What would you give to feel?

What if you wake up one day and felt nothing?
What would you miss the most?
Would it be the love you felt for the girl with the hazel eyes and the weird habits who you always yearned for?
Would it be the happiness that filled your heart when your mother ran her fingers through your hair after a though day?
Would it be the sadness that engulfed you when that friend you always liked just stopped being your friend anymore?
Would it be the hatred you realized was inside you when that person who promised to be there through thick and thin disappeared that one night you needed them the most?

What would you give to feel?
What would you do to be human again?

Everyone’s fighting.
In a battleground of their own creation.
Everyone loses some.
And everyone wins some.

But those who bury their emotions at the end of this battle,
Are the ones who lose being human.


New Day?

I’m awake.

I’ve come to realizations that come after a fitful sleep on a dark, damp, desolate night.

I’ve realized something about love. Love is to be never thrown away because on dark, damp, desolate nights, a little love is all you need.

I’ve realized something about hate. Hate is a powerful thing. It can be only overcome with love. But the love has to be powerful enough.

I’ve realized something about the past. The past has the power to hurt you. And no matter how much you regret your decisions, choices, actions, they’ll always be them.

I’ve realized something about us too.
It’ll never be the same.
We’ll never be that close ever again.
Because that was the past.
All there is now is the present.

I haven’t been sleeping.

But I’m awake.

I’m wide awake.


You look back.
You turn around
To nothingness.

Are you okay?
You don’t really know.
Will you survive?
You will, you know.
Will it ever be the same?
Not ever.

Loss is a wound.
A thorn in your side.
You pull the thorn out,
The wound heals.
But it’s always there.

Memories fade.
Like scars.
Because that is what
Memories are.
Memories are scars.
Left by loss.

Loss is a wound.
Wounds hurt.


I am the world.

I am the sky, the sun, the moon and all the stars.

I am the day and the night. Dusk and dawn.

I am the wildest dream. The scariest nightmare.

I am fire and ice.

I am a crumpled mess of thoughts and silence. I am gentle and I am harsh and death and life and divine and devilish and anger and lust and love and hate.

I am all you ever want. All you ever need. All you crave and all you push away.

I’m the word in your prose and the meaning in your poetry.

I am a cluster of paradoxes.

I am not this world.

I am the universe.

I’m infinite.

Am I enough?


I look around and I’m all alone.
But maybe I’m not.
I’m with my demons. In my mind.

I look around and I’m with friends.
But maybe I’m not.
I’m all alone.
With my demons. In my mind.

Are they real?
Or are they fictions of my imagination?
Are they shadows of my past?
Or are they my present?

My demons are mine.
Mine to deal with. Mine to fight.
No one else can help me.
No one can save me.

It’s just me. And them.
All alone in my mind.
And as of now.
I’m trapped.


In chaos , I look into her eyes and find peace.
In darkness, I look into her eyes and find light.
In pain, I look into her eyes and find relief.
In sorrow, I look into her eyes and find solace.

There is something about those pearl-round, charcoal-black, marble-like glistening eyes. They have a thing about them that makes them something….divine.

They have a way about them. An enigma. A mystery.
Like, they say a thousand words when the world stands quiet.
They smile loads when no one is watching.
They sing songs of the past when the nightingales rest.
They show glimpses of the future no crystal ball can show.
They praise when the earth and heaven disapprove.
They shed tears when the clouds won’t dare.
They burn with rage when the coals have all bur burnt out.
They splash when the seas are calm.

They are all nature has to offer.
They are a gift to the world just as much the world is a gift to them.

What is so special about them, you ask?

They will show you heaven and hell and good and bad and pious and unholy and worthy and unworthy.
All in a blink.
They are not just eyes.
They are my windows to her world.
And mine.


“We live in a beautiful world”
-Chris Martin; Don’t Panic

I believed all the Chris Martin said, when I first heard this song. But as the days pass by, I’m starting to see the ruse. A “beautiful world” is nothing but an illusion. To play us. 
The world is a dirty, disgusting place with just two kinds of people. The bad and tormenting. And. The good and tormented.

Look around you. All you see is people. People with stories and memories and desires and fetishes and kinks and perks and problems and experiences and lessons and broken hearts and pains, People with places to go to and with places already gone to. People with knowledge and people seeking it.  People with love to give and people with love to take.
But you know what, there are people with hatred and revenge and blood-lust and the worst part, they outweigh the good.

You think you know them, the people around you?
You don’t.

You think they’ve bared it all out with you?
They haven’t. Neither have you.

You think you’re whole their life and they are yours?
You aren’t.

Because we all have secrets.

We all have that world that is truly only ours.

And in that world, we are what we truly are.