Archive for the Odd Category

I am awake, but I disassociate.
I read something, somewhere, once –
that it’s a common symptom of the BPD
an affliction that just comes upon me
to act without thought or intent,
and replay the movie later in my head
– it’s a crime scene, waiting to be undressed
to piece it all together and make sense of the mess.

No Filter

the good girl stays in check
and chooses not to hit send
on the like, the umpteenth video –
the kind you’ll never get.
because the strings are carrying a note:
telling her to just chill,
some things are worth the wait –
and so, she will.

Trust Me, I’m a Doctor

The hand quivers, the fingers numb –
clenched to the steering wheel
the colour of concentration,
his thumb taps ever-so-timely
now a long-forgotten song.
a talent so lovingly pruned
here, now, it seeks the muse
and to be the muse
of the man with the fingers;
dripping with paint
and oh those baby-blues
with light refracting heart-snare
step into the vortices
and take me,
take me there.

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