What Wants Me Dead

The last time I wanted to kill myself,
I was sure I would. I still am.
I still am sure that I would kill myself,
the moment I want to enough.
There will come a moment where the competing noises
clamouring for center stage,
an open mic event free of registration,
where the one who says his bit the loudest wins.
Not just “his” bit, but there are hers as well
theirs as well, my mind doesn’t discriminate between voices,
voices of every gender, sexual orientation, pitch,
timbre, volume keep at their performance.
My mind is a stage, and it’s a one act play,
I haven’t even gotten to the middle, and now I’m being booed off,
by myself, the actors are pissed at the audience,
the audience returns the favour and cacophony ensues.
So when I say, “I want to die.”, I don’t mean I don’t enjoy
the good things and the happy parts of life.
Neither do I mean to disrespect all those going through much worse than me.
I just want this fucking noise to stop,
and if the solution to that,
is for everything to stop.

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The Psychopath in Me

The darker side of my mind,
closed with no access, no free passes, no VIPs,
you’ll never know what hit you,
when you find, what’s in that part of my mind.
When you walk into a black hole,
you can’t help but transform into a part of it.
People are black holes,
and I, a singularly fucked up one.
Insanity gave up long ago when she saw
the degree of horror a human mind can possess.
Don’t try to rescue me,
I’m drowning, you will too.
Stepping into a hurricane, suffocate in the rain,
winds whip violently struggling.
Fiery flame wrap again and again
around me every hour,
tonight, we burn, and I am the fuel.

How to Spell CONSENT

I think a lesson we forget to teach
our younger generations
is one we don’t inherently believe in.
“Your body and mind is yours and yours alone.”
How hard is this simple principle to understand?
Generations of social conditioning worth of hard.
We have always been told, that our mind was one to be molded,
not ours to take the reins and control,
but our parents to will in whatever directions they choose.
In this massive chaotic riptide that we call humanity,
our bodies as well are to be defined by society,
as fat, thin, boy, girl, pretty, ugly, attractive, repulsive.
It comes as no surprise then,
that a “sacred” institution, means giving up your rights
to your own body.
Because sex is a husband’s need and a wife’s duty,
just like having the food ready at the right time,
and taking all the shit her worse half throws at her.
I’m sorry ladies, but if your husband believes that he can
satisfy his carnal desires with you at his will,
then he is an ass… sorry, an uneducated, ignorant,
self righteous, narrow minded victim and perpetrator
of our beautiful toxic masculine patriarchy.
Fulfilling a husbands needs is not a wife’s duty.
If she doesn’t want to have sex 300 days out of 365,
she isn’t obliged to.
If you love someone, you do not owe them sex.
you have to take shit from no one.
If a wife does not earn, even then she isn’t obliged to do anything
for her husband.
But who’ll listen to me?
I’m just a kid, trying to fight the system,
with rants of poetry.

Embrace

I am a ship, a ghost ship.
I am empty, my anchor rusted,
I float aimlessly, from sea to sea.
I have seen every ocean,
but I haven’t seen any shore.
I feel hollow, but my creaking iron is all
I have to accompany my tiresome destination-less journey.
But then I meet an island,
an island whose sands
have been touched, but never felt.
A small island, tiny, amidst the group of rocky shores,
alone, even though other shores can be seen.
An island hit by cyclones every hour,
an island in the eye of its own storm,
an island, a storm, an embrace, a girl.
An Island, where I can finally rest my anchor.

Your Faith in Me

I’ve scratched my heart and raped my soul,
the damp hollowness has taken its toll,
I don’t think I can be again,
one part of a bigger whole.

I’ve dreamed of death and feared all fear,
I’ve pushed them far and held them near,
down my throat goes the blade,
as I swallow salty distressed tears.

I’ll not cry myself to sleep again,
I’ve made a home in these chains,
and you can blame the whole damned world,
but you know they don’t know pain.

We’re all bastards of a bloody war,
fought for ages who knows what for,
as fate fucks up destiny again and again,
and uses us as his own whore.

I try to see color but I am so blind,
vacuum and darkness is all that I find
tell me friend am I good enough,
or do you think that I’ve lost my mind.

Hands can be held and forgotten forever,
Torn asunder like a limb you sever,
fight this blood with more of your own,
never again, but only I say never.

