9b115eb73c0a3ce811131451d9ec83ff

agustdv

United Arab Emirates

[ a f r a h ]

[ s i x t e e n ]

i believe i could be much worse.

Message from Writer

Hello! My name is Afrah. I am sixteen years old, and an Indian, but I live in the UAE.

I can't really write stories, but I like to think I am good with poetry and short pieces.

I hope to be able to grow as a writer on this site, and that I'll make some wonderful friends who will improve me a whole lot more.

9b115eb73c0a3ce811131451d9ec83ff

agustdv (United Arab Emirates) published:

y o u n g

FREE WRITING



I do not know what to tell my younger self.


Sometimes, I am apologetic. I tell her a thousand whimsical excuses. I tell her about a life she does not know yet that she will not have. Hypnotically, I carve lies in her skin. Unflinchingly, she believes me. The guilt stains my rib cage.


Sometimes, I am melancholic. A poignant sense of drunkenness courses through my bloodstream. She coaxes me to her collarbones, and I close my eyes. Sometimes, this...
Seeking Peer Reviews

3 days ago

9b115eb73c0a3ce811131451d9ec83ff
1

agustdv (United Arab Emirates) published:

y o u n g

FREE WRITING



I do not know what to tell my younger self.


Sometimes, I am apologetic. I tell her a thousand whimsical excuses. I tell her about a life she does not know yet that she will not have. Hypnotically, I carve lies in her skin. Unflinchingly, she believes me. The guilt stains my rib cage.


Sometimes, I am melancholic. A poignant sense of drunkenness courses through my bloodstream. She coaxes me to her collarbones, and I close my eyes. Sometimes, this...
Seeking Peer Reviews

5 days ago

9b115eb73c0a3ce811131451d9ec83ff

agustdv (United Arab Emirates) published:

tragic

FREE WRITING



little ripples dot the surface of the ocean; the epicenter of the earthquake they like to call themselves. a sharp wind whistles by; softly entwining between their hair as it continues on it's journey. 

faint beams from a distant lighthouse far, far away flood the sky. waves crash onto the shore violently; foam dissipating into the sand, a tangy odor prevalent in the air.

the three of them sit by the shore, backs resting on the rocks framing the cove,...
Seeking Peer Reviews

5 days ago

9b115eb73c0a3ce811131451d9ec83ff

agustdv (United Arab Emirates) published:

heartbreak bazaar

FREE WRITING




"welcome
or perhaps, not quite,"
whispers the old shopkeeper,
his flowing white beard and twinkling
eyes entrancing me to my doom.



i pause at the door;
wistfully gazing at the 
dream-catcher that tinkles
above my head; an echo from
a forgotten life.



the shopkeeper smiles.
"it has a way with the lost
'uns," he pipes. "they can't get
enough of it." 



i nod and step inside.
a dark, hollow cave greets 
my eyes. dainty flower crowns
and pastel...
Seeking Peer Reviews

5 days ago

9b115eb73c0a3ce811131451d9ec83ff

agustdv (United Arab Emirates) published:

Inferno

FREE WRITING




I'll be unlocking the door pretty soon.
Please be there when I do.
In the corners of my house lie unforgettable
Memories of various words spoken in the
Heat of the moment.


This is what I will have chosen, with
My nose in the air, and a growing
Bag of mistakes; if you're Santa, I'll
Be the reindeer lifting both our burdens.


Snow, sleet, hail. All of it will be in our minds,
When what we say will strip each...
Seeking Peer Reviews

6 days ago

9b115eb73c0a3ce811131451d9ec83ff
1
1

agustdv (United Arab Emirates) published:

tragic

FREE WRITING



little ripples dot the surface of the ocean; the epicenter of the earthquake they like to call themselves. a sharp wind whistles by; softly entwining between their hair as it continues on its journey. 

faint beams from a distant lighthouse far, far away flood the sky. waves crash onto the shore violently; foam dissipating into the sand, a tangy odor prevalent in the air.

the three of them sit by the shore, backs resting on the rocks framing the cove,...
Seeking Peer Reviews

9 days ago

9b115eb73c0a3ce811131451d9ec83ff

agustdv (United Arab Emirates) published:

c o f f e e

FREE WRITING





glass, glass, glass
mahogany on my sheets.



you reek of lies and truth 
and i can't discern the 
skeletons.



you sing like you are in
pain; cymbals clashing,
bells clanging.



learn to breathe a little;
your heart 
explodes rhythmically.



if you can, please
make a coffee sometimes;
black and bitter,
just like



you.



 
Seeking Peer Reviews

11 days ago

9b115eb73c0a3ce811131451d9ec83ff

agustdv (United Arab Emirates) published:

heartbreak bazaar

FREE WRITING




"welcome
or perhaps, not quite,"
whispers the old shopkeeper,
his flowing white beard and twinkling
eyes entrancing me to my doom.



i pause at the door;
wistfully gazing at the 
dream-catcher that tinkles
above my head; an echo from
a forgotten life.



the shopkeeper smiles.
"it has a way with the lost
'uns," he pipes. "they can't get
enough of it." 



i nod and step inside.
a dark, hollow cave greets 
my eyes. dainty flower crowns
and pastel...
Seeking Peer Reviews

11 days ago

9b115eb73c0a3ce811131451d9ec83ff

agustdv (United Arab Emirates) published:

k n e a d

FREE WRITING



molasses and mint chocolate,
frothy hate and rancid
affection.



saccharine sweet ecstasy;
coffee beans and honey,
tangy tea.



eat, eat, eat this
catastrophe,
green like thyme
and envy.



crushed ice cubes and 
soothing vodkas; you 
dream your way to
purgatory.



vanilla; like your
intentions, stained
deceptively.



a palatable journey
of bitterness; like the
coffee i make and the
words you say.



k n e a d -



the flour
and me
and me.
Seeking Peer Reviews

11 days ago

9b115eb73c0a3ce811131451d9ec83ff
1

agustdv (United Arab Emirates) published:

k n e a d

FREE WRITING



molasses and mint chocolate,
frothy hate and rancid
affection.



saccharine sweet ecstasy;
coffee beans and honey,
tangy tea.



eat, eat, eat this
catastrophe,
green like thyme
and envy.



crushed ice cubes and 
soothing vodkas; you 
dream your way to
purgatory.



vanilla; like your
intentions, stained
deceptively.



a palatable journey
of bitterness; like the
coffee i make and the
words you say.



k n e a d -



the flour
and me
and me.
Seeking Peer Reviews

about 1 month ago

Published Work

y o u n g



I do not know what to tell my younger self.


