Chased Down

Let me chase you down, because of your aesthetic beauty.

Into the Okavango wetlands, to the scorching sands of Sahara deserts.

Let me trace the inches of your soft, intriguing mind.

To be trapped, in between your thought and motions, your feelings and emotions.

Let me look, deep enough to the furthest stare in your galaxy eyes.

To be lost, then I would find that I’ve been searching for.

Let me see the angle, to which the universe comes at you,

Into our conscious talks, until I can’t talk no longer.

Let me be driven hours on end, constantly ready.

To be awake in your seeming less mind, traversing around adversities,

Let me see a flicker of hope, seeing it lighting up.

To be courageous enough, making conceptual leaps to discover new vastness,

Let me ride, just hard enough for you to cultivate me into your circle.

Into the long waits, of calming fires I knew nothing about.

Let me fill up an overflowing cup, showing how broken it is on its edges.

Yet none is lost, it’s serenity to be lost.

Let me feed, into your soul.

To be nourished, I just can’t admit that yet.

Let me chose when not to end our story, for you and them.

Into a continuity of a lifeless coexistence, when you lay awake like me!

Let me stay, me and you.

To save a story well written on your lips.

Let me, just, play the music a bit louder now that I can hear.

To remember about every time I’m in love with you.

Let me hold you tight, into the cold night.

To cheer on another night of letting it stay alive.

Not because we kill it each day, because it lives on for a better day.

Let me be here, with you, chasing it down.

Let me be here, till we make it thus far, till the ends of the earth,

If we ever find it!

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No…

I wouldn’t want to say no, not next to you.

Even as your hair drops majestically down your shoulders, it’d still be impossible.

A quick stolen glance towards your flickering dazed eyes, I just wouldn’t ever.

Beautiful, is the word, still injustice is done by its usage.

Battling with a brittle smile, your tenuous lips curve upwards as if to torment.

Dragging out the inner-most dying sparks, ready to ignite a soul yearning.

The world knew, a lot of your smiles in deep seasons, but knew nothing of your tears in light seasons.

So life thought it funny, if I sat across the room, leaving chunks of traces.

Enough for me to relinquish each no,

You see, it was all in the yeses, never the nos.

You see, it was all in the second wind, never the first wind.

So before I say my no, let me run,

Fast enough on the first wind to catch the second!

All the pain that comes with it, being ready is paramount.

The stronger I’ll get, the gentler the no will be.

You’ll hear the glorified No, but never understand the sacrifice behind it.

Maybe we both needed it, to make a difference in this Life, separately.

Living in a corrupted world that led us to believe, captured us by faith.

Always waiting for something from an outside pool, just to be happy!

You’ll be broken, I’ll be limping, and we’ll teach each other how to live.

After that No!

Sometimes being away is our sole responsibility, great things always tend to happen,

Eventually!

No

Gold Tears

Sometimes she thinks to herself that it is a beautiful world out there. Not necessarily in what people do, or what people say, but it is beautiful because through its darkness there will always be light.

Mostly as she leans back, slightly inclined to be supported by the bathroom sink, she tends to let her mind wonder. Wonder to the beauty of it all. The nature of being a 25 year old fully blossomed woman, drenched in sadistic differential thoughts. On such days it’s different though. Particularly this fateful day, she cut a little deeper. The need to feel burning pain that comes along with the bleeding always overtook her sensible fragility. She was going to win this battle, not the war. In this life, as she came to realize you win some, the demons win the rest. And not just any demons to be clear! Those that deem themselves best friends, to ride or die. Demons that guide her to put down the razor, only to open the door to the kitchen for her to pick up the knife! That was her reality.

Why? She never came to understand.

How could she hide from them if at all they are all she saw hiding in her crystal clear musky brown eyes when she look in the mirror?

Every night, they chose a reason to make her stay awake. As if to torment her to count her sins, to bleed them out, one after the other, to cleanse her inner self. Inner beauty was her best chance at survival within her own body. Swearing to cease every morning, and to brood over again and again the beautiful pain they bestowed upon her.

A rite of passage, the pastor said, to fight one’s own demons. She pushed on, with nothing left to lie out for other’s to have a glimpse of. Deeply seated pain she fought to cut it out, to bleed it slowly out of her. The body could only take as much, but not that particular day. The only savior left was her knife. It went deep enough. Although they didn’t trust her anymore, alone, they couldn’t be her guardian angel in the bathroom.

Her guardian angel watched her, tears of gold waiting, patiently for her final breathes, to trickle down. A sign from the gods that indeed it was a precious life! In complete disregard of her reality, she ran away in her mind. Empty inside, her anchor had been cut and fell. No one lent their ears to hear her insecurities, her lacking abilities for the society. In those moments she didn’t exists, just her demons. And that day she smiled knowing to well of the battle looming inside, coming out to her.

