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Abomination

Sat, 01 Jan 0000 22:20:09 +0530

Abomination #

he was born screaming,
not in protest, but as if to confess,
as if the world deserved to know
it had just been cursed.

his parents didn’t love the way he laughed,
or how his presence clung like a stain.
he began to tear himself apart,
scraping off the dirt of who he was,
offering the pieces as penance,
but no matter how much he bled,
he could never scrub himself clean.

da boi

Sat, 01 Jan 0000 22:20:09 +0530

da boi #

he was born screaming,
not in protest, but as if to confess,
as if the world deserved to know
it had just been cursed.

falling in love

Sat, 01 Jan 0000 22:20:09 +0530

falling in love, is something other people do #

falling in love is something that happens to other people,
like catching santa stuffing gifts under your tree,
like waking up to a youtuber with a car and a camera crew,
or tripping over your shoelace
only to land perfectly into someone else’s life.
absurd things.
things that feel more like bad writing
than real life.

I’ve read stories,
people meeting soulmates in cafes,
their hands grazing over coffee-stained notebooks
as if fate itself had been waiting in line for a latte.
people hooking up in bars,
spilling whiskey-soaked laughter
into something they dare call love.
or strangers caught in the rain,
soaked through their skin,
smiling like their lives
had just rewritten themselves.

Gratitude Journaling

Sat, 01 Jan 0000 22:20:09 +0530

Gratitude Journaling #

lIfE’s A sTaGe, or some shit they said
but look at you
a fucking
puppet
with cut strings
dancing like a drunk bird trying to impress the wind
no one told you to perform
no one asked
yet there you go
spinning like a top
on a cracked table no one even sits at anymore

do you hear it??
the sound of silence clapping??
no
of course not
because mannequins
don’t move
and the dead don’t applaud
you’ve got an audience of cardboard souls
and even they’re bored of your pathetic tricks
not hate
not love
just, nothing
and gods
doesn’t that sting more?

kaleidoscope of rot

Sat, 01 Jan 0000 22:20:09 +0530

kaleidoscope of rot #

i used to think creation was beautiful,
that spilling myself onto paper meant making something of worth-
meant i’d write a book,
stand tall, gaze at it,
and whisper, “this is mine, this is beautiful.”
but poetry isn’t beautiful.
mine isn’t.
it’s an autopsy with no anesthesia.
skin flayed back,
muscle shredded,
bones cracked to powder.
i take my remnants,
stuff them into a kaleidoscope
where the mirrors are lined
with the mouths of people
whose words left trenches across my flesh.
i peer inside.
the mirrors fracture me more.
each shard snaps into finer pieces,
until there’s no shape left,
no pattern,
just blood.
red spreads everywhere,
a raw smear across the lens.
no veins. no sinew.
no artistry.
just carnage pretending to be color.
a poet can look at a leaf
and sculpt it into something holy-
leave you unable to see green without feeling worship.
but what do i do?
i amputate my limbs,
arrange them on a canvas,
splatter what’s left in pigment
just to cover the red.
but it bleeds through.
it always bleeds through.
and yet,
the beauty of it lies in how
you can’t recognize this rot
until you’re in a park,
watching the sun kiss the horizon.
the air’s soft.
birds thread songs through the breeze.
people walk by, hand in hand,
hearts light.
but all you want
is to be murdered
here, beneath their feet
to let the soil drink you in.
while they stand above,
enjoying their sunsets,
their lovers’ laughter.
as you rot, forgotten,
beneath their world.

poem

Sat, 01 Jan 0000 22:20:09 +0530

Poem (i was drunk) #

ma out
pa out
there was a botle
CHUGCHUGCHUGCHUGCHUGCHUGCHUGCHUGCHUGCHUGCHUGCHUGCHUGCHUGCHUGCHUGCHUGCHUGCHUGCHUGCHUGCHUGCHUGCHUG
lIkE a BeAsT
liquid courage? na liquid CHAOSSSS BABYYYYYY
burming throat, warm fire in my chest,
eyes 50$ off, half-seeing the room spim,
and there’s something prettyy about losing control
but also pathetic.
like i
pathetic but freeing.
iM a LiBeRaToRrRrRrRrRrRrRrRr
what does it say about me
mEh

ooooo
tree.
biiig tree
sprawlimg
maybe its drunk to
branches clawing at the sky
it’s asking
begging
im begging
begging youuu
or maybe just tired
eh
OOOO
CLOUDS
PAST THE TREES
you forget that.
i forgot that.
everyone forget that.
poor clouds.
but they float past da branches,
white smears in the sky like spilled milk,
and there’s
pretty in that.

row your boat

Sat, 01 Jan 0000 22:20:09 +0530

row row row your boat~ #

row row row your boat~
row, row, row your boat,
and drift into the tide~
for i’m a storm without a calm,
a path no stars would guide~

row, row, row your boat,
don’t let your gaze retreat~
for if you turn, you’ll see me there,
a shadow at your feet~

row, row, row your boat,
escape the weight i bear~
a body soft, a heart too loud,
a burden none could share~