certified idiot

wo kehti hai ki usse mujhse pyaar hai, shayad merko uske ruth jaane se nafrat.

meri har muskurahat ko camere mer qaid karlena chahti thi, kehti thi, ki even if we do not share the same sky one day, ye tasveerein to hamesha rahengi. na jaane kya dikhta tha usko meri dhai second ki muskaan mei.

kabhi nazron ko milti fursat unke chehre se, to shayad mai bhi puch pata. main isiliye ab in tasveeron se jhijakne laga hoon, tere saath na hone ka khayal hi aisa hai, ki ab main tere paas aane se bhi darta hun. tum chali gayi kabhi to sirf ye tasveerein to reh jaayengi mere pass, bas ye tasveerein hi to reh gayi hain.

it could last forever.

but I can't, and you won't.

maybe it was because she was there when everyone else kept running out on me, survivor's guilt washed away.

the trouble with wanting something is the fear of losing it, or never getting it. the thought makes you weak.

even now. they will hook me up to a polygraph and ask me if I love you and I will say no but the needle will jump and sputter exactly how you laugh.

no hell could burn what she made holy.

so i remain unsaved. still her's.

but what do you do about life? there are no choices. nothing but a straight line. the illusion comes afterwards, when you ask 'why me?' and 'what if?' when you look back, see the branches, like a pruned bonsai tree, or a forked lightning.

my love is buried down there with the memories of what was. i tell myself it was a tragic misunderstanding, an awful mistake. I tell myself a lot of things. All of it crap.

love killed me. love saved me. love got everyone i ever cared for. That's why I run from it. drink myself into a hole.

life is slipping. spiralling out of my control.

my past is a puzzle, like a broken mirror. as i piece it together, i end up cutting myself, my image keeps shifting. it could destroy you, drive you mad. it could set you free.

my present is hazy, full of smoke. i am pathetic. but that is what it's like living at the bottom of a bottle.

the smell in my house reminds me how long it'd been since I'd had any food; A drinker eats when he's loaded. a real drunk eats when he's not.

although i only have a glimpse of the whole picture, the irony not lost on me. but sometimes I catch a look in the mirror and for an instance i see what the rest of the world does-

a smoke. a whiskey. for the sun to shine. i want to sleep. to forget. to change the past. a wife and a baby girl.

unlimited ammo and a license to kill. right there, more than anything, I wanted you.

but who was i to talk? everything was subjective. there were only personal apocalypses and nothing is a cliché when it's happening to you.

it poisons reality and force-feeds you fantasy.

it was socrates' last drink and the buddha's last meal.

it will be the death of you, and your parents, and every endless empire.

but you haunt them like a siren, like water in a dying man's dessert.

i wonder how many memories I have purged from my mind for the mere transgression of you being in them.

yet, here I am. in your old texts, your old pictures; the naked pages of borrowed books and mismatched laces.

as I spend my entire existence begging to be believed. And not just my existence, but everything from then on.

the ghost of my past will be carried with me until I am ready to give up my bones.

they are suffocating but I enjoy it.

I won't complain for you allow me to feel so incredibly vividly. It feels like it's been years.

All I can utter is "sorry-"

It is met with a confused look 'oh', that look which says "Huh? for what?-"

nothing...

but even my noose would break under the weight of the crown I have placed about your head

i spent eons with you in my head that part of you has gotten lost in me.

"will it be different this time?" these were the last words of the summer sun to the poppy flowers.

a score and 2 years is how long I'd waited. waited and waited and when your lips met mine, the euphoria was nearly as good as when I tried to bleed myself to death.

seeing you pray to god I wondered if he was real, and i realised not soon enough, such a cruel existence could only be his work. perhaps my destruction is what he wishes.

to be somewhere new, in the same, tired places, to vanish into computers, white noise, and taxes

in another life, you're making tea, and i'm washing our laundry,

it's over. it's over. it's over. it's over. it's over. it's over. it's over. it's over.it's over. it's over. it's over. it's over. it's over.

never again shall I let anyone know me like that. for i used to think when I saw you with someone else I would burn the world to the ground, yet when I did.

i couldn't even light a match.

they will get glimpses of you, they will smell what you smelt like and they will hear me call your name through a moonlit night.

they will experience unimaginable wonders As they feast,on the corner of my brain that houses you. they will not move an inch without bumping into a piece of you.

the aroma of despair will not stop me from looking for you and only you.

"tell me mortal, why do you cling in the face of your demise?" "I don't know" I will tell him.

i have held fast to your entreaty, "endure"- the word is a curse.