Your faith in me is drowning my cries,
but I’m afraid of in the corner what lies,
it’s too early too late to surrender,
and trade the lows and sell all the highs.

Rip off my skin, burn me in your fire,
cut me open, rip out every desire,
maybe if I had another chance I’d
slice myself open and sell myself to every buyer.

Everything is Fine

It all seems perfect until you want to kill yourself.
It’s all peachy, rainbows, unicorns and puppies,
until the facade collapses,
until your faults eclipse anything else that may redeem you.
When you want it to be perfect
and the imperfections are too many,
too many to count, too many to take.
When you get carried away, even by mistake,
an unforgivable mistake.
When her happiness is endangered, and you are the cause
that is unforgivable, because you would
take up arms against anything that hurts her,
even if it has to be yourself.
To protect a nation takes sacrifice,
her smile is your world, and it demands sacrifice,
you don’t deserve anything
except burning in your own fires in hell.
So you must die tonight,
and be reborn, try to start at the start
and fail, and die again.

To You

Dear friend who is a bit more,
let us just be…. stupid.
Let us walk into darkness and light
without thinking so much.
Let us not burden our tiny heads
with knowledge, information, intelligence.
When we think, you and I,
we have a tsunami of different feelings
a thousand waves in a thousand directions,
so for once, let’s just not think.
Let us close our eyes, and breathe.
Let us love, shamelessly, endlessly.
Let us leave, and come running back
let us play, let us dance, let us sing.
Let us hold each other close and
watch as the flames wrap around us.
Life is just five seconds long
and I’d rather spend it with you,
we have just five seconds left
and I would rather just be stupid with you.

A Picture

Paint me a picture.
That is all I ask anyone who wants me to fall for them.
Paint me a picture.
I know it is a strange request,
but stay with me, and I’ll explain.
I want you to pain me a picture I have never seen,
not just me, but the world has never seen,
I want a picture, vivid in it’s colors,
with the dancing reds and singing blues.
I want a picture I can drown in,
that I breathe as much as I see,
that I taste as much as I see,
that I touch as much as I see,
that I hear as much as I see,
that screams its identity loud and clear.
I want a picture of you, a picture of me,
a picture where I can see all that I have seen
every moment of my life till now, and yet,
it all is discovered anew.
I want a picture of me, as you see me,
so for once, I don’t hear how much you love me,
but I learn from you how to love myself.

The Great Fail

It is a slow climb completed in moments
in leaps and bounds up the hill,
then comes the fall, crashing down,
and in a moment, all is still.

Grim realisations resonate,
repeating, recurring relentlessly.
Escape is a far fetched fantasy,
blame corrodes me shamelessly.

Every verse that leaves my mind
I hope to god this is my last,
and I can leave this genre behind
look back into the distant past.

Cries for help unanswered by those
whose voice I long to hear,
lonely in company, I shiver in the dark
not a soul to hold me near.

I wish for a bullet to run through my skull
and blow brain bits all over the wall,
or douse my self in gasoline, then flick a match,
or sometimes, my old friend, the blade does call.

I’m tired of being alright, sick of everything
to end it all, once and for all, is all that is left.
I’m tired of being told who hurts more than me,
tired of being accused of attention theft.

Dear reader, you will read this verse,
maybe even say a few words of sympathy,
but the monsters that claw at my insides
will never die, I have no use for your pity.

Death is an option
death is the best option,
death is the only option.

HINDUstaan

Let the bugles play loud,
the warriors are in town
to fight for a land they call their own
which is a desolate dystopian dump
and those who try to make it better, the patriots,
are told to leave the man made borders.
Whose imaginary friends are better,
shall decide life and death, because if yours is formless,
you’ll be beaten to death, in a fight that never happened
for trying to protect the honour of your women.
But that was bound to happen,
in a country where we joke about
someone’s dignity ripped away every thirty minutes.
If your religion truly believes that this,
this horrendous state of affairs is the way to be,
if you care about your cows more than your women,
then maybe scripture got it wrong,
maybe the triple eyed trident wielder could legally rape his wife,
and the cowherd with a flute deserved jail
for loving an older woman.
Maybe our country is born of hatred, and I’m getting it wrong.