She faced it all. And nothing mattered anymore. It was getting beautifully worse for her. Finally, embracing them all! Why pluck a flower when you could let it grow and become a garden inside? She thought wishfully for her demons.

Colder exhales, deeper inhales, ice cold breathes. She closed her eyes gracefully. To her, she won. A battle! No one saw. In a field she was too familiar with. Her own mind!

But her world, just paused, as the door swung wide open, distant sirens of an ambulance rushing through the streets brought her fallen anchor slowly. Everything quieted, as if they had been shut out! Pushed out of existence by her victory!

Her heavy eyelids slowly gave way to her musky eyes. To a light brighter than her darkness, ready for her next battle that she hoped wouldn’t be too soon…

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If The World Listen

If the world only listened, he would have laid out his silent words.

If the world only talked, he could have corrected his bent ways.

If the world only breathed life, he should have distinguished his thoughts clearly.

But it only listened to none, so he drank his words back into his empty vessel.

But it only talked of its ways, so he drowned his ears in their understanding.

But it only breathed life of a fiery, so he coiled from within setting his own sunset.

Dwelling on a past so far, one that steered him down a path to lose his voice.

Dwelling on a limited belief so compelling, the one need to always be right.

Dwelling on a resistance so intense, it had to make him change.

Dripping with desire to live, anticipating for his possible chance to be heard.

Frightened to talk, his silent words remain behind his folded lips.

Startled by the speed of a world that he didn’t belong to, yet!

Dripping through scars, were his rewards.

Frightened to be asked for more, due to his heart, it was already captive.

Startled with the turns of the bearings, each turn carries message of sympathy.

That he’ll make the world listen, if not talk back the way he wanted to.

He just had to cease from making things seem right according to the world,

And grasp the struggles of lending his ears to the world,

To let it hear his waves of motion, to find a voice through the world’s words.

The continua of laying a bare soul to a world that barely sleeps.

No longer of loneliness, but of desire to sleep with his thoughts well conquered.

A world that listens at 4a.m., when waken up from nightmares conflicting in his mind.

A world that talked back to the moon,

To remind him tomorrow will be a gracious day, a welcome back to reality gift.

If he only paused and remembered to live!

Listen-to-Me-

Doctor Said No

No one ever remembers, well, seldom anyway,

The trying times, the misguided shots at random instabilities.

Until her hand, is on your shoulder,

Her leg slowly parting, slowly moving, sitting on you

Riding, they called it!

The sensual lips, the back to back instants!

Throbbing heart beats, but doctor said something.

Doctor said, no more vigorous exercises, didn’t quite understand that.

Why? Because 10 years down the gutter,

Still paying the government, banks on your neck, literally!

Least you forget the mortgage, as she slowly unbuttons.

The three piece suits, how did this happen?

Vibrancy was a state of mind back then, just an illusion of state at the moment.

4 bed-roomed house, sure!

A car that can’t keep up with the neighborhood’s sophistication’s,

Nagging wife stuck and build with, beautiful as years go on.

Wine perhaps? But doctor said, no more.

Vehemently stuck with an inviting mouth-watering wine that you can’t touch,

But doctor said, no,

Routine mornings allow the distant thought to be brushed off,

But this was three o’clock; simmering afternoon heat didn’t make matters any easier.

Streaks of sweat make their way down your pulsating jugular,

Who would know? Just as fine wine loves being drunk, she was too fine to the last taste bud.

Years of blinded eyes, no wonder the keenness on patterns of sounds.

Freshly done hair, soaking in scents of her fragrance,

Regretting the instabilities, reckoning the days you’d see the bottom of a bottle,

All in the name of broken sticks and hearts, the unstable you learnt to call them.

Except the one, one who robbed you off your feet into dropping a ring?

Down the length of her forth finger.

But not today, she didn’t mind; neither did you,

Today was a hearty day, only the location was in mind,

Doctor wasn’t there, yet forbidden fruits,

Wine was to slide down your incoherent throat, reminding you of waves,

Waves that set the instants in motion, far away from her,

She’d find out, the moment she took a swing at the door!

Her lips move in, aware of the drift in your eyes, on the hope of driving you in,

In the exact moment, your hands made their way down her womanly curves.

First times, unforgettable!

Lips tremble on the brush against hers, the gush of rushing blood!

 like two stars on a collision course without fearing the impact explosion,

Men need a place; women just need a reason,

And today was a reason, unanimously agreed upon,

Freighting times, hardly last, you believe.

In spurring of moments, a light knock is followed by a fast swing of the door!

Men…just pause!

Just at the touch of back her zip liners, going all the way down her peplum short briskly black dress, opening fine wine they said,

She runs in, fumes of desire casually go unnoticed, as she bursts out with pride,

“Daddy! Mummy! I’m playing Cinderella!”

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A Little Bit Different Each Time

It was a little bit different, each time he did it.

He had a high affinity for small details that created a new dementia for him, a new world not even him could comprehend well.

