One Foot in the Grave.

The worst part about growing up isn't the expiry of your ticket to get away from responsibilities,crisis and blunders. Nor is it the bed time stories read out just before that hot cup of milk.Nor is it about the kisses your father would flood you over with as you rocked on his knees some lazy Sunday afternoon.The worst part about growing up is the fact that while you age towards the peak of life,everything around grows senile and decrepit.

I've attended six funerals in a month. I've seen cousins lose their parents.I've seen disease engulf others.And others engulf themselves.Maybe we are at that age.Maybe we have reached that stage in life when the people that have mattered the most are busy decaying away.

I sit back and leak out the poisons of today that have accumulated in me while walking through your paradise of yesterdays and watch it all become about disease, demise and degeneration; all three composed into a melody and stuck on repeat.So as death swamps the air,do I still smile and say its going to be okay?With the roots disowning us and the crown of branches betraying,I ask you if we are loving enough?Are we saying enough?

What is it that scares you the most?

Is it the fear to see your self swallowed into the darkness, to be forgotten as the world continues to spin without you,your friends and lovers continuing to live as your grave is walked upon and old pictures left out to get dusty until forgotten? Or to know that the only thing permanent about life is death?

I'm afraid to grow any older,least you grow away from me.And the dilapidated weight of your bones and flesh bury me inside you.I'm afraid to watch you decay while all I can do is pray to your God,a man I have never known.And watch him and failing cells and organs ruin the sequence of things around me with their cold, clammy fingers.I'm afraid of not being able to fight this back. I'm afraid of not feeling hurt enough to survive the loss and the irreparable damage it'll cause to my soul and I'll wither away under the gloom of my heartbreak.

I'm afraid to cry in front of you or to beg you not to leave.I'm terrified of the things you'll leave me back with,all smelling of you and I'm afraid I wouldn't have done enough to make you proud.

Yes,I'm more terrified to love than to wither away,for attachment is one of the most difficult vicissitudes.And now you know why;for all that I am and all you should know about me,both edited and unedited- I write.So you always know this girl in me that was too proud to love you back.

The New Strangers

I'm a junkie when it comes to love.

And each time I wish to be torn apart and messed up.

"Miss you",you exhaled,

in between that drowsy voice and the silence following it.

Sometime in between the sunrise and the darkness before it.

You wait as the words replay in my head and mess everything up.What you do not realize is that had those words been capable of touching,they'd set me on fire.I close my eyes and refuse to speak.Our tangled story is enough to trap me already.

I've seen time,and mistakes and lessons gyrating about some invisible axis,impossible to stop.And I realize that you and I are dancing, intoxicated on razor blades.Its the same story over and over again.The same overwhelming feeling.The unaltered potent phenylethylamine rush.The twin madness.But this time

 its me and you and this.

Theres got to be another way to love you,because this one just isn't right.

Sometimes we love just because we long for a story.

Sometimes its a change.

Sometimes its red satin madness and the turmoil of emotions it causes.

Sometimes its just forced out of habit.

Sometimes its on the platter and semi-fulfilling.

Sometimes its perfectly played and won.

Sometimes it hits you when you least expect it to.

Sometimes you just can't runaway from it.

Sometimes its the awe.

But mostly its because its the best we can do.

I realize its time to stop where I am and love you from a distance.Atleast till I figure out which way to love you,in the best possible way I can.