Amorephobia

love is fear
this does not mean
be afraid of it

it simply educates
that love
is terror incarnate

it is living in dread
of losing
forgetting
or otherwise misplacing
the living other
that makes you
feel love in the first place

love is fear
this does not mean
you should hide from it

it only assures
the lesson all of us
any way adhere to

of facing it
by putting a face to it
mixing a body
and a mind with it
accepting you are scared
and knowing
someone else accepts it too

love is fear
this does not mean
it is your enemy

nor does it hint
love could be
your friend

it is only confirmation
and personification
of it's inexplicably
random behavior
and it's ability
to play both roles
with equal ease

love is fear
this does not mean
it will kill you

but give it a chance
and i promise
love will not
let you live

Veritapoem

there's this thing about distance
the physical kind
mutates into an emotional strain

it's not a guarantee at all
more of an instinct
a gut feel that punches you
right in the jewels

leaving your insides muddled up
leaving your mind befuddled

because the thing about distance
isn't geography
or distrust
or frustration

it's the editing of identity
it's the lack of instant connectivity
it's living a 2D relationship

through a computer screen
through phone conversations
through letters and poems
through time zones

it's a software update
on two compatible heart disks
let down by a lag in the system

it's the strange thing about distance
the unshakeable feeling
of being left behind

of being undefined
because your meaning is miles away

it's calculating the next rendezvous
it's the end of chance
and the death of happen-stance

distance is being clear in words
because your faces are blurred
sending your memories out of spin

so that pixelation
replaces the true life HD person in your arms
as the edges fade
and your sanity follows

that's the thing about distance
being unclear
being inconsiderate
trying to be at two places

divided between the now
and the coming soon

being granted the curse
of thinking before writing

magnified by the ability to turn away
or disconnect
and blame the technology
whose mercy your equation is at
in the first place

love they say
is the easiest thing in the world
distance is what makes it hard
and slowly hardens the heart

you get used to the tears
you grow numb to wishing
you accept the ache

but that's the thing about distance
it amplifies the absence
so the presence
seems more precious

so every minute apart
builds up to your collision
creating sparks
that rival magicians on stage

and that moment
you were holding on for
erases every other
horrible
emotional
and inevitable
thing about distance

Distance dementia

Come here
and hold the world at bay.

Tie it up
with every word you say.

Give me this,
my moments of peace.

Come here
end my torment please.

Hold my hand
stem the flow of blood.

Save me now
from this coming flood.

Come here
put the heart at rest.

Give a chance
put the lies to test.

Come here
in to my nightmare.

You can't hold me
from all the way there.

When the demons
rise and swallow me whole

come here
and salvage my soul.

Strangely deranged [1]

He wasn't at all surprised to find himself falling back on the unreliable self. Although a familiar feeling, in his head depression was a horrible crutch to lay weight on. It is stronger than most emotions, true. But it's like holding a red hot iron for support, not being able to lean on it or move without it. In hindsight, baring his very soul to another human being may have been a spectacularly bad idea. He should never have gone that far when she came along. Especially knowing that she wouldn't be around to deal with the aftermath. So far, not having anyone to hold and treasure created this cloud of misplaced bliss for him to hide under. A place of ignorant happiness; Population 1. Suddenly, his world had to make room for twice as many people and as always, it's hard to accommodate strangers. Somehow he managed to let the beautiful spectre in, shifting the garbage in his head so that thoughts of her can have some unadulterated space. In both their minds, this was a temporary arrangement. At least it started as that. A relationship with an expiry date. An equation with the uncomfortable solution already written out, waiting for both of them to just run the rituals and reach the conclusion. That didn't seem to stop it from being the best thing in his life. So, despite the voices in his head and the warnings ringing all around, they kept at it. Trying to disprove logic with emotion. But in his head, she walked out of his life the moment she stepped on that train. Or was it a plane? Bah, it doesn't really matter. The fact remains that she left and left him behind. And all the love, joy, fulfilment that he felt for that little while took to the wind after her. All the space he made in his psyche was left hollowed by a lack of her physical presence. His already scattered brain was shaken up so much that, for a while, everything made too much sense. Like a reverse black hole, it started pushing out from the centre, crushing his treasured garbage bin of dark thoughts and strange ideas. His whole and soul slowly being eaten up by an emotion he was never prepared for. He'd never felt these things. Depression, solitude and a few fake laughs was his entire existence. Covering the face of his fucked up self from everyone around was just the right way to be. Now he felt exposed, veering towards the deranged. Despite being alone throughout his life, for the first time, he understood what it meant to be lonely.