Sometimes, I am apologetic. I tell her a thousand whimsical excuses. I tell her about a life she does not know yet that she will not have. Hypnotically, I carve lies in her skin. Unflinchingly, she believes me. The guilt stains my rib cage.


Sometimes, I am melancholic. A poignant sense of drunkenness courses through my bloodstream. She coaxes me to her collarbones, and I close my eyes. Sometimes, this is all I do.


Sometimes, I rage at her foolishness. I mock her for wanting to live, to breathe, to smile. I tell her she will amount to nothing. Unflinchingly, she believes me. The guilt stains my chest.


Sometimes, I am nostalgic. She feeds me with distorted memories. I am crushed under their immense burden. In those scant moments, I tell her I love her. Unflinchingly, she believes me. The guilt stains my fingertips.


I will smile and smile and...

y o u n g



I do not know what to tell my younger self.


Sometimes, I am apologetic. I tell her a thousand whimsical excuses. I tell her about a life she does not know yet that she will not have. Hypnotically, I carve lies in her skin. Unflinchingly, she believes me. The guilt stains my rib cage.


Sometimes, I am melancholic. A poignant sense of drunkenness courses through my bloodstream. She coaxes me to her collarbones, and I close my eyes. Sometimes, this is all I do.


Sometimes, I rage at her foolishness. I mock her for wanting to live, to breathe, to smile. I tell her she will amount to nothing. Unflinchingly, she believes me. The guilt stains my chest.


Sometimes, I am nostalgic. She feeds me with distorted memories. I am crushed under their immense burden. In those scant moments, I tell her I love her. Unflinchingly, she believes me. The guilt stains my fingertips.


I will smile and smile and...

tragic



little ripples dot the surface of the ocean; the epicenter of the earthquake they like to call themselves. a sharp wind whistles by; softly entwining between their hair as it continues on it's journey. 

faint beams from a distant lighthouse far, far away flood the sky. waves crash onto the shore violently; foam dissipating into the sand, a tangy odor prevalent in the air.

the three of them sit by the shore, backs resting on the rocks framing the cove, watching the sun beginning to set slowly. the waters recede periodically, the soothing melody of the seas filling their ears. birds flock home overhead.

a fragile moment encased in glass.



because we're tragic, taehyung. 
you and i, and everybody in between. we don't know the stories, but we're okay knowing that everybody is just as sad as we are.
there is beauty in what we do. the destructive kind. the fatal kind.

because we're tragic, taehyung.
we don't need happiness....

heartbreak bazaar




"welcome
or perhaps, not quite,"
whispers the old shopkeeper,
his flowing white beard and twinkling
eyes entrancing me to my doom.



i pause at the door;
wistfully gazing at the 
dream-catcher that tinkles
above my head; an echo from
a forgotten life.



the shopkeeper smiles.
"it has a way with the lost
'uns," he pipes. "they can't get
enough of it." 



i nod and step inside.
a dark, hollow cave greets 
my eyes. dainty flower crowns
and pastel ceramic plates adorn
the walls.



"so, my dear child," the 
shopkeeper says, running
his fingers through his beard,
"what are you looking for?"



it clutches at my throat;
his words. i wonder.
what do i want?



"i'd like to live,"



i announce;
loud;
like i am unsure,
faltering; 
like i am adamant,
fearfully;
like i do not deserve it.



"is it what you would
really like?" the shopkeeper
looms in; his beard swimming in
my vision. i stagger under...

Inferno




I'll be unlocking the door pretty soon.
Please be there when I do.
In the corners of my house lie unforgettable
Memories of various words spoken in the
Heat of the moment.


This is what I will have chosen, with
My nose in the air, and a growing
Bag of mistakes; if you're Santa, I'll
Be the reindeer lifting both our burdens.


Snow, sleet, hail. All of it will be in our minds,
When what we say will strip each other
Of the very skin we are so proud of wearing.


Ah, yes. This is how it will be. Should I still
End before I begin? Should I stop singing
Before the chord was even struck?


Because my pride is intertwined with my
Chromosomes, I will go on to my misfortune.
I will be my undoing.


This is what is set in store for me, what
I have created in the dark depths of
My soulless imagination. This is my...

tragic



little ripples dot the surface of the ocean; the epicenter of the earthquake they like to call themselves. a sharp wind whistles by; softly entwining between their hair as it continues on its journey. 

faint beams from a distant lighthouse far, far away flood the sky. waves crash onto the shore violently; foam dissipating into the sand, a tangy odor prevalent in the air.

the three of them sit by the shore, backs resting on the rocks framing the cove, watching the sun beginning to set slowly. the waters recede periodically, the soothing melody of the seas filling their ears. birds flock home overhead.

a fragile moment encased in glass.



because we're tragic, taehyung. 
you and i, and everybody in between. we don't know the stories, but we're okay knowing that everybody is just as sad as we are.
there is beauty in what we do. the destructive kind. the fatal kind.

because we're tragic, taehyung.
we don't need happiness....

c o f f e e





glass, glass, glass
mahogany on my sheets.



you reek of lies and truth 
and i can't discern the 
skeletons.



you sing like you are in
pain; cymbals clashing,
bells clanging.



learn to breathe a little;
your heart 
explodes rhythmically.



if you can, please
make a coffee sometimes;
black and bitter,
just like



you.



