Skinny scaffolding piercing the uniform night

Pale grey having littered itself across the horizon

Never in my wildest dreams

Could the end be this calm

That my stronghold’s final journey would be so tranquil and pure

Unfazed by the circumstances that shroud her vessel


Lift the weight off your heavy chest

Nurse the light; a little, then all at once

Find your medium

For you’ve given more than your all

And as much as I wish

That the finite be endless

All I ask

Is that peace enflower your being

For now, forever

Rest, angel.



I wrote bits and pieces of this poem while I was sitting by my darling grandmother’s hospital bed, at 2:30 am. She passed on the day after, very peacefully. This was what my last night with her felt like – it was the most painful thing I’ve ever experienced,  yet there was a strange calm to it that I simply cannot explain. I sit here two months later, having finally completed this poem, tears glistening my eyes, Simon and Garfunkel playing in my room, and I’m very, very, broken. I miss you like hell, and the agony I feel when I realise I can’t have you back is absolutely killing me.


Pretty Tunes

Academic hypothermia’s a pretty little thing

Symptomatic, pre-notioned discomfort

In tickles instead of in waves

But they still do their deeds


Pretty tunes may diminish them

But only for the fleeting moment

And the weird part is

The butterflies in your stomach dance to them too


How curious, that unsettlement waltzes to fear and joy alike

That it sees no difference in the status quo

Neither negative nor positive pulls at its axis

Flattering ubiquity, isn’t it?


And so I’ll wait to find

That tune with a tranquilizer

It has to be pretty, of course

Pretty enough to let the butterflies rest


They flutter back and forth all their lives

Their effect drastically taking on ours

But perhaps with fewer floating wings

Even the dust settles, too.

Shitty Love Cliches


That horribly overused cliche

The one where you’re ready to text her

Not just with a couple of words

But your entire heart laid raw in a shitty text box

Having spilled your truth your pain your misery your hatred your love your longing your desire your life your death

You’re all up for jumping in front of the train

Because when it hits you and sends you flying into the air

Bones ajar, a mangled wreck

You’ll be moving again, at the very least

You no longer will be the stale stagnant whirl of mundane polluted air at that point

You’ll be more broken but at least you’re doing something by bleeding

And your guitar frets will be smeared with that same blood one day

Because your blood on that text

That you tapped backspace on timidly and cowardly

May very well never even get to her

Only finding its way into the lyrics of a lovesick song you may never write

Or a hopeless poem like this you thought you’d never draft

Never getting to the person you’ll never know the same again

John Mayer poised this heartbreak pleasurably as Slow Dancing In A Burning Room

But he didn’t mention in the song that you’re dancing alone in the burning room

Even his Strat’s pretty cleans have left you for good

“Go cry about it why don’t you?”

*backspace backspace backspace*

The blank textbox stares at you while you stare back

“How are you?”


The textbox wasn’t any less blank when you typed that, by the way

I just thought I’d let you know.


*read best while on a binge of John Mayer’s music, lovesickness, and a burning love-hate conflict.

Caramel Vodka, Split With Cherries

I’m nowhere near your delicate bravado

Your raspy falsetto like caramel vodka, split with cherries

Or those dazzling galaxies you call your eyes

Shimmering black holes behind square lenses


I could have counted the five minutes with my fingers

But I swear it felt like a lifetime

When yours swirled through overpriced fabric

The same ones which gripped my unsteadily beating heart


I’m a sucker for towering flames which eventually ravage me

But your fire, it was not quite the same

Oceans and volcanoes and ashes wouldn’t even dare to tread your maze of veins


I always thought, flames would always triumph

But little did I know that snowflakes could burn harder and brighter


I’d say you’re impeccable

Simply because you’re not

And that’s driving me insane


Clearly, I fell hard.



Spiked sunrise shaded by thunder

Let no man put this comfort asunder

But in that way what we’ve seen today

Striped blue collars aren’t of my way


A red velvet pouch hugs your screen

Mine just screeches white blacked by green

My my, what a questionable thought

Two juxtaposed would give fraught


Orange waves playing sonar with wood

I need to swallow my medicine

I know I should

But I don’t want to


This is my semi struck damp humid night

Circular at the edges, it doesn’t feel right

An unstable table shouldering tempered glass

I just want this bleak to pass

My Alma Mater

Faded beige

The color of my past

I pried it out of my memory

It can’t be a part of me

It just can’t


I bit through my chains

As if they were pythons

“They’re out to kill me”, I screamed

I bled myself out


The monster wasn’t the place

It was my head

The streaks of red marked not a bloody vengeance

But the hope of an abode


Dusty seats, the calm after the storm

The storm was mine and mine only, but

I shamefully labelled the walls with my hate

I thought it was your fault


Clarity finally appeared

In minute and metal

It was supposed to be a shelter

And that exactly, it did


A resounding threshold

Sitting sturdy on what was once sea

It welcomed, it beckoned


“Come home, son”

It called

“This piece is still yours”


mild irritation like pins 

and needles, of course

at every sight

i discern

whether the specks of dust on my spectacle lens

or the sight of a cocky smirking man

or the humidity of the barren weather

it must be the weather