What do butchers look like?
Pink, Purple or White.
Away from the crowds
alone on street
Crawling on the skin
felt underneath
Do they rise in fear
of hidden defeats?
A broken consort
A fickle retreat
Vicious laughter of
duelling tweaks
bottomless doubts
of lingering misery
are akin to reason
on fateful dawns
A mistress lost
to a pawn.
A slaughter that shreds
yet redeems,
History of shards
greedliy breeds;
Blood crafted on
silent screams
is paled
to conceit.


(made with the special help of someone whom i don't want to name for the fear of sending him straight to heaven due to unlimited happiness n recognition after many stupid years of toiling in all the wrong industries.me thinks he should have his own blog.)

A Happy Thought (finalllllllllllly!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!)

Castles of dreams
Are preyed by winds
I don't promise
Only happy things
Sands of times
Are eternal
But so are waves
A roof is thawed
A curtain raised
A darkness erased
As clouds play with rain
Hues melt
It's dawning on me again
Hold my hand
Lets walk some endless miles
End those hide and seek games
Intertwined souls
Are strangers nomore

The Mourned Morning

I woke up on a cloud today
it's not the bed I slept on
I remember that
I do
But it felt like I belong here
I never felt that way before
I didn't know where I was before
or was I?
may be it's my first day
I feel so new
there was red and purple
some lost petals too
scars and smears that make me feel beautiful
I feel so new
may be it's my first day
may be ........

The warm glow of a bright morning
Woke her up
today as well
Inch by inch
as the rays felt the skin
Life crawled again
The body that lost itself
To unrequited pain. 

As Salty tears glisten
Palely on that canvas
The beauty, The abandon
Become laughable questions

Invisible yet Unbreakable
Chains hold her tight
What was that
That held her back
And always killed the fight

The slumber died
eyes flung open
mercilessly
still filled with images
That and the rest
mingled
mercilessly.
She wondered why
Waking Up and Breathing
the acts of will
felt like stolen moments
On shards of a broken glass

She never cried
She could never do
No tears to mourn beauty
No tears to celebrate Austerity
No tears to shed 
So she often bled
Hoping..
One day there'd be tears
Or may be no more blood left...

Oranges and Windchimes
pickles and Lime
Swing sets and Riddles
Faces lost to shrouds

A dandling vine
Broken bangles and Nursery rhymes
Yards of sand
Gardens beyond land
A smoky ring
Lost things

Innonce
Purple butterfly
Life
Forever sky

The Unbearable Dementedness of Being. Part 1

I cant seem to stop.Story of my life.
However whatever I do put out here, happens to be liked atleast for a nanosecond of what is unfortunately my existense. Or may be I'm what I think is wrong with the world, which in my opinion is basically a manifestation of the eternal infernal desire of being heard out. Sadistically speaking it's a pleasure to blush uncomfortably.

I don't know, among other things, how to be consistent, hence most of my fears.Which other than about creepy crawlable things are about my abilities or the more or less acknowlegded yet repeatedly forgotten lack of them. Whatever becomes of such beings is a classic case of agnosticism gone wrong. But my most avowed spiritual ties happen to find voice with Ayn Rand's works, that I end up feeling like Peter Keatings of the world is another story altogether. And all that without the slightest hope of topping any class. Not feeling like Tooheys happens to be a mere consequence of my eloquent misanthropism which is the single most frequent thing that is consistent besides numbness in my system.

The idea of going on forever is so scary that I could never enjoy the Celine Dion song about 'a heart' that promised so. Hence with no hopes whatever from the future, I promise to promise nothing. However since I'm not sure whether all or atleast some demented ones like my-not-so-mighty self do feel listlessness more often than air. I hope there'd be an underlying understanding of the same.

3

To catch a falling star
Or to sit in swing
And watch it fall,
Piece by piece.

I ran across the sky
It feels so small
And I don't know why.

I could burn my fingers
Hearses and Flowers,I hear
I try not to think
But I can't escape
Flourishing sadness
Astute passion
Piece by piece
My world is full
Of Emptiness.

Ephemeral magic
Of dwindling seas.
Transitory numbness
Won't forever go
Or stay.

I wake in cobwebs of entwined silences
Surrounded by doubts
And possibilities.

Musings of an artisan
Can be blue.
Divinely pale Blood
And exhilaration.