 

heartbreak bazaar




"welcome
or perhaps, not quite,"
whispers the old shopkeeper,
his flowing white beard and twinkling
eyes entrancing me to my doom.



i pause at the door;
wistfully gazing at the 
dream-catcher that tinkles
above my head; an echo from
a forgotten life.



the shopkeeper smiles.
"it has a way with the lost
'uns," he pipes. "they can't get
enough of it." 



i nod and step inside.
a dark, hollow cave greets 
my eyes. dainty flower crowns
and pastel ceramic plates adorn
the walls.



"so, my dear child," the 
shopkeeper says, running
his fingers through his beard,
"what are you looking for?"



it clutches at my throat;
his words. i wonder.
what do i want?



"i'd like to live,"



i announce;
loud;
like i am unsure,
faltering; 
like i am adamant,
fearfully;
like i do not deserve it.



"is it what you would
really like?" the shopkeeper
looms in; his beard swimming in
my vision. i stagger under...

k n e a d



molasses and mint chocolate,
frothy hate and rancid
affection.



saccharine sweet ecstasy;
coffee beans and honey,
tangy tea.



eat, eat, eat this
catastrophe,
green like thyme
and envy.



crushed ice cubes and 
soothing vodkas; you 
dream your way to
purgatory.



vanilla; like your
intentions, stained
deceptively.



a palatable journey
of bitterness; like the
coffee i make and the
words you say.



k n e a d -



the flour
and me
and me.

k n e a d



molasses and mint chocolate,
frothy hate and rancid
affection.



saccharine sweet ecstasy;
coffee beans and honey,
tangy tea.



eat, eat, eat this
catastrophe,
green like thyme
and envy.



crushed ice cubes and 
soothing vodkas; you 
dream your way to
purgatory.



vanilla; like your
intentions, stained
deceptively.



a palatable journey
of bitterness; like the
coffee i make and the
words you say.



k n e a d -



the flour
and me
and me.

k n e a d



molasses and mint chocolate,
frothy hate and rancid
affection.



saccharine sweet ecstasy;
coffee beans and honey,
tangy tea.



eat, eat, eat this
catastrophe,
green like thyme
and envy.



crushed ice cubes and 
soothing vodkas; you 
dream your way to
purgatory.



vanilla; like your
intentions, stained
deceptively.



a palatable journey
of bitterness; like the
coffee i make and the
words you say.



k n e a d -



the flour
and me
and me.

syzygy



syzygy (n) an alignment of three celestial bodies

I like to think of you as a catastrophe; an alluring collision, an enchanting misery, an exquisite aftertaste.

In this purgatory that we like to call our haven, your touch soothes the ravaging flames that lick my skin. For an eternity, I thought I would be enoughenough to wash over the footprint-studded shore that you had let your ribcage become.

Do you love him like do? Arms open wide; come on, ignite.

In this melody for two, there isn't any space for a misfortune in threes.


 

tragic



little ripples dot the surface of the ocean; the epicenter of the earthquake they like to call themselves. a sharp wind whistles by; softly entwining between their hair as it continues on its journey. 

faint beams from a distant lighthouse far, far away flood the sky. waves crash onto the shore violently; foam dissipating into the sand, a tangy odor prevalent in the air.

the three of them sit by the shore, backs resting on the rocks framing the cove, watching the sun beginning to set slowly. the waters recede periodically, the soothing melody of the seas filling their ears. birds flock home overhead.

a fragile moment encased in glass.



because we're tragic, taehyung. 
you and i, and everybody in between. we don't know the stories, but we're okay knowing that everybody is just as sad as we are.
there is beauty in what we do. the destructive kind. the fatal kind.

because we're tragic, taehyung.
we don't need happiness....

tragic



little ripples dot the surface of the ocean; the epicenter of the earthquake they like to call themselves. a sharp wind whistles by; softly entwining between their hair as it continues on its journey. 

faint beams from a distant lighthouse far, far away flood the sky. waves crash onto the shore violently; foam dissipating into the sand, a tangy odor prevalent in the air.

the three of them sit by the shore, backs resting on the rocks framing the cove, watching the sun beginning to set slowly. the waters recede periodically, the soothing melody of the seas filling their ears. birds flock home overhead.

a fragile moment encased in glass.



because we're tragic, taehyung. 
you and i, and everybody in between. we don't know the stories, but we're okay knowing that everybody is just as sad as we are.
there is beauty in what we do. the destructive kind. the fatal kind.

because we're tragic, taehyung.
we don't need happiness....

tragic



little ripples dot the surface of the ocean; the epicenter of the earthquake they like to call themselves. a sharp wind whistles by; softly entwining between their hair as it continues on its journey. 

faint beams from a distant lighthouse far, far away flood the sky. waves crash onto the shore violently; foam dissipating into the sand, a tangy odor prevalent in the air.

the three of them sit by the shore, backs resting on the rocks framing the cove, watching the sun beginning to set slowly. the waters recede periodically, the soothing melody of the seas filling their ears. birds flock home overhead.

a fragile moment encased in glass.



because we're tragic, taehyung. 
you and i, and everybody in between. we don't know the stories, but we're okay knowing that everybody is just as sad as we are.
there is beauty in what we do. the destructive kind. the fatal kind.

because we're tragic, taehyung.
we don't need happiness....

dead petunias


dead petunias,
we are alive,
water us, my love,
feel us, breathe us,
our glorious scents, 
our drowning life,
we are only as young
as how long the
sun will let us 
be.



and now, the ivy, you
come for her 
fragrant hand, you
are so afraid of her
thorns, you forget
how dangerous
you can be too.


so we, we are infinite,
and loud, and vibrant,
we sway your world, 
we fill your gaps, between
the lines, and then
you pick us out, 
piece by piece,
until all that is left 
of us is what we 
first came
from.
 

syzygy



syzygy (n) an alignment of three celestial bodies

I like to think of you as a catastrophe; an alluring collision, an enchanting misery, an exquisite aftertaste.

In this purgatory that we like to call our haven, your touch soothes the ravaging flames that lick my skin. For an eternity, I thought I would be enoughenough to wash over the footprint-studded shore that you had let your ribcage become.

