Today

i feel like a muse song trying to blare out of the fucking speakers.Nothing more dramatic, just that, and a lil bit of viscous hate.

i can smell a forest fire, the flames are making way into my cavities.
i let what you say envelope my bones.the way you said it, like a dying dancer,
like a god waiting to let it rain, let go of the reigns.the way you said it and i was
in a black room with dying flowers, waiting for something to snap.it was beautiful
and real, like solid grief. maybe it wasnt, maybe it was like a baby without
a heartbeat. maybe you like it that way but how could that be?when i have a house,
i will remember your eyes painting a picture of it back when the touch was tender.

let us buy furniture and burn it, pluck fruits and burn them, let us find birds of prey
and let them feed on our words.let us not fuck. let us not say please like we're
dying of a failing heart.today, while we're still elastic, let us have faith. let us not forget, the
only times we ever truly see each other is when we rip our hearts apart and lay them before
our mind.

( this is about {and from the point of view of} a friend. i hope she's ok)

WHY

do i do this every time? i fall, i embarrass myself, i turn my life a into a huger lump of shit each time but i don't learn. trouble is, i have my fun while i do it. the fun element shouldn't exist, or i'll never stop.somebody do something to the universe to make it recognise my extreme desperation and conspire ALONG with me, and not AGAINST me.

Your name should be Samson.

I was going to write about the other pair of bones, but your name should be Samson.So I'll write about you instead.You are going to be rich and famous. When you look at me next, I'll be better at storing things in. Today you were skipping in a curved path and it was like a tornado in slow motion. You have a lot of potential like the morning sun or a new washing machine.I have stolen from you and it makes me feel poetic and full of pathos. I want to make you realize that a lot of things, like addiction and affection,are somewhat OK.You are a few years worth of solar eclipses strung together outside the history of the galaxy. If you ever come with me to the hill-place, it will just be sad.I want you to learn nothing new about me until its time to say, "I'll slap you!" again.I know what colour mode you are. I know that your shoulder blades shine and i know the back of your hand like the back of my hand.
A part of your being is composed of a huge sack of mutating fireflies.It's a very old jute sack you need to get rid of, and transfer its contents to your ticker.I pretend like i know you because that is enough, so far.
You don't need any more words, you don't care, your dinner isn't going to start tasting any more bland if i stop right now and I'm going to have a very confusing dream about you later in my life, I'm sure of it.Do you know your crown falls like a thick maze of vines over a piece of furniture that's been abandoned in a forest? Who does that? If I had my way, the abandoned piece of furniture would be auctioned. Or brought home with the grime on my sole and the cuts on my arm.
The forest must be deep and full of grief.

If I ever touch your face, I'm going to get a lot more confused.
But you know, your name is quite OK.

pointlass photu post.

 because i wont have random pictures like these on my laptop once i go back to pune, and i do like looking at them sometimes, and they've gone unpublished for quite sometime.

im going back

to the start.

Hometown Glory

This is one slow, slow city. Every ride here has a million stops, and we wait for everyone, don't we?
The mornings are semi opaque, the afternoons we sleep through, and at night, i want to find myself perched right atop a streetlight, humming in key for once.

What i feel is most strikingly different in being here than in Pune is that there, i always feel restless, like there is a constant need of getting to someplace other than where i am, of doing something other than what i am doing at any given moment.While here, there's this perpetual feeling of being home and dry, leading to the laid-back-ness.
I dont know which of them is nicer.

*yawn*

Lets look for a streetlight to climb.Inside our lyad-ridden heads.

because it never stays, and thats ok. isnt it always? and ok is always great. ok is brilliant, ok is what keeps me sailing. ok makes me wanna set the horison on fire.
and this time i can at least pretend you forgot, but it really doesnt matter. none of it.

Optimism

please make it work without the bipolarity kicking in this time? this once?

*bated breath and eyes wide open for a fresh look at herself*

I'm sick and tired of getting no where
Guess it'll all work out

And I don't mind any more

:)

thankyousneha:D

BECAUSE ITS HOME RE BAAP.

the first thing i remember doing after setting foot on the citysoil of kol (today,imbackhomeyes) is reading two words off a hoarding out loud (its something i keep doing when im traveling, read out random shit off anyplace with randomshit splashed across it, so no conscious effort was made) which sounded exactly leik zis:

     'EET HAPENS'

bengali accent acting up out of nowhere and i dont even mind.