Home

Do you ever get this feeling,

At the bridges of those huge train stations?

Where there are intersections?


No,  not that of leaving permanently

for an out-bound train


Even if you're going with people

Who you've called home all your life

There's  a queasy feeling

Like you've left home behind.


Does it hit you?

Do the people on the huge platform crossing by

give you the impression that they are

bodiless souls or soulless bodies

Flitting away into nothingness

And exchanging voids?


Maybe only I get this feeling

Maybe it is because people who I've called home

Left me

I know I shouldn't have.


Because homes are something

you're comfortable in.

You don't go house hunting.

Home beckons you.


You can't go to a house, find potential

and then wait for it to be your home, or wait,

do you?


I called this someone home,

Too soon I guess.

Something like a week and a half into knowing him. Or

A month and half, I dont know.

Was it actually a year and half?

Anyway, what's important is that it remained just that half.


But what we should learn,

Is to live, nevertheless.


You know the funny thing?

I'd once read this quote that went something like:

It's okay to make homes out of people if.

And I lost the quote.

Now, tell me, how am I supposed to make a

home if I can't remember a quote?


I've tried, you know

I think I've tried it all.

Finding the quote,

Leaving the home be.


But it hasn't worked so far for me.

All that poetic bullshit they say?


"My darkness and his darkness are friends."

I'm going to wait it out and see if it's true.


I'm going to wait for home to come to me.

Homes, old and new. 

If you need a heart to break, take mine.

Don't do it for your sake, do it for mine.

If you just need another chemical to balance the equation,

Control the reaction,

Why the hesitation?

If, to heal, it takes blood and meat to feed on, take mine.

It it takes all of me, to repair just a part of you, be mine. 

Let's talk about the books of yore.

The sea and the shore.

Coffee beans.

Sand grains.

Songs.

Stories that never end.

Sparkling conversations.

Cackling laughter.

Genuine chemistry.

Intimacy.

Book covers.

Past lovers.

Feel good fuzz.

The daily buzz.

Soft toys.

Your favourite car.

Your first memory.

And then, me.

You.

And the stars in your eyes.

How beautifully you behold the sky.

At dusk. And dawn.

Twilight.

Which shines bright.

The reflections they make.

A bokeh on your face.

The simply satisfying smile.

Which is achieved through pasta, bread and wine.

Cheese.

Cake.

Soup.

Breaks.

Coffee mugs.

Tired hugs.

Let the conversation run through its path.

Let the jokes carry on as unasked.

I wish these talks never end.

Ways we have to never mend.

Destiny may take its turns, agreed.

But let's continue to meet, shall we?

Help.

I need help.


I don't know if it's just a story

I'm telling myself,

Or if it's really true

But all I know is that the fresh

scars have teased the hurt anew.


The blood curling, hair raising

defiant cries went right through you.


Do you really know now, why

you are one of those few,

That I come to?

I see in your eyes the same fear

that I used to have too.

The same quivering of lips, the same nervous chatter, the

same night chills and cold sweat.

The same restlessness.

The same listlessness.

The same nail biting, teeth rattling fear of the unknown.

Under you, I can smell the suffering of a past that refuses

to let anything else haunt you.


Tell me now, if I can really tell

you, all that I've been meaning to.

Deep, dark secrets of the yore

that no one but you must know.


Sometimes, I laugh at the inevitability of it all.

It is a bitter, scary,

cackling sound that pierces the sky and then pierces me right back.

It tears my heart apart into two perfect pieces.

One, that was yours, and one that can be mine.


Each fresh day, I awaken to try

and experience something akin to a life.

But darling, tell me, doesn't the mere idea of love,

now that you've known so much,

not scare the hell outta you?

If not, tell me, what I must do,

To leave behind these lingering

demons, that have a way of climbing behind my back, like old friends,

or little children.

So that even in the silence, I don't hear sounds, that humans aren't supposed to.


A grave has been constructed for all our dreams to fall back to,

A dark place, where I can still see you, love you and hold you, without any ado. 

When the sky becomes dull and grey,

And gloomy weather takes over the day,

Come to me, and I will sing the tunes to make you gay.

When bright sunshine is what you seek, I’ll be your ray.

If it takes pancakes to see that warm, honey coloured smile of yours, darling, go on, have it your way.

But listen, I really hope you know this, I’m not letting you go anywhere, not yet, nay. 

While it rains outside

While it rains outside,

I wish you were by my side,

Whispering the profound words,

That only you can.

I wish you were,

The yellowing, fragrant pages,

Of the book that I hold close.

While it rains outside,

I wish you were here,

To share your my loneliness and my coffee,

So that I could tell you my stupid little conspiracy theories,

And you would listen to them, half-smiling, half approvingly,

Ever like the sly Sherlock.

I wish you were by my side,

While it rains outside,

So that we could hide,

And confide,

Under my warm blanket by the bed’s side.

But you are lying somewhere,

Unknown, of me and my existence,

And, of my heart’s desires.

Your nose is in a book.

Pray, tell me which one it is,

So that the next time it rains outside,

I can have you by my side.

Demons

Your demons are mine now

I want to hold you and then hug you,

Till you become like me.

Bright, shiny and happy.

Complete.

And even if that means,

that I'll have to hold you,

When you can't hold yourself together,

That's something I'd willingly do.

I'd willingly make slow, soft love to your wounds.

Till your demons hide in mine.

And our demons become one.

And then, let's get ovet them together.