Bad.

Little good for nothing prick.
He had gotten used to the voices in his head by now. It had begun when he was 4, and now at 31, he still heard the same disapproving chaos every hour of the day.
When he was younger, he would try to please them in secrecy; he knew his Christian mother wouldn’t approve. He had smoked his first joint at 12, had sex with an older woman at 13 and killed his neighbor’s dog at 16. He had stolen, threatened and kidnapped. He had scars to match every story.

Good for nothing failure.
At 19 he got a girl pregnant, who left the child at his Christian mother’s Christian steps.
A baby girl. A nuisance. A gift.
No, he didn’t change over night. Or maybe he did. His mother would thank the Lord at every Sunday mass.
6 years later ghosts from his pasts came to haunt him. He never saw his little girl again.

Asshole. Loser. Idiot. Bastard.
No. He wasn’t good. His wasn’t a Christmas miracle story. He was bad. Hell, bad was his calling.
The voices in his head, the truth of his soul. It was a good thing she died. Just a nuisance.
He was a demon. He felt no remorse, no pain.
He worked his days at the local shelter, and nights at the hospital scrubbing floors.
And sometimes, his hands would just itch to stop a critical patient’s drip or turn the oxygen knob close.
He wasn’t good. He would never be good.

You’re a selfish jerk. You’re a monster. You’re the devil himself.
He fought. He fought daily. He fought to leave behind his past. He fought to forget combing her raven hair. He fought to keep up his good façade.
But he never won. He couldn’t. He was evil. He was evil before he could even breathe. He was evil, not by choice but by nature.
He couldn’t fight his demons for long. How long?
He wasn’t good. He was evil.

Die. Die. Die. Die.
Dead.

Inspirations, Inspirations.

She was damaged, that, her work could conclude.

But then again, no artist was truly ever a happy soul.
Their prose and music and art stemmed from their broken minds.
A bleeding heart, their core.

She resided in her dark, unhappy place.
Making it her home, letting it engulf her.

She was her last musical piece.
Her essence fueled her art.
On the nights she danced, she enacted her destruction.
Her words, her only friends.

She wasn't unhappy in the truest sense.
Just sad.
She let her art sail her away.
She wasn't her destination, but the journey.

Shades of cold

Have you ever felt like a desert
All dried up, nothing left in you.
Not a sight of water anywhere, Nor a cool shade of anything.
So dry, that the cactus seen miles away gives you more hope than rationality permits.
Even the scorching sun unable to extract more from you.
So drained and weary, that living seems like a curse?

Have you ever felt like a rock on the ocean floor
Drowning and drowning, Ever eroding
The mere thought of surface seems like a fairytale
The continuous battle to keep together weakening your heart
the darkness of crashing waves, taking away every hope
No will, no dream, nor a thought

Have you ever felt heartbroken
be it a mother's, friend's or a lover's
Surrounded by darkness
Never leaving, never forgetting
Engulfed by the sadness, the wicked coldness.

Just a star

His eyes glittered, like the stars above
as he lay on the green earth
remembering the time he lay holding her
her fingers filling the empty spaces between his


He closed his eyes to the blinding pain,
a single tear slipped out the corner
he imagined her laughter, so full of sunshine
her silky brown mane, blown back by wind
he remembered her labored breaths, when they made love on pearl white bed
he remembered watching her sleep, peaceful like an angel


and then he opened his eyes
felt her hollow presence
how he missed her being
how she was all but a star now
one of the million, and so far away

Sensuality

The torturous and delicious feeling of your fingers on my skin
The light breathe on my neck
Your touch unravels me

The look on your face, hovering just inches from mine
The sweet murmurings escaping from your lips
The labored breathes escaping our mingled mouths
The way you feel to me

Slow, delightful torture that you play
Simple touches promising so much more
Bodies shedding more than just coverings
Souls meeting and dancing
The wicked joy of doing something forbidden
Mixed with the wonder of feeling so right

Touch me, feel me, promise me
Let me cross to that side to wait for you
Meet me at the center of our universe
Let our worlds collide

Time?

When is it the right time?
To do what we want to?
To do what is unconventional to the world?
To fall in love?
To make mistakes and learn?

When is the right time?
To let go to just be yourself?
To forget the world for one day?
To not be afraid to cry?

To be weak before strong?

Is now the right time?

To let my walls down?

To find that special one?

To curl up and just sleep?

To believe in rainbows and Santas?

Will there ever be a right time?
Really ever?

Love? or Love.

The feeling of fullness in your chest
The butterflies in stomach
The nervous chills running down your back when you see him
Emptying your wardrobe before your first date
Is that love?

The feeling of safety in his arms
The reassuring smell of him in your dreams
The feeling of completeness with him
His gentle kiss on your burning forehead
Is that love?

Breath leaves you when you see him
His mesmerizing beauty overcoming all flaws
Suddenly all you think of is him
Suddenly it all makes sense
That is love

You start your day with him
You end your day with him
His smiles warm your heart
His tears tear your world apart
That is love

What is love?
What really, is love?

Dead end

I run out the door and head for the beach- heart racing, mind spinning, forgetting to slow down to a more normal speed until I am already there.

Toes tipping towards the water, a cloud of sand and bewildered people left in my wake. Each one of them squinting and shaking their heads, telling themselves they imagined it. Couldn't possibly. No one can run THAT fast.

No one who appears as normal as me.

I abandon my flip-flop and wade further in, at first stopping to roll the hem of my jeans, then deciding not to bother when a wave comes and wets them to my knees.
Just wanting to feel something- something tangible, physical- a problem with an obvious fix.
Unlike the kinds I have been wrestling with lately.