Do you love him like do? Arms open wide; come on, ignite.

In this melody for two, there isn't any space for a misfortune in threes.


 

tragic



little ripples dot the surface of the ocean; the epicenter of the earthquake they liked to call themselves. a sharp wind whistles by; softly entwining between their hair as it continues on its journey. 

faint beams from a distant lighthouse far, far away flood the sky. waves crash onto the shore violently; the foam dissipating into the sand, a tangy odor prevalent in the air.

the three of them sit by the shore, backs resting on the rocks framing the cove, watching the sun beginning to set slowly. the waters recede periodically, the soothing melody of the seas filling their ears. birds flock home overhead.

a fragile moment encased in glass.



because we're tragic, taehyung. 
you and i, and everybody in between. we don't know the stories, but we're okay knowing that everybody is just as sad as we are.
there is beauty in what we do. the destructive kind. the fatal kind.
because we're tragic, taehyung.
we don't need...

tragic



little ripples dot the surface of the ocean; the epicenter of the earthquake they liked to call themselves. a sharp wind whistles by; softly entwining between their hair as it continues on its journey. 

faint beams from a distant lighthouse far, far away flood the sky. waves crash onto the shore violently; the foam dissipating into the sand, a tangy odor prevalent in the air.

the three of them sit by the shore, backs resting on the rocks framing the cove, watching the sun beginning to set slowly. the waters recede periodically, the soothing melody of the seas filling their ears. birds flock home overhead.

a fragile moment encased in glass.



because we're tragic, taehyung. 
you and i, and everybody in between. we don't know the stories, but we're okay knowing that everybody is just as sad as we are.
there is beauty in what we do. the destructive kind. the fatal kind.
because we're tragic, taehyung.
we don't need...

tragic



little ripples dot the surface of the ocean; the epicenter of the earthquake they liked to call themselves. a sharp wind whistles by; softly entwining between their hair as it continues on its journey. 

faint beams from a distant lighthouse far, far away flood the sky. waves crash onto the shore violently; the foam dissipating into the sand, a tangy odor prevalent in the air.

the three of them sit by the shore, backs resting on the rocks framing the cove, watching the sun beginning to set slowly. the waters recede periodically, the soothing melody of the seas filling their ears. birds flock home overhead.

a fragile moment encased in glass.



because we're tragic, taehyung. 
you and i, and everybody in between. we don't know the stories, but we're okay knowing that everybody is just as sad as we are.
there is beauty in what we do. the destructive kind. the fatal kind.
because we're tragic, taehyung.
we don't need...

tragic



little ripples dot the surface of the ocean; the epicenter of the earthquake they liked to call themselves. a sharp wind whistles by; softly entwining between their hair as it continues on its journey. 

faint beams from a distant lighthouse far, far away flood the sky. waves crash onto the shore violently; the foam dissipating into the sand, a tangy odor prevalent in the air.

the three of them sit by the shore, backs resting on the rocks framing the cove, watching the sun beginning to set slowly. the waters recede periodically, the soothing melody of the seas filling their ears. birds flock home overhead.

a fragile moment encased in glass.



because we're tragic, taehyung. 
you and i, and everybody in between. we don't know the stories, but we're okay knowing that everybody is just as sad as we are.
there is beauty in what we do. the destructive kind. the fatal kind.
because we're tragic, taehyung.
we don't need...

s t e n c h




In the smooth grooves of our door and between the ridges of the marble platform in our kitchen and the paneled walls, I swear I can smell the scent and the stench of your love, and it relieves and suffocates me all at once.



The putrid remnants of you and I in a large, empty house where the cold seeps in through the ceiling and the floors and the glass. I want to hear the way you laugh; like metal on glass, and now I have broken windows, broken crockery, broken mirrors, and my maniacal howls chills people to the bone and blood and cell.


 

syzygy



syzygy (n) an alignment of three celestial bodies


I like to think of you as a catastrophe; an alluring collision, an enchanting misery, an exquisite aftertaste.

In this purgatory that we like to call our haven, your touch soothes the ravaging flames that lick my skin. For an eternity, I thought I would be enoughenough to wash over the footprint-studded shore that you had let your ribcage become.

Do you love him like do? Arms open wide; come on, ignite.

In this melody for two, there isn't any space for a misfortune in threes.


 

r u n



Ah. It's beating. Hard.
It is making itself felt.


What kind of sadness it
Is when you see happy 
People?


It is high school and the
Bitter-sweetness that comes
Along with it for a ride.


The joy of leaving and the
Sorrow of being left are 
Two exactly same things.


So run.
Run, run, run. 
Run as much as you can,
Before you can't.


 

sugar



What manner of evil is it when you look at life and can't breathe? When words don't flow out of your fingertips like they used to?

What do you do when your footprints recede into the ground, and all you hear is a faint echo what could have been?

It's not hard. It's not how it used to be, when being locked was better than freedom, when it hurt to face things head-on because we were too young.

Youth is overrated because the only thing you can do is let it slip away when you have it, and drown yourself in a bundle of regrets when you don't.

These days, it's uneasiness. An early taste of sadness that will follow this moment, of failure, of repentance. We look up, and there's the sun shining like it always has, unaware of the war that rages in our blood.

This is how it will be. This is what we signed up...

r u n



Ah. It's beating. Hard.
It is making itself felt.


What kind of sadness it
Is when you see happy 
People?


It is high school and the
Bitter-sweetness that comes
Along with it for a ride.


The joy of leaving and the
Sorrow of being left are 
Two exactly same things.


So run.
Run, run, run. 
Run as much as you can,
Before you can't.


 

electric, electric, electric



Electric, electric, electric,
You stole my heart away on a
Stormy, negative night.





Fuses, fuses, fuses,
We're burnt inside out, we reek
Of smoke, I think it's beautiful.





Switches, switches, switches,
You touch me, and I light up like a
Broken bulb on the sidewalk.





Wires, wires, wires, 
You control the strings, and god,
This is the best aftertaste.