Nostradamus

i've seen the end
of this crazy play
let me pretend
till you go away

there's no happy song
or a lullaby here
that wouldn't sound wrong
in this moment of fear

so listen up
i know times are tough
but we're strong enough
to pull through
to wherever it is
we're headed now
rolling off the screen
misguided somehow
to the end i'm sure i've seen

though i know
our chance seems slim
and we hope
a second wind
can power our sails
and take us in
to the place you love
and the people who
fit you like a glove
and know your every whim

so don't you look
back at me
when the doors they close
on this memory
and a stupid prose

about the end i've seen
explains the way i've been
and the way the the story goes
until you go away from me
and the night that had me saved
closes in on me

you have to let me go
even you must know
the things we want
and the things we'll get
are seldom too hard
to differentiate

so we hesitate
hoping for a perfect time
waiting in the same line
as everyone else

though i know
it makes no sense
why you and i
choose to cry
and still pretend
when we're standing here
fighting fear
and the end i think i've seen
the end i think i've seen

Man and monster

Self-doubt has become the dominant emotion. The inability to think freely, without the bother of a ticking clock is getting under my skin. Maybe I chose the wrong life. Worked towards a dream that came true in the most horrifying ways possible. Maybe being listless and lost is just the way to be. Knowing oneself isn't an easy thing, especially if the understanding leaves you feeling more than slightly uncomfortable. And highly disoriented. Like a blindfolded dog, chained to a post running in loops but not knowing exactly where to. The feeling of making progress is always there, but it's a lie. Moving ahead must mean something according to people, it must count for a measurable value. Writing these words as therapy has always been the way but is it the right way forward? It used to seem so simple earlier on. When the Ghosts of Future Uncertain weren't haunting my every step. Now it all seems like a waste. Today everything seems worth the second letter in the word - zero. The utopia I promised myself is a pile of rubble and a strange shadowy figure is leering at me, laughing at me. Just to look him in the eye and take a solitary step is a task too hard for this faint heart. To pump blood into the limbs and lift one foot over the other. What is the worth of this after all, if the only thing I do is pay my time to see nothing in return? No end in sight that I would ever want to trundle towards? Only questions and shadows making friends with my past demons, giving birth to scheming and conniving monsters.

They make sleep seem impossible these days. Mostly because of the nightly demon I thought vanquished, has resurfaced with even more intricate fears at his disposal. Sometimes disguised as a mere axe, meant to cleave through my subconscious like a twig at the mercy of an over-enthusiastic gardener. When I steel my mind against the flashing edge he attacks with ingenious tools, both fragile and deadly. I can feel tiny pins poking holes in the all-too-imperfect armor and the effort of morphing my defenses for the changing harass works perfectly as a counter-measure for rest. But it's not the weapons that could ever defeat me. To some extent the tools are flawed by their very definition. They are things meant to serve a purpose, built for it and existing because of it. And when their purpose is unearthed, they are pitifully easy to counter. In all their complexity the weapons hold no court with the face of this grand beast. That ungodly face.

I cannot forget it. I cannot erase it. I cannot control it. For I am not sure it even exists. In the stead of a face, or rather as a face, this tattered-skin and bone-winged warrior has only layer upon layer of darkness. A mass of no discernible shape or logical purpose. Built wholly out of tar and ash flying up from the shoulders, hiding what can only be the eyes of the satyr. Yet as much as it is meant to, strangely enough, the unseen face doesn't frighten me. It keeps me up, yes. It pushes away my dreams and rest, true. But it does so because it intrigues me. It strikes a dark chord somewhere in my very soul that rings with foreboding. Enough of a death knell to spend lonely hours battling it. Enough of an echo to keep me coming back and stand in front of the demon himself, allowing him to strike me down.

Finally, a worthy opponent.