skinnydong

[skinnydong]

When you're waking up, the world is a blur. What was clear in a dream, suddenly makes no sense. No surreal rescues, no easy, magic, way out.

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.

every now and then I will have people ask me that one thing. "What're you doing arjun..." and there it is- the million dollar question i don't have the answer to.

[skinnydong]

the life of Arjun Singh

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 bad caricature of a better man.

[skinnydong]

the things that i want by Arjun Singh.

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.

guess i hadn't seen it coming, but that was no surprise. it's hard to keep your eye on the ball through the bottom of a glass.

[skinnydong]

love turns all other feelings into loneliness.

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.

and i need it; i need it, so badly, so insipidly-stupidly, enough to write you these poems, hoping you find them between recipes and ads.

[skinnydong]

i want to sit with my memories: the summer storms and corner stores;

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.

unchanged, unfortunately still.. yours

[skinnydong]

I am no less than a god,

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.

And in my final moment, I will utter your name in a shaky breath. will they believe me?

[skinnydong]

just one glance at you and my heart flutters. the memories we share come cascading down onto me.

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...

nothing.

[skinnydong]

the only way I will feel your touch is by learning it's warmth, through the blood flowing on my wrists.

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.

"no" i would whisper to myself.

[skinnydong]

i drink myself to the point I cannot feel anymore, i drink to the point where I don't have to think about that day.

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.

dear god, i wish you'd stop making me feel nineteen again.

[skinnydong]

not only leaving you. but leaving myself.

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,

and you'll never say you love me,because i'll never need to ask.

[skinnydong]

cowards, bastards and broken things, the both of us.

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.

did you at least think of me on my day?

[skinnydong]

And when I am six feet underground with bugs eating my brain.

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.

like, a view of the cosmos, you will fade, as will i. and they will go back to eating. a brief paradise in their tiny world.

[skinnydong]

death himself will be standing across from me and yet I will peer over his shoulder in hopes of seeing 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.

enough. i have suffered... more than enough. i ask you forgive me, dearest [redacted]

[skinnydong]

Is it selfish to not care what people feel when I die? "don't die I'll be sad"

And why should I care? I will return. to the soil and the earth will take care of me and death will be kinder than man. you think I am going to care if you're a little sad?

be happy I am finally free from the detrimental grip of all evil. I finally have salvation. be happy you get to live with me through memory, and that you will see me on the other side when we are both no longer suffering.

and maybe, in the next life... we are just two cats who know no harm living under the same roof looking out of the window together, basking in the sun.

if not, at least we got to spend time together in this life. not that it did any good.

[skinnydong]

If ever we become (strangers)

And I know I must sound horrible. I must sound wretched. I must sound rancid and revolting even saying this but if ever we stop talking.

if ever we decide that our miserly hearts do not hold the capacity to wholly love each other-I hope it guts you every single day as much as I know it will gut me.

I hope the mere memory of me is intolerable and leaves you tortured and perpetually incomplete.

I hope you love me so insufferably much that (every day without me is an unbearable one, every face you look at is a reminder of mine, every voice you hear has the same rhythm as mine)

and every poem you read sounds like something I would've written for you

[skinnydong]

these books, these poems, these stories, you- all of these have something in common. there is such ecstatic beauty in all of these. they've ruined my life.

there was once a time when you told me to love myself before I loved you. perhaps I should have answered with another question. if i couldn't be yours.. how do you suppose I could ever be my own?

I write these decrepit stories trying to find myself, yet all of them are about you. and when they aren't, its probably because the ink in my pen went dry waiting for the day you'd come back.

i say now, that i hate you, but every fiber of my being yells out your name. but that is the problem, is it not. your name.

You are everywhere, as omnipotent as him. yet, i cannot help but question loving you, You and your wretched existence, i loved you....

I should have loved the skies instead, At least when it pours, the sky roars at me. It is more than you have ever done.

[skinnydong]

i want to hand you my heart, wrapped in sheer cloth-patterned with your face.

as you hold it- still beating, i hope you hear how it thumps your name over and over again.

but all you do is watch as the blood drips, silent. even now, a blank score across your face. why won't you speak back.

okay! if you can't speak, would you at least listen? it's whispering about how you are so very beautiful and it's getting louder by the minute as it nears it's dying moments. it's not screaming about how you still haunt it. plague it.

despite being barely alive it will pathetically scream at you to say something, anything. but you won't will you? you only speak rain, and sadly it's sunny outside.