Bulbs, bulbs, bulbs,
On a dirty bathroom floor, you sit,
And my arms wrapped inside your chest, we drown in our smell.




Electric, electric, electric,
We end where we began, on another stormy night,
When one broken bulb told another goodbye.


 

sugar



What manner of evil is it when you look at life and can't breathe? When words don't flow out of your fingertips like they used to?

What do you do when your footprints recede into the ground, and all you hear is a faint echo what could have been?

It's not hard. It's not how it used to be, when being locked was better than freedom, when it hurt to face things head-on because we were too young.

Youth is overrated because the only thing you can do is let it slip away when you have it, and drown yourself in a bundle of regrets when you don't.

These days, it's uneasiness. An early taste of sadness that will follow this moment, of failure, of repentance. We look up, and there's the sun shining like it always has, unaware of the war that rages in our blood.

This is how it will be. This is what we signed up...

dead petunias




dead petunias,
we are alive,
water us, my love,
feel us, breathe us,
our glorious scents, 
our drowning life,
we are only as young
as how long the
sun will let us 
be.



and now, the ivy, you
come for her 
fragrant hand, you
are so afraid of her
thorns, you forget
how dangerous
you can be too.


so we, we are infinite,
and loud, and vibrant,
we sway your world, 
we fill your gaps, between
the lines, and then
you pick us out, 
piece by piece,
until all that is left 
of us is what we 
first came
from.



 

Your World in Three Senses

B l i s s




Touch like you do; tracing her name in her ankles and her lips and the wind between her fingers. Touch like I taught you to; soothingly, like a drunkard in love. A feather mapping the distance between her eyes and her hair; the junction of blood and bones where her neck meets her collarbones; touch her like I wanted you to touch me.


​Taste the air and the love I had for you. Taste the love you think you are giving her. Taste her passion and mine; like ice on fire; a catastrophe in your mouth. A chef's nightmare; that's what you taste like; dissipating on my tongue; crushed coffee beans and medicine; like you wanted to heal me. Taste your bitter lies and my sorrow; her blind affection and my anger. Can you taste it yet? My jealousy?


See her in the same light I used to; drinking her in, like you cannot get enough. See the way...

Flash Fiction Competition

syzygy



syzygy (n) an alignment of three celestial bodies


I like to think of you as a catastrophe; an alluring collision, an enchanting misery, an exquisite aftertaste.

In this purgatory that we like to call our haven, your touch soothes the ravaging flames that lick my skin. For an eternity, I thought I would be enough; enough to wash over the footprint-studded shore that you had let your ribcage become.

Do you love him like I do? Arms open wide; come on, ignite.

In this melody for two, there isn't any space for a misfortune in threes.




 

r e c o r d




record scratch; you have
been blaring in my bones,
like a parasite, you bleed
your grievances and
overshadow mine.




white; you transcend
what you think your
faults and your curses are;
intoxicated, you do and say
things you absolutely mean.




piano; you hit the keys
and the alphabets and 
somehow the music 
melts into my rib cage
and it is beautiful;
but i can't breathe.




recordrecordrecord;
maybe i like you, like
a gramophone needle
crashing on one note
in an ocean of 
melodies.





 

m e t a l l i c a



She said her name was Metallica,
An exquisite ferric masterpiece; she was
Sent away to the solders,
And they branded her into
Who she became today.




She said her name was Metallica,
And she was a hundred 
Thousand mineral years old,
And her roots were torn away from
Her proud, rocky heart. 




She said her name was Metallica,
And that each of her atoms craved
A touch from the hand that 
Burned and shaped and molded 
Her into this disgusting aftertaste.




She said her name was Metallica,
And she sold sanctuary by
The hour, she melted people 
And what they stood for; 

Because 
     Metallica
          Was
               A
                    Furnace.




 

Returning

s m i l e




A whiff of the grass, a solemn kiss with the sand, and it's like you've begun breathing again.

You take it in. 
It doesn't quite hurt like you supposed it would. It just. . . is. Like you had expected a plethora of transformations, an insanity behind the graffiti infested gates, a subtle sorrow in the withering flower beds. 
A soft breeze tickles the spaces between your fingers and the tree trunks that you touch achingly. You recall the scent of the sight of the memory tickling the edge of your desire; warm sweaters and the tangy taste of lychee juice; cloudy winters and the festival of depravity; sweat and love on the sidelines.

It hurts now.

You look over the barren landscape. You smile.




 

Inferno



I'll be unlocking the door pretty soon.
Please be there when I do.
In the corners of my house lie unforgettable
Memories of various words spoken in the
Heat of the moment.


This is what I will have chosen, with
My nose in the air, and a growing
Bag of mistakes; if you're Santa, I'll
Be the reindeer lifting both our burdens.


Snow, sleet, hail. All of it will be in our minds,
When what we say will strip each other
Of the very skin we are so proud of wearing.


Ah, yes. This is how it will be. Should I still
End before I begin? Should I stop singing
Before the chord was even struck?


Because my pride is intertwined with my
Chromosomes, I will go on to my misfortune.
I will be my undoing.


This is what is set in store for me, what
I have created in the dark depths of
My soulless imagination. This is my...

d i a l o g u e



Sometimes I hear songs that burst my heart. I imagine listening to them when I will be older, when being Atlas doesn't suit me any longer and my shoulders break. I imagine cold nights and hoodies, steaming coffees and staggering breaths, my hair in flight.



Fall. Spring. Winter. Memories of seasons entwined with wry nostalgia. Did I breathe faster than falling cherry blossoms? Did I sing off key and hear an echoing applause? Were tables and corners places where I was the loudest? Was I looked at, looked after? Was it better than this deafening silence?



I imagine you to be better; my present self raised to infinity. I imagine you to be okay. I imagine you to be Omelas, where who I am now is trapped so who I will be is happier. I imagine we build a fortress out of a war zone. 



Oceans. Forests. Hills. Skies. Neon lights. Drunkards. Stories etched...

Flash Fiction Competition

syzygy




syzygy (n) an alignment of three celestial bodies


I like to think of you as a catastrophe; an alluring collision, an enchanting misery, an exquisite aftertaste.

