Lucifer You

I once met Lucifer and he said

A man is a man, even when dead

He hurts and kills even when 

He's buried six feet under

I once met Lucifer and he said

A man is a corrupted descent

He lies and steals even when

He's entrapped in a wooden casket

He once met Lucifer and he knew

He is decaying down in his core

He’s an infestation of sin

Swarming out of his eyeballs

We all met Lucifer and we saw

We are Lucifer in disguise

Mirrors gleam and mirrors glow

With different frowns of despise

Stone Padded Green

Its beauty lies within the indecisiveness of its elements. I can’t decide if life is trying to reach out to it or if it is trying to desert it, leaving it in the middle with no closure. I was left once in the middle with no closure; left to dig out my way, my path, out of it all. These brown, dry branches hanging down, reaching to the stone building, seem to grow little leaflets. The building has this mystical mischief sense of grandness and dismay; a part of a grandeur that was taken away from it, when it was taken down from the fortress to which it was assigned to be part of. The maybe old, high-tower-chamber surrounded by these thick trees, a forest maybe, tickles my sense of danger, yet I feel tranquil.

It’s the green that’s crawling up these ancient stones like venomous vines, still padding the harsh edges of the paving rocks in the entrance of the circular edifice with softness; inviting me in, yet keeping me out. The stone fence surrounding the trees is keeping land and water intact; water to water and ground to ground, like ashes to ashes and dust to dust. It’s the deadly liveliness in this scene that bewilders me. The slight turbulence in this greenish water surrounding the only thing that stands up right seems so still, adding beauty to the curios composition.

It sounds like I’m describing me more than describing the scene; projecting my tired and restless soul on a deserted stone-cold tower chamber, cut off magnificence to swim down the static stream of life and desolation, seeking to reach a land that it can call home.

A stone of green padding at its feet

A grandeur stolen, yet clung to fiercely

A sense of impossibility

A soulless projection on a lively death

A contrast of black and white

Dark and light

Water encircling sharp edged rocks

Standing up straight between the twisted branches

Of brown decay

As little green life

Trying to escape them

It’s a gate, a hollow shape in the center

As dark as night

Fighting the mist pushing it down to the ground

As dark as night

Under the burning, rising sun

Quitting Anti-Social Social-Media

It’s the waiting! It feels nice not to be waiting for anything, or anyone! It’s hard, very hard, especially when you’re waiting for something that you don’t know.

Have you ever waited for something that you don’t know?

_I did!

And they ask me why I quit social media. Isn’t it obvious! I mean, do you really have to ask! It needs no asking to figure it out. Our lives are being sucked out; our marrows sucked out, cleaned off our bones! We’re growing hollow!

Is it by any means useful?

_NO! It is just not!

What is useful in being addicted to a certain page or a certain post. You are being trained to wait through the so called “social media”. It is anti-social! Think about it thoroughly; you consume your time, energy and health on waiting and writing and getting disappointed. You wait for people to respond to your post by reacting to it, commenting on it, sharing it, and so on. It is absolutely nonsensical while you can just call someone.

Why did people stop calling?

_Because texting became available.

Why did people stop writing or texting?

_Because voice notes on whats’app became available.

Why do we not meet each other anymore, as in real physical meetings, as in we get up, get dressed, wear makeup and bust our butts to a place where we are all going to see each other, feel each other, sympathize with one’s miseries and difficulties?

Why did it become that hard to know the answer to why did we stop communicating like real people do, not like phantom apparitions?

I’m done for waiting for him to inbox me, or for her to send me a link, or to be tagged in a group status. I’m done. It actually feels nice to be missed. It actually feels nice to feel important. It feels nice being asked about and accordingly you receive a call from people you thought wouldn’t even think of you or wouldn’t miss you but they did. I felt alive when one of the girls called me the other day, knowing that she never normally calls. NEVER! This time she did, there was no other way to check up on me but such and so she did! They will know that calling you is the way in which they can reach you, and so they will call. They will feel that you need them, as much as they need you. I need them more than they need me. I need to feel their empathy and love and warmness. Most importantly, it’s important to me to know who actually cares that he figures out that I’m no longer available and thus he would go looking for me, asking about me, and checking out if I’m still alive.

