. I should have saved you, I could have saved you. Maybe. Maybe. Maybe. 

The idea of the existence of parallel universes brings me a strange sense of comfort. Maybe I am with you, we're together, in one of them. Maybe we're a super generic, boringly normal couple somewhere. Who knows. But I like to think that there is a possibility. It gives me the strength to carry on with my shit-show of a life. I miss you man, I miss you so much sometimes. All I want is for you to hold me and never let go.

I have been in love many times since. It's been the most wonderful thing. But I cannot say that I love you any less today because I am still so hopelessly in love with you. There has always been a special place for you in my heart and in my head.

What do I do? What do I do? 

Some days are great, I keep you in my heart and go about my life. But some days are so terrible. I have trouble getting out of bed, the same bed on which we'd make love and you'd hold me as I slept. I miss us. I miss how happy you'd make me. I miss everything about you. 

Your voice.

Your touch.

Your kisses.

Your taste.

Your smell.

Your everything. 

Lately, I've been forcing myself to break down all my walls, lower my guard and this is the most vulnerable I have been in years. It's a strangely masochistic thing to do because the cynic in me knows very well how badly it could end. I don't care though. Bring it on, universe. Hurt me, break me down again and again and again. I've learnt to enjoy this pain. 

I have been broken so many times before that I don't feel scared anymore. 

You've filled me with endless love and endless strength. Death may have forced us apart but that's alright. It's only a matter of time before we're together again. 

Love Is The New Feel Awful

Stoned, I listen to the Dandy Warhols song on loop. The more I listen to it, the more drawn I am. Or maybe it's just the drugs.
Is love really the new feel awful?

I feel so good, but I also feel so much pain.
Yin and yang.

I want you, I don't need you.
I need you, I don't want you.







There are times when you know you're walking right off a cliff but you don't care, you feel invincible. The heartache is constant, it always will be. The heart only craves for what it can't have. It's human nature.
 

And what about me

deciding you all the time

oh my aching heart

forget all.

It's all about you

convincing me

all the time

oh my aching heart

forget all

and what about me

deserving you

of the time

oh my aching heart

forget all

Everlong

The sunlight filters in through the window, it's warm and cool at the same time with the ac on. There is no music, no drugs and no distraction this time. I want to know him, his everything everything.

What a beautiful boy.

 And as he kisses me I wonder, like that Foo song,
"If everything could ever be this real forever, if anything could ever be this good again.."