In this purgatory that we like to call our haven, your touch soothes the ravaging flames that lick my skin. For an eternity, I thought I would be enough; enough to wash over the footprint-studded shore that you had let your ribcage become.

Do you love him like I do? Arms open widecome on, ignite.

In this melody for two, there isn't any space for a misfortune in threes.




 

Returning

s m i l e





A whiff of the grass, a solemn kiss with the sand, and it's like you've begun breathing again.

You take it in. 
It doesn't quite hurt like you supposed it would. It just. . . is. Like you had expected a plethora of transformations, an insanity behind the graffiti infested gates, a subtle sorrow in the withering flower beds. 
A soft breeze tickles the spaces between your fingers and the tree trunks that you touch achingly. You recall the scent of the sight of the memory tickling the edge of your desire; warm sweaters and the tangy taste of lychee juice; cloudy winters and the festival of depravity; sweat and love on the sidelines.

It hurts now.

You look over the barren landscape. You smile.




 

Flash Fiction Competition

syzygy




syzygy (n) an alignment of three celestial bodies


I like to think of you as a catastrophe; an alluring collision, an enchanting misery, an exquisite aftertaste.

In this purgatory that we like to call our haven, your touch soothes the ravaging flames that lick my skin. For an eternity, I thought I would be enough; enough to wash over the footprint-studded shore that you had let your ribcage become.

Do you love him like I do? Arms open widecome on, ignite.

In this melody for two, there isn't any space for a misfortune in threes.




 

heartbreak bazaar




"welcome
or perhaps, not quite,"
whispers the old shopkeeper,
his flowing white beard and twinkling
eyes entrancing me to my doom.



i pause at the door;
wistfully gazing at the 
dream-catcher that tinkles
above my head; an echo from
a forgotten life.



the shopkeeper smiles.
"it has a way with the lost
'uns," he pipes. "they can't get
enough of it." 



i nod and step inside.
a dark, hollow cave greets 
my eyes. dainty flower crowns
and pastel ceramic plates adorn
the walls.



"so, my dear child," the 
shopkeeper says, running
his fingers through his beard,
"what are you looking for?"



it clutches at my throat;
his words. i wonder.
what do i want?



"i'd like to live,"



i announce;
loud;
like i am unsure,
faltering; 
like i am adamant,
fearfully;
like i do not deserve it.



"is it what you would
really like?" the shopkeeper
looms in; his beard swimming in
my vision. i stagger under...

Flash Fiction Competition

syzygy




(n) an alignment of three celestial bodies



I like to think of you as a catastrophe; an alluring collision, an enchanting misery, an exquisite aftertaste.

In this purgatory that we like to call our haven, your touch soothes the ravaging flames that lick my skin. For an eternity, I thought I would be enough; enough to wash over the footprint-studded shore that you had let your ribcage become.

Do you love him like I do? Arms open widecome on, ignite.

In this melody for two, there isn't any space for a misfortune in threes.




 

heartbreak bazaar




"welcome
or perhaps, not quite,"
whispers the old shopkeeper,
his flowing white beard and twinkling
eyes entrancing me to my doom.



i pause at the door;
wistfully gazing at the 
dream-catcher that tinkles
above my head; an echo from
a forgotten life.



the shopkeeper smiles.
"it has a way with the lost
'uns," he pipes. "they can't get
enough of it." 



i nod and step inside.
a dark, hollow cave greets 
my eyes. dainty flower crowns
and pastel ceramic plates adorn
the walls.



"so, my dear child," the 
shopkeeper says, running
his fingers through his beard,
"what are you looking for?"



it clutches at my throat;
his words. i wonder.
what do i want?



"i'd like to live,"



i announce;
loud;
like i am unsure,
faltering; 
like i am adamant,
fearfully;
like i do not deserve it.



"is it what you would
really like?" the shopkeeper
looms in; his beard swimming in
my vision. i stagger under...

c o l l i d e




Your blood and bones and skin.

It's like they tell me— come on, collide.



Sometimes— when the sun dips under your fingers, and when the ice cream melts in the wind, and when you smell of raspberry and cocoa butter, and when I sing off-key, and when your laugh sounds like metal on glass— I think to myself, oh no, I love you, and my heart sinks. Your fingerprints on my skin; tracing the bumps and ridges and the scars. 



I think to myself, I could get used to you. I don't want to get used to you. I want to use you.



Sometimes, when honey is bitter and blood blue and music harsh and hell cold, I let your lips touch mine.

It's like they tell me— come on, collide.



 

heartbreak bazaar




"welcome
or perhaps, not quite,"
whispers the old shopkeeper,
his flowing white beard and twinkling
eyes entrancing me to my doom.



i pause at the door;
wistfully gazing at the 
dream-catcher that tinkles
above my head; an echo from
a forgotten life.



the shopkeeper smiles.
"it has a way with the lost
'uns," he pipes. "they can't get
enough of it." 



i nod and step inside.
a dark, hollow cave greets 
my eyes. dainty flower crowns
and pastel ceramic plates adorn
the walls.



"so, my dear child," the 
shopkeeper says, running
his fingers through his beard,
"what are you looking for?"



it clutches at my throat;
his words. i wonder.
what do i want?



"i'd like to live,"



i announce;
loud;
like i am unsure,
faltering; 
like i am adamant,
fearfully;
like i do not deserve it.



"is it what you would
really like?" the shopkeeper
looms in; his beard swimming in
my vision. i stagger under...

the end



icecoffeerings;
you spin yarns of hatred.
i am old fashioned and
prim and you loved me
all the same.



or so you said.



roses wilt, chocolates melt,
the kettle is screaming and
so am i;
despite the flower wallpaper
and the eggs sunny side up;
you sing to break glass.



i like what you said; 
that 
it is
the end,
not 
the end.


 

Writing Small

atom



"Set me on fire."

That's what you said. 