And though I am no stranger to loneliness, I've never felt quite as lonely as this. I have always had someone to go to. Sabine- Riley- Damon- my friends; but now with my entire family gone, Sabine busy with Munoz, My boyfriend on a break and friends I can't confide in- Whats the point?

Whats the point of having the power, the ability to manipulate energy and manifest things, if I can't manifest the one thing I REALLY want?
Whats the point of seeing ghosts when I can't see the one who actually means something to me?
Whats the point of living forever when I am forced to live like this?

I go deeper, 'til I'm up to mid-thigh; never having felt so alone on such an over crowded beach, so helpless on such a bright-sunny day
I keep going in until the waves crash against my chest. My sunburn hair, dripping wet;at other times, I would have probably thought of turning into a mermaid and diving underwater.
I keep going in.

Darkness envelops me. Its the end of everything ans starting of infinity The feeling of claustrophobia crushing my chest. Its death.
Its darkness, dread, fear and nothing. Like everything positive or faintly radiating is being pulled out of my soul.. With a force so strong, that my lifeless body starts to feel pain.

Welcome to Shadow-land.
Your time is now over and out.

Fallacy

God.

Science says that we do not accept those we cannot see.
Hence, no God.
What of the force that created physics of the universe?
The force that makes time flow forward and not allow everything to happen at once. The force that sets the planets to turn the way they do.

Deep down, there isn’t all that big a coincidence.
How much of it can be?

The sheer happening of something. The force that compels man to do what he must. It is so vast, that what we call chaos is simply another part of its order, with a shape too big to see.
Its weapons, coincidence, unlikelihood, and happenstance.
It is there when a man stops to pick up a coin dropped by another man and the woman who is to be his wife bumps into him. 50 years later, their offspring is controlling half the world.
It is there, when a chance comment causes a scientist to think, “what if….?” And ten years later, a great plague is cured.

It has no name, nor will it ever.
Men may term it as Almighty, Fate or Destiny.

Snatched

He jogged on the pavement. Earphones blasting with some punk music. Sneakers thudding on the wet ground.
As always, he ran.

She looked outside her window. She couldn’t see him yet. She searched frantically amid the crowd on the street below.
Finally spotting his unmistakeable blonde head, she sighed in relief.

He slowed his jog to a walk as he approached the old battered building across the road. Weaving his hand through his hair, he looked up and saw the girl again.
Like every day.

He knew she looked at him, since the very beginning. Once or twice, they had even shared a smile. A smile that seemed to illuminate up her face from inside.

Today, she looked different. Even from down below he could say that confidently. She was pale. Paler than usual. The skin around her eyes was tight. So much so, that he wondered whether it would crack up like a porcelain doll.
And her hair….her beautiful brown mane, which shone at him from the old rat-house, was gone.

His face tightened. She grew conscious. It was silly of her to stand there for him. She didn’t want to worry him. She had no business worrying him.  She had a coughing fit just then. Her body began to tremble. And in chilling moment of clarity, she knew it was over. She would never stand at this window again.
She didn’t want him to see her in her weak state. She willed herself to stop and with her very last strength, drew the curtains to block her view. She felt like a door had been slammed on her face.

______________________________________________________________________

Today again he jogged his way out of the 6 o’clock crowd. Didn’t they know he had to be somewhere? Didn’t they realize his urgency?

When he reached the building, he flinched back instinctively. He suddenly felt hopeless. He felt like someone had gutted him in the stomach and stole his dreams. He felt the bile rising in his food pipe. Thank God, he dint throw up.
The window was shut.

______________________________________________________________________

Sarah Delia was a God-fearing woman. Meaning, she never missed a Sunday prayer. In her 75 years, she has never missed a morning mess. Nor did she forget to pray every night like her nana had taught her. 

She was clean and stopped evil thoughts before they formed. 

Her father, had left her a three-storied house at the corner of Park-Street and she lived off renting rooms to odd kinds of people.

This day, was a Sunday, and so she was getting ready to walk down to the church. Knowing it to be the elderly milkman, late as always, she opened the door.

At Sarah Delia’s door was a ragged, young man who could possibly not be over 30. He wore a day or two old stubble and didn’t look like her managed much sleep either. God-fearing as she was, she was also a kind soul. She immediately took pity on the young man, and asked him in.

______________________________________________________________________

Daniel was hovering outside her room. He couldn’t decide whether he should go in, or just leave. 

He had talked to her doctors. They said that they were sorry, nothing could be done now. 

She was deeply unconscious and her conditions were deteriorating abnormally fast.

Leukaemia, at its last stage.

She was dreaming. In her dream, she was running down the street that the boy used to. She came across the building and looked up. In the window, was his face framed by the rotting woods.
And in that moment, she felt a strange calming bliss. Like she had achieved what was asked of her.

“You should go in. God know, you don’t have much time.”
Daniel looked up to see Sarah, the landlady looking down at him.
“I can’t,” he simply said.
“God knows you can,” she said, “And I do too. It might be your last chance.”
He looked up and in the eyes of the elderly lady, saw a belief that infected him. He got up thinking that maybe he would be the last way out.

Everyone believes in miracles.

He opened the door quietly and looked at her. Even though she was ghostly pale and looked ages older, she radiated warmth through the ghost of smile that played lightly across her face while she slept.

He walked over to her side and sat on the chair.

“Hi,” he managed. He could sense the bile rising in his stomach. He felt sick to his gut with hopelessness. 

“I came to see you,” he gently cradled her hand in his and stroked.

Suddenly, her eyes fluttered and opened. In those he saw his own worried face reflecting back.
She heaved a sigh and widened her smile and slowly shut her eyes.

Finally, she had found her bliss.