Sunday, 3 June 2012


She called out, telling me to find a mirror.

So in the corner of the room I stood, my own reflection within sight.
The flower on the mirror became a recurring pattern
the corner my own little cavern.

Tears fell, mingling in the water,

for I was at the bottom of the ocean.
The green hue clouded my view, and
 submerged in colour, I said,
"I am no longer in love with you."


"I'm writing again.
Everything is playing on repeat.
All I care about is leaving evidence for me,
when I wake up.
In real life.
In reality.

Everything is playing on repeat."

4:32 AM,
2 June 2012.


The hole you left in my tiny heart was home for my confusion,
the reason of my seclusion.

Frantically scrambling for a paper and pen,
that was how I found myself again.

Saturday, 2 June 2012


He’s alone, but not quite, for the figures came swooping in.

Shadows. His.

Grey, hazy, but bright.

He touched his heart, and took a right step.

A leap to a patch of air, and the shadows took bait.
Swift, but always a fraction too late.
The effort they took just seemed to be too great.

His emotions, his movements.
He’s alone – but not quite.

So he tilted his head, beckoning them to follow.

A point of the finger, and the shadows chased.
This time, he could feel their haste.
But nothing, not even his shadows, could match his grace.

Another twirl, another sway.
He’s alone – but not quite.

Frustration – a few more poised steps.
Futile attempts – and a few of them left.

Whoever remained crossed behind his back.
The astounding symmetry – an epiphany.

Whatever remained mimicked his existence.
Feigning his consistence, closing the distance.

But at the end, no matter the pace, nothing could match his grace.
He’s alone – but not quite.

And at the end, they simply left –
Leaving him with truly no one but himself.

* Adapted from the slurring of a certain Writer in the Dark,
along with the twenty-third picturesque tease.


It's drugs.