Like a hiccup; my words trudged back and forth, colliding in my vocal chords; I lit the matchstick and set you on fire, until all that remained was an atom of your vitriol.

m e t a l l i c a



She said her name was Metallica,
An exquisite ferric masterpiece; she was
Sent away to the solders,
And they branded her into
Who she became today.




She said her name was Metallica,
And she was a hundred 
Thousand mineral years old,
And her roots were torn away from
Her proud, rocky heart. 




She said her name was Metallica,
And that each of her atoms craved
A touch from the hand that 
Burned and shaped and molded 
Her into this disgusting aftertaste.




She said her name was Metallica,
And she sold sanctuary by
The hour, she melted people 
And what they stood for; 

Because 
     Metallica
          Was
               A
                    Furnace.



 

m e l a n c h o l y






Melancholy; almost addicting,
Almost like you want to
Never let me go.

But you did.

Doldrums; a storm
Worthy of a niche
In history.

Is what you said.

Ennui; oui? 
Oui? 
We.

Tragedy and flowers.





 

|| •••• ||



|| M I D N I G H T ||

The time of your life when
Things just dissolve into
Black skies and white stars
And it feels like an ancient
Photograph.



|| F E L I C I T Y ||

Something we're afraid to feel,
Something we think we don't
Deserve, something that deserves
Somebody whole and pure, not
Someone like
Us.



|| I G N I T E ||

Is what happens

When two unwitting
Souls annihilate
Each other.



|| F L A M E S ||

Something we allow to
Destroy
Us.



|| W H I T E ||

Is the color of skies
When they welcome
Another mismatched
Human into their
Open arms.



|| •••• ||

The end. It comes when
It wants; unannounced
Like a persistent
Disease, that is so
Scared of itself,
It refuses to let
You
Go.
 

t h i r t e e n




Thirteen.

We are the death number, 
Cold, silent, a fatal disease. 
When everything begins and
Doesn't know when to end. 




Fifteen.

Our hearts hurt, stabbing
Pains of sorrow in our chest.
Web-thin promises, broken 
Before they were even made.



Seventeen.

We're taller and try to see
The world better, but our heights
Do not catch up with the wrongs
That everyone else is so adept at doing.




Nineteen. 

Childhood; a distant dream,
The countdown has begun, we're
Just too fragile; we'll annihilate
Before we can walk; shatter, before
We can say something worth being said. 




Twenty one.

We've given up.
Hey there, death,
How are you doing?
We'll meet, I promise, sooner yet,
But please, learn to disguise your
Beauty, because we fell for you a 
Long time ago, when thirteen was just an age 
And not your true form.
Then, we forgot to live.




 

the end



icecoffeerings;
you spin yarns of hatred.
i am old fashioned and
prim and you loved me
all the same.



or so you said.



roses wilt, chocolates melt,
the kettle is screaming and
so am i;
despite the flower wallpaper
and the eggs sunny side up;
you sing to break glass.



i like what you said; 
that 
its
the end,
not 
the end.


 

Your World in Three Senses

B l i s s




Touch like you do; tracing her name in her ankles and her lips and the wind between her fingers. Touch like I taught you to; soothingly, like a drunkard in love. A feather mapping the distance between her eyes and her hair; the junction of blood and bones where her neck meets her collarbones; touch her like I wanted you to touch me.


​Taste the air and the love I had for you. Taste the love you think you are giving her. Taste her passion and mine; like ice on fire; a catastrophe in your mouth. A chef's nightmare; that's what you taste like; dissipating on my tongue; crushed coffee beans and medicine; like you wanted to heal me. Taste your bitter lies and my sorrow; her blind affection and my anger. Can you taste it yet? My jealousy?


See her in the same light I used to; drinking her in, like you cannot get enough. See the way...

d i a l o g u e



Sometimes I hear songs that burst my heart. I imagine listening to them when I will be older, when being Atlas doesn't suit me any longer and my shoulders break. I imagine cold nights and hoodies, steaming coffees and staggering breaths, my hair in flight.



Fall. Spring. Winter. Memories of seasons entwined with wry nostalgia. Did I breathe faster than falling cherry blossoms? Did I sing off key and hear an echoing applause? Were tables and corners places where I was the loudest? Was I looked at, looked after? Was it better than this deafening silence?



I imagine you to be better; my present self raised to infinity. I imagine you to be okay. I imagine you to be Omelas, where who I am now is trapped so who I will be is happier. I imagine we build a fortress out of a war zone. 



Oceans. Forests. Hills. Skies. Neon lights. Drunkards. Stories etched in skins. Music. Loneliness. We'll have...

i n f e r n o



I'll be unlocking the door pretty soon.
Please be there when I do.


In the corners of my house lie unforgettable
Memories of various words spoken in the
Heat of the moment.


This is what I will have chosen, with
My nose in the air, and a growing
Bag of mistakes; if you're Santa, I'll
Be the reindeer lifting both our burdens.


Snow, sleet, hail. All of it will be in our minds,
When what we say will strip each other
Of the very skin we are so proud of wearing.


Ah, yes. This is how it will be. Should I still
End before I begin? Should I stop singing
Before the chord was even struck?


Because my pride is intertwined with my
Chromosomes, I will go on to my misfortune.
I will be my undoing.


This is what is set in store for me, what
I have created in the dark depths of
My soulless imagination. This is my...

s a y o n a r a



hey. does it hurt?
i wonder. sometimes, when 
he can't fill the gap between your
heart and mine, do you go to bed with
a damp pillow and an artist's nightmare
under your eyes?


what a day to explode. 
do you mind? can i take the 
feathers inside your futon and turn
them to icarus' wings, so that you end 
up dead, in an ocean you didn't know existed
because you flew too close to me?


do old playlists do to you
what they do to me? i hear 
the first vague tunes, and all i can
think about is how even pulsating
crowds can't make the singer any less
sadder.


it's in the suave smiles and
coyote kisses. it's in your hubris
and my hugs, and they incomplete
each other like caramel on a snowy evening.
we don't fit, we don't belong, but it was 
beautiful while it began and lasted.


so this is a sayonara you deserve;
empty,...

you are



you are


wonderful, and
unusual, and
alive.



you are


bruised, and
scandalous, and
piteous.



you are


in love and
unhinged and
kissing me.

r e c o r d




record scratch; you have
been blaring in my bones,
like a parasite, you bleed
your grievances and
overshadow mine.




white; you transcend
what you think your
faults and your curses are;
intoxicated, you do and say
things you absolutely mean.




piano; you hit the keys
and the alphabets and 
somehow the music 
melts into my rib cage
and it is beautiful;
but i can't breathe.




recordrecordrecord;
maybe i like you, like
a gramophone needle
crashing on one note
in an ocean of 
melodies.





