Tuesday, January 24, 2017


Snuck your way into my world when all you were was a figment of my reality.
- A distinct memory, a scattered melancholy -
Whose mild fascination was easily ignorable because your space in my life was next to minimal. 
You snuck your way into my world.

took my lips by surprise with your legacy of vague talent, mild words and that 
slow crawl rhythm,
That allowed you to roll in and out of crowded moments with easy momentum.
You took my lips by surprise.

found a way to mark my body, treating my touches like a toy
With the hands of a man, and the mind of a boy.

Tuesday, December 20, 2016

New Muse

That finger flick
Lip lick
Your smile's got me in a mad grip.

Flowing up, going down,
Eyes locked,
You pull me in with a small frown. 

Hands in hair, 
i see restlessness, where?
I need you to focus, but you don't care.

Don't move,
Sit still 
Let my eyes fill
With your mild chill. 

Your silent shiver,
Such a thriller.
I know you're uncomfortable,
But I'm a giver.

Can't choose,
You lose.
So, welcome to my mad world, 
the old you,
My new muse. 

Monday, December 8, 2014


It was when you started crawling through my walls
of fatigue,
When your whispered touches began winding their way
through my words,
I knew. 
And when your accidental caress felt heavier than 
the weight on my shoulders,
When the brush of your back against mine
pushed away my past, if only temporarily,
I knew.
When your quiet confidence gave birth
to a new chaos,
When your soft eyes raged with a desire
too wild to tame,
I knew.
It was in the desperate moment when your sweet gestures of subtle emotion
became larger than my conscience,
When your mouthfuls of sweet somethings
became my truth,
I knew.

It was when the comfort of your cheek on my hand
felt like a resting mistake.
When your stolen glances and purposeful silence
fell on suspicious eyes,
I knew.
And when your careful gestures became larger
than your words,
And your mind refused to see
What your body couldn't deny,
I knew.
I knew that in the hours lost to my whimsy
I became the mannequin 
you used to 
explore a battle you knew
you'd never win. 

Monday, October 20, 2014


Misery loves company
and tragedy is my greatest muse.
So it's no wonder that you followed me around,
resting on my shoulders,
at ease with the knowledge that 
you became my cloak of heartbreak.
Now it's down to me understanding
when the universe is going to turn around
and beg for my forgiveness
for chasing you into the crooks of my soul.
I spend my time hiding in the corners of these umpteen walls
because closing my eyes is easier than saying goodbye. 
You see,
that's the nature of a heartbreaker
conditioned by the fingers that kept chipping away
tiny bits of an already-exhausted heart. 
I know that you know that I know that these word games
only mean that I've always been better at surviving a storm
than living it. 
There's a comfort in being ravaged by the multiple hands
of near-perfect lovers; 
In being chewed and spit out because the only feeling 
it leaves you breathing
is the knowledge that now, 
there's one less heartbreak to deal with. 
Whoever said that the number game was the act of adding on,
never understood the luxury
of taking off
what was never sown. 
So here I am, 
standing tall, feeling small
knowing that the superficial forehead kiss you gave my emotions
was just a way of letting me know
that beneath pretty words, and white lies
is always a bed of glass
waiting to teach me how to sew up the gaping scars of
answers that never had questions. 

Friday, October 17, 2014


You can't sit by the street light, flicking a cigarette into the night sky,
claiming to be drunk on a bottle of rum. 
The mere shadow of a rhyme, I profess at quarter past 9,
That my life's lost rhythm. 
You stare into the distance, denying my existence,
I scream, shout and stare,
Giving an indignant shake to my hair. 
You slide your eyes down my body, 
You ask "Haven't you some place else to be?"
And turn away into the soft breeze. 

Friday, October 10, 2014

Thursday, March 27, 2014

There Was A Time

There was a time when to write in verse
was the only ache my heart could read
- finely, minutely, intricately -
Like fingers flying over braille,
or over the crevices of my mind.
There was a time. 

Not long ago, the sweet taste of intimacy
curdled to bitterness. 
Sharp, warm, and like molasses, 
it spread over every part of me
that had been kissed so intimately,
that old lovers slid off
to make way for the lingering taste of the new.
Even then, the words I read were only those
that fell off of the lips of my memories.
Even then.

And do you know, there was a time
when the warm twist of aged friendship 
could grab me in a vise-like grip - 
so gentle that the only bruise it left
was the comfort that comes with familiar arms.
Back then 
- you know when the scars could scab
as easily as fruit going ripe - 
the bloodshot shot eyes
of a wounded liver couldn't keep me from running
into the libido of a one-time lover. 

There was also a time, not so fine,
when grief meant 3 am tantrums against a bathroom wall.
My body sliding down, down, down
towards the carcass of failed love. 
That was the time when wafting scents of content
lead me straight into an abyss 
that would solicit only frowns. 

dead is the author that once drove through the walls of despair 
with the sharp tip of a poet's quill.
Because all the ink I had in me bled through the scars and drowned in the grief,
that found its way onto the graves of mutual memories.