Being broken was his norm, even after a million pieces worth of breakages inside him, he still smiled for the world to see.

Treating people better than he treated himself, in a hell-bound quest to feel normal as society perceived it fit.

Perfection didn’t exist yet to him he perfected the art of being okay consistently!

As if every moment the voices grew stronger, in his mind.

Each breathes chocking him stronger than the last ones, in a world that was closing in on him, fast!

Hoping, praying that his problems were on the decrease as his weight was.

But what use was all these?

Of days he felt everything; it dangled on next to his torso.

On the day he finally felt nothing, he pulled the trigger.

How he was still breathing, he wondered, day after night.

The curtains, grappling gently with the cold evening breeze not to let it in, hang neatly from the rusted brown window frame.

Its distinguished laced edges, as if on a mission to fight off evening last light, barely obscured any rays that hit his rough, scaly skin.

A condition that arrived immediately after his weight issues commenced.

He was taught too well to be brave because that’s what men do!

From his view all he envisioned was a life spinning out of control to his certain 6 feet.

Without any essence of direction, he had no guiding path, reason as to why he missed the shot.

Sparing his vital organs, from the desperation, of surviving in another receiving body!

Tired to create something better of him each day, only to be tarnished the next day by a perfect society was his vantage point.

So was his last resort, aiming, firing, ridding the world of another burdening soul?

He was numb, unable to feel the sadness, the horror of being killed by self yet again.

Playing over and over, like a broken record, in his already overdosed brain.

Somehow his nights grew longer, meals got smaller, society barely took a notice,

How could it when it had been so preoccupied with itself?

Inability to hear the deepened screams, to feel the heightened pain, made him wiser.

Wiser enough to just make a difference, to do it a little bit different each time.

Not aware of his trembling right hand, firmly gripping on the handle of the Series Pistol.

Face your fears, the doctor said as he handed it to him the last time.

A warden passing by to let him know of his impending session with the mind doctor,

Stood cautiously as he raised the alarm to his colleagues,

Sure enough, he wished society had raised the alarm for him to his life colleagues,

Sure enough, his smile was to be an enough is enough

He pulled the trigger!

But men, just pause…

Too tired and confused, his whole body went numb, falling down where he was standing with his eyes firmly stretching out the horizon for possibilities!

The only thing that left the barrel was the terrifying click sound of an empty clip!

Someone should have seen him and made him realize the spinning cycle was a spiral staircase if viewed from rock bottom!
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Life Was Too Kind

It was his only option, to overdose on the recently purchased pills.

He was tired of the cuts themselves, the drinking to get rid of the pain.

It was part of him now; at least he believed it was.

That way he wouldn’t be alone, scared, abused by the instability of his thoughts.

Just but a distant memory to others, no one fathomed his existence.

A silent shock to his system, it was.

He has been through enough, but the universe wasn’t finished with him.

Even the once energetic full of life friends were no more.

He was deemed too shattered and un-repairable!

Should have kept better friends, but why?

Not even the unveiling of the spirit world saw it coming.

The betrayal, the anxiety, the reprimand, the deeper voices,

With every breathe, he reckoned too well of the broken pieces,

Pieced together with the hope of having one normal night, like everyone!

Sleepless nights were his deal, to be awake in the middle of the nights.

Hearing his own thoughts, traveling across his own built up nightmares.

Maybe to get her thoughts tired enough and out of his mind.

To acknowledge there’s more music to life, than pieces of a broken symphony.

Rejection went through his nerves like a drug, stimulating places he knew nothing about.

In full reverential respect of a new world brimming with bits and pieces of suicidal emotions,

You just had to pick your preferred!

But not him, he chose to feel it all.

To fill up his temple, in the hope of one day drowning in it!

The mere understanding of zero outcomes, aftermath of remitting his all to her,

Couldn’t receive anything at all!

Completely drawing the last straw, Life was too kind however.

In a way, his awareness to cover his wrists no more, the scars had healed.

He craved for a new antidote, because his wrists weren’t edging him off.

Lost in it, life was too kind to give him time for the healing process.

Slowly, as sure as the moon rises over the horizon, scars became fairy-tales for his sleepless nights.

Deep enough, the scars reigned on, asking for more!

More reason to stay awake throughout the dark nights.

To him, they were better than reality, better than the rejection he faced alone.

That was the deal for rejection, being alone, in a life that was too kind.

He watched consistently as mist formed against the cracked pane-less window,

An amplified showcase of what he was, broken, without her love!

The arguments, the break ups, the jealousy, all led here, the finale.

He placed one after the other, in his eagerly awaiting mouth, five to the count.

Reaching out for the glass brimmed with water, to gush it all down,

Lips drawing closer to the glass edge,

But men, just pause!

His phone rang!

And it was hers, her number calling in the deepest parts of the night.

Picking up, her mother yells she’s unconscious! Come to the hospital! She swallowed some pills!

In the tension of the moment, he swallows!

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