 

s t e n c h




In the smooth grooves of our door and between the ridges of the marble platform in our kitchen and the paneled walls, I swear I can smell the scent and the stench of your love, and it relieves and suffocates me all at once.



The putrid remnants of you and I in a large, empty house where the cold seeps in through the ceiling and the floors and the glass. I want to hear the way you laugh; like metal on glass, and now I have broken windows, broken crockery, broken mirrors, and my maniacal howls chills people to the bone and blood and cell.



 

Songwriting Competition

Paint



If I could I'd tell you
That those twinkling lights
Are just that— 
Mellow, distant, 
Like how you touch me.


The city is far, far, further,
And I thought I missed you,
But underneath the rubble engraved with your
Blasphemy, I held your skin 
And told you sorry.


You painted like you loved—
Angrily, a catastrophe of colours
On my canvas.
On my canvas.
On my canvas,
But I was yours.


If I could I'd lick you up
Like a man in a drought-stricken
Memory would,
If he could, and I could,
And I wished you'd 
Just pick up your brush.


Swirls and lines; 
Blood and grime;
Yours and mine; 
I wanted to be your easel,
Perch you on my 
Collarbones.


You painted like you loved—
Angrily, a catastrophe of colours
On my canvas.
On my canvas.
On my canvas,
But I was yours.


You'd make a fine lover
If only you'd painted
Better.

f u r n a c e



Blueblueblue.


He thinks the world of her.
He likes the sound of her name rolling in his mouth; between his tongue and his teeth and his lies. 
She likes the crook of his neck where the world is small but comforting; the fragrance of another woman etched in his skin.


She breathes metal.
Her feet touch the coals, and she bleeds betrayal.
He melts into her; the furnace.


They like to think they ended where they


began.
 

c o f f e e





glass, glass, glass
mahogany on my sheets.



you reek of lies and truth 
and i can't discern the 
skeletons.



you sing like you are in
pain; cymbals clashing,
bells clanging.



learn to breathe a little;
your heart 
explodes rhythmically.



if you can, please
make a coffee sometimes;
black and bitter,
just like



you.



 

s c h o o l




math; they told me.

math will save your life.



books and tables and teachers and sadness and deprecation.

i can lie through my teeth and blood and bones.



students and janitors and principals.

i'd like to set them on fire.



school.



 

c o l l i d e




Your blood and bones and skin.

It's like they tell me— come on, collide.



Sometimes— when the sun dips under your fingers, and when the ice cream melts in the wind, and when you smell of raspberry and cocoa butter, and when I sing off-key, and when your laugh sounds like metal on glass— I think to myself, oh no, I love you, and my heart sinks. Your fingerprints on my skin; tracing the bumps and ridges and the scars. 



I think to myself, I could get used to you. I don't want to get used to you. I want to use you.



Sometimes, when honey is bitter and blood blue and music harsh and hell cold, I let your lips touch mine.

It's like they tell me— come on, collide.

e c s t a s y





Please breathe into me like you do.


I could very well make a mountain mine, but I can't even conquer your peaks. The simple way you dance; the smooth curves, and the sunlight hitting your skin like you owned all of it; the molecules and atoms; the smell of grass entwined between your lips and mine; like singing honey; all of these are mememe, silent and unforgiving; a piece of glass cutting into your feet. 


Please love me like I do; soothingly, assured in the comfort that tomorrow will come; achingly, like the distance between our fingertips can only be connected after eons of agonizing traveling; bitterly, like the coffee I make and the words you say.


What do we call this?


Ecstasy?

e c s t a s y





Please breathe into me like you do.


I could very well make a mountain mine, but I can't even conquer your peaks. The simple way you dance; the smooth curves, and the sunlight hitting your skin like you owned all of it; the molecules and atoms; the smell of grass entwined between your lips and mine; like singing honey; all of these are mememe, silent and unforgiving; a piece of glass cutting into your feet. 


Please love me like I do; soothingly, assured in the comfort that tomorrow will come; achingly, like the distance between our fingertips can only be connected after eons of agonizing traveling; bitterly, like the coffee I make and the words you say.


What do we call this?


Ecstasy?

A p o l o g y



​These days, I swear I see you in the slight shift of the curtains and the way the sunlight hits the window pane.


I see you in the smooth waves that come crashing onto the shore, and I see you in the sunflower field wearing your white summer dress, and I see you amongst the faces in the crowd when I spin my golden tunes and the world explodes, and I see you in the whiff of bitter coffee and the syrup of pancakes, and I see you in the way the moon kisses the skyline when it is lonely.


I see you in all these places and moments and I dance to the echo of your whisper when the wind blows, and I apologize.


 

Songwriting Competition

Paint



If I could I'd tell you
That those twinkling lights
Are just that— 
Mellow, distant, 
Like how you touch me.


The city is far, far, further,
And I thought I missed you,
But underneath the rubble engraved with your
Blasphemy, I held your skin 
And told you sorry.


You painted like you loved—
Angrily, a catastrophe of colours
On my canvas.
On my canvas.
On my canvas,
But I was yours.


If I could I'd lick you up
Like a man in a drought-stricken
Memory would,
If he could, and I could,
And I wished you'd 
Just pick up your brush.


You painted like you loved—
Angrily, a catastrophe of colours
On my canvas.
On my canvas.
On my canvas,
But I was yours.


You'd make a fine lover
If only you'd painted
Better.

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