Our Broken Hearts

Apparently, I last edited this on 10, September, 2016. Couldn’t find it on the website, so here is more depressing Poetry.

​I can’t take this anymore,
Through my cracks and;
Pores, I’ve started to break.

Like shattered dreams, I’m full
Of tears, blood and hopelessness;
Waiting to be purged.

Let the fire of our love set
Me on fire, while the flames
Engulf me, I shall be reborn.

But I was no phoenix, and
My tears could never meand
Our broken hearts.

Apparently I last edited this on 10, September, 2016. Couldn’t find it on the website, so here is more depressing Poetry.


I’m not very sure what B looks like any more, pictures just make B feel like a distant dream, or a faraway memory, or a
Lol fragment of my imagination. I don’t know what B’s smile looks like, or voice sounds like. I have recordings, and pictures of B, but all of them feel funny, like they weren’t real. Maybe I just downloaded pretty pictures from Tumblr and filled gaps in my memory to make myself feel okay, then why do I miss the hugs from B or W if they were never real.

It was an exhausting but eventful day, I’d usually end up at Koshy’s with someone or the other, to grab a coffee and sober down before heading home. Over the last two months my habit of going to Koshy’s that started ten months ago came to a halt. I’d started to do a lot of new things since ten months ago, but gradually over the last two they’ve all stopped or disappeared.

I’ve been to Koshy’s enough times with a lot of people, some more often than others, but for the first time I’ll be there alone, not waiting for anybody. I walked into the warm, mellow, and not fancy section of Koshy’s Bar and Restaurant; sat down at the two seater table right next to the pillar, I would have to bend a little to see if someone walked in, but I won’t be very visible if someone walks in and looks around. I wanted a coffee and asked for a chicken puff, they don’t usually last till 8:30 pm, but wanted to gamble my chances but I lost.
The waiter in a white uniform served me my coffee and a glass of water five minutes later, with a smile. I’d read over five pages of animal farm by then and even went for pee break.

I made a list of all the people I was here with, while sipping the piping hot coffee.

The first time was with Sid and the M’s, a bazillion times with W & E, met D here for the first time, had lunch with M here, chilled with A, waited for a date here, and once or twice took a break with B. I saw memories at each table flashing by as I looked around, a cold piercing pain dug into my chest. My body was hot from the coffee, and pumped up with caffeine, but the cold grew stronger.

It physically hurts when I remember the laughs, hugs, conversations that happened here, the bonds that were built, all the happy memories were and always will be overwhelming; my eyes burned as I tried hard to hold back the tears. A rupees 99/- bill from here lies in B’s memorabilia box. I wonder sometimes, is it so easy for people to walk away from me? Weren’t they telling me how hard it was to be away from someone else they once or still loved?


I woke up to your scent this morning, not sure if it was a whiff of your deodorant stuck to my clothes or a memory of the previous morning – waking up next to you – whatever it was, it made my day.
I wasn’t angry or annoyed or sad today; smiled a lot for a really long time. I started to wondered later in the morning, what you were up to. We hadn’t spoken much since two nights ago; just short exchanges of information: “wassup?”, “What plans?” or some polite crap like that.

Your scent, the taste of your neck, the smell from your hair, and the rough edges of your skin got my blood rushing; my mind and hands wandering. Felt jolts of electricity hit me, and each hit sent signals of pleasures that curled my toes, made the hair on my hand stand, and bite my lips. Every stroke of my hands, fingers, lips, and mouth against your skin drove my mind insane.

Kiss me

I went on till I felt your hand stop me from going down, I came back up and you didn’t stop me. It wasn’t beautiful any more, you felt like a rock and I didn’t stop. I tried to get you closer but you didn’t want to, not the way I wanted to. I realized and moved away gave you distance and you were distressed, inconvenient, and awkward.

Your sudden blood curdling scream, scared me and I  wanted to hold on to you till you stopped; I wanted to be there for you, but mostly it was for myself. It rained outside and later you tell that you never realised and I hate myself for everything I said and did that night; like the cold rain we will also see an end, hopefully it isn’t tonight.

I wish you felt the same way as I did, but you don’t; I think. A tear ran down and then it dried. My fingers touched, felt and held on to you, kissed you. But you lay there like a brick and stopped me when it was too much or too far. You stopped me to go to the bathroom and came back to sleep closer to me than you already had.

That night seems like a drunk, horny act but it wasn’t just that; it was an effort to see if? Maybe?
But I don’t know what happened. Was I just horny ? Or drunk?

I didn’t ask for this…

I didn’t invite you in, didn’t beg you to talk to me, didn’t ask for your attention, or ask you to sing to me.
You walked in, talked to me, gave me your attention, sang to me and we kissed under the rain.
Things kept picking up atleast in my head, till you dropped, I crashed, and broke again.
I can’t do this anymore.
I’d kept to myself, happy and content, in my bubble, atleast I was telling myself that. You came in knocking and I let you in, we sang, danced and made merry, but you disappeared in the middle of the party.
Now you knocked me over and I’m fucked me up again. I don’t know if I should or could pick myself up, if all this is worth the pain.
I see you around, we talk and yet all that has happened is nothing but a dream to you. Was I just a breath of fresh that you needed before getting back to your routine ?
Or is this an elaborate scheme to bring myself sorrow, pain, and misery. I wasn’t supposed to get hurt, because I didn’t want this.
It’s midnight, I’m standing in front of a mirror, with a pair of scissors and a lock of my own hair, my face moist and I wish I never met you.
I told myself a few moments of happiness were worth the pain, even if it was temporary. I assumed you’d be far away by then, but life has a different plan.

Can’t be fixed


Tears are rushing and I can’t hold them down, muffled screams and my eyes started to fill in. Tears broke out and flooded my cheek, but it was time to let them run, I didn’t have the strength to hold on to fragmented memories.
My ears buzzed and I let the TV hum because I can’t be alone with my thoughts that are crazy and destructive when the lid is off.
Wiped my tears and then I cried again and it was a cycle to be followed meticulously. I learned to comfortable with my thoughts, dreams, and deamons. I started to drift into the dark abyss, but my thumb efficiently stubed the pain with the last message I sent.
I always picked wrong and it hurt each time just as much or maybe more. I psycho analysed myself to be broken, damaged and either can’t be fixed or not worthy of being fixed.


I remember standing by the door, saying, “I’m scared, I had a bad dream.”

“It’s ok, go back to sleep”, and the door slammed.

I walked back to my room and stared at the ceiling. Cold under a warm blanket and scared about the monsters that stayed.

Counted back the hugs and kisses, or the sweet lullabies that stopped like everything else.