I found someone new to write about

On a cold Friday night under a bitter black canvas sky, I found someone new to write about. 

Warning signs wailed into my conscience but good god, who could help it? The fantasy I had painted with the whispers of his voice at 3AM satisfied my pangs of emptiness; we were both famished, and feeding off each other’s lies. We both knew our tragic tale was merely an illusion — a bubble swelling just waiting to be splinted. Indulging in this dream sip by sip, I closed my eyes to how wrong it was. He was dangerous; a fleeting moment of addiction and also a stranger.

I denied expectations as I was afraid — bad boys like him usually do not stay. Falling too fast, too easily; am I incapable of love, or am I too capable of it?

Like getting hooked to the last fix, we were too caught up and refused to escape this wishful tale; but one had to take a step first, and it happened to be him. As quickly as he appeared, he left. Thank you, for waking me up.


On a cloudy Sunday night under a bitter black canvas sky, I found someone new to write about. 

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Amber

Under tonight’s pale cream moonlight,
I allowed my heart to be blind.

With every glass that emptied,
the crimson bittersweet rippled;
and then amplified
when your velvet voice sang —
nonchalantly yet knowingly.
My conscious stumbled
to shut you off
but another voice cooed —
melting impeccably with yours;
something roused
a hibernating sorrow
and my melancholy danced
to the ghost of you.

The mellow harmony
screamed scarlet —
a once-perfect melody
dripped with passion
long expired.
Creases of our past
smother us once in a while;
except there’s no us.
Colours from the burning ardour
evaporated through time —
leaving its mere residue
and the melted shade of amber.

Thread

Tongue-tied love;
what are we?
You liked the way
I bit my lip,
I liked the way
you kissed my cheek.
Maybe we both liked —
the ecstasy in this sin,
solace within the forbidden,
confusion amongst our guilt.

Never knew what we wanted,
until you left your trail
of cologne;
and the anthem
of our loss
right at the doorsteps
of my tattered heart.
Our insanities —
tangled,
escaped off, wild and free;
pulled closer and then
broken apart.
What were we?

Our love —
hanging by a thread
swaying on the edge;
I know once we both fell,
but don’t be afraid —
baby, just cut me off
and let me fall deeper
so you can save yourself.

Claustrophobia

It’s suffocating in here;
this transparent little box
My eyes scan the exterior,
my cries go unheard.

When did more shackles appear?
Aloof echoes resonate —
My palms sting,
but they numb my fear.

“No one is forcing you.”
Their eyes sick with desire
My neck burning,
as they tighten the collar.

Cries go unheard,
the wall is the filter.
My breath ceasing,
“we love you, my dear.”

3hrs train ride alone

With bags sitting by my side, landscape ran past me through the window. The sky painted orange transitioned to a pastel purple, then sombre blue. For a moment, I was indulged — it would be good if I was escaping for real.

And I wondered what it would be like to always be alone.

The melancholy was perfect; enough to make me savour that thought.

It felt strange being self-aware; that I was sitting in the place where thousands of people once sat. Tiny marks and scars on the worn out seats made imaginations more organic, yet they could never tell us about any passenger’s life.

Including mine.

And then it struck me that we were never alone, but we have always been alone.