I am not alive

I am not dead

I am no phantom

I am no apparition

I am no human

I am no person

I am no definition

I am just a pile of emotions

I am a combination of feelings

I am a complex state of mind, a roaring turmoil

A Million Ways to Kill You

I have a million scenarios on my head on how I’d kill you

To see you lying dead, nothing rectifiable

I’m killing you silently, lustfully

It’s bloody, merciless

I’m forcing my fist down your throat

Cutting through your vocal cords

Ripping out your tongue and your trachea

I’m strangling you

I’m breathing your death

The smell of your blood is filling my lungs

I’m looking at your pictures with despair

I’m killing you in my head, in a million ways

I’m not satisfied

I’m dying with you every time you die

I’m plotting my devastation

In anger and infuriation

I kill you, mourn you, I triumph, and I weep

I loathe you, I long for you

In excruciating pain

I’m hanging by a thread

To the hope of one day we will meet

We will meet again

And our eyes will pierce each other

You’ll be looking at me and I’m through you

I’ll kill you in silence

I’ll kill you a thousand times per second

In a million ways

I’ll see the light gets sucked out of your sockets

I’ll stand over your wretched corpse

Breaking into pieces, falling onto my knees

Hysterically weeping
Bursting in laughter

Now I’m even less than satisfied

I’m killing you through my art

I’m killing you on paper

Immortalizing you in my eternity

My vivid memory

This is where the problem lies

I don’t really want you to die

I don’t hate you

Not even a bit, not even a little

Not even at all, not in a thousand life times

Dear February

Last year I wrote a letter to you, in which I expressed my need in sustaining my love relationship. It was the only time in which I really felt secured. It was the one love I really thought to be mine; the one love I really thought would last for eternity. I was happy, maybe even a little bit more than happy. On the 25^th of March, however, I discovered that it was all an illusion that my mind deceived me into believing. It was fake; the promises were fake, the love was fake, and the attitude was fake. Maybe it was my fault at a point and maybe I miss-chose the person with whom I am going to spend my life with, or was to be exact. Now with him gone, I do not know if it is a good or a bad thing for me. I cannot feel the flickers anymore. I do not get any butterflies anymore. I am unable to breathe the way I used to. This smile that was once drawn festively on my face, when I used to see his name on the phone, is all gone. This feeling that I used to get is not there with any other person.

I had a new love after my breakup with him. It was no way near love. I was null. I was way crushed to feel anything. I couldn’t believe a word I said. It is all about me now; a repetitive, dismal “I” that is very bewilderingly bewildering. I saw him everywhere I went. I dreamed of him sabotaging every kind of happiness I might ever have with this new person. I was chocking in this new relationship until it was over. For the first time in my life I was happy that a relation was over. I was ecstatic. It was like I hoped for it to end but I was too scared to end it because maybe it would have been the best thing that would ever happen to me after this diverged train of my emotions hit a concrete wall. I was suffocating and everything seemed impossible.

I am sorry; I know that I kept on talking and speaking about my mess. I know that I got so self-indulged like I did last year. Last year it was a similar case but now I am way done. This time was a wrecker. I do not want to feel any more wrecked or jeopardized. I do not want to feel naked like that. I want to feel safe again with a person, my person.

I am writing this year to save the habit of writing a letter to you every year. I do not want to feel alone and since you are “The Month of Love” I’m writing to you as a pen friend. You became my pen friend three years ago, when all of my turmoils started, and my heart started bouncing on a rod.

This year, my dearest February, I have a request. I am requesting an easy, comfortable mind, a loved lovable heart, and relaxation. I need those more than anything else. I need a new love that would mend all of my wounds and would help me stretch my broken wings and teach me not to be afraid of flying anymore. I need you to support me and to love me and not to leave me alone.

I know I made this message too long this time but this is only a portion of my heart that I poured here on paper. I wish if I was able to elaborate more on how I really feel but I am so tired to even think about what I am feeling. It consumed me too much that I am not aware of the person that I have become. Please feel free to write back to me and share whatever your heart tells you. I hope to hear from you soon.

Yours sincerely,

Rana

Bitter, Coffee, Love

I’m drinking a cup of coffee

Little sip by a little sip

I’m drowning in its bitterness

My cold love

My veins tickle

As my nerve cells shiver

When the caffeine kick in 

I don’t like it

My hands shake

My shoulders shrug

My head turn forcibly

And my legs stretch 

I’m sipping my coffee still

My bitterly tasteless coffee

I’ve never been its fan 

But here I am, drinking it

Just like my heart, bleeding

Over a love story that hasn’t lived long

I think I hate him

But my feelings for him are strong

It hurts me, it pains me

Yet I’m holding on

Just like I’m pouring in this cup of coldness

Dying on its after-taste of mud

Knowing

Open Your eyes

Run Run Run

Don't look back 

Don't trip

They'll get to you 

They're so close

Don't look at them

They'll eat through your brain

By their murmuring

Their voices are crippling

They're speaking in my head

Cover your ears

Run Run Run

Do not listen

I can't

They're speaking in my head

COVER YOUR EARS!

Run

I'm down on the ground

Bent over

Clutching to my knees

As if they'll run away

As if they'll leave me

This hissing sound and those murmurs

They're carving in my tender flesh

As if it was a grave stone

Am I really dead

Could this really be the end

These are the voices of the people

Crying over me!

Is it really that I'm dead

Or is it only my head

Playing its games

The voices stop

The lights go off

My eyes close while they're still open

It's now so cold

It's now so dark

I'm now so alone, not knowing

If it has all been my head

Or I've been dead all along