She reads
                                          And she sleeps
                                                      Way too much
                                                            ­           It's her coping defence
                                                                ­               When nothing else will suffice
                                                         ­               She needs to get away
                                                       Without actually leaving
                                             Because she's too scared
                                   And too tired
                                            To leave her bed
                                                      So she cracks open a book
                                                            ­     To escape somewhere far away
                                                            ­             And she'll sob for the characters
                                                      ­                       Whose brokenness resembles hers
                                                            ­                                   And then she'll sleep
                                                           ­                                   And have sweet dreams
                                                          ­              Of realities that are not her own
                                                       Because pretending is so much easier
                                                 Than facing reality
                             So she'll sleep and dream
          And secretly wish she won't wake up
So she can finally escape

Have you ever listened to a song
And in those few minutes
Known your true idenity
You feel the presence of yourself
And the lack of yourself
And everything that is you, inbetween
You are sewn to the earth
You are the moss
You are the trees
But you also dont belong here
You belong everywhere

Please find that song
And never replace it with anything less

Every day
I get just
A little bit
               further
               down
this path
I'm walking

And I'm
beginning to
     feel
as if,
nothing will
ever.

Stop me.

A wooden cart, drawn by a bullock,
along the busy streets of Bangalore-
took over by throngs of techies,
out on a hunt, after office hours.

A curt mannered matron, the driver
sits chatting non stop in her distinct rural lingo,
on her funky pink cell phone,
about life in general, spiraling prices,
scarcity of water, lack of rain and more.

Luscious grapes in bunches
mostly violet, green and some black,
heaped on the cart, people follow
enticed by the garden fresh crop,
she drives her cart, unfazed, her man now,
has turned to her humble salesman
behind the cart is his place,
he plays the part of  her second fiddle.

No urge to show who is in control,
not him anyway, she is on top
his silence says:"I understand"

Hazy seems her mind
does a mountain hide behind it?

let’s live suddenly without thinking

under honest trees,
                        a stream
does.the brain of cleverly-crinkling
-water pursues the angry dream
of the shore. By midnight,
                                a moon
scratches the skin of the organised hills

an edged nothing begins to prune

let’s live like the light that kills
and let’s as silence,
                            because Whirl’s after all:
(after me)love,and after you.
I occasionally feel vague how
vague idon’t know tenuous Now-
spears and The Then-arrows making do
our mouths something red,something tall

liquid will swirl into the shape of it's cradle as hearts will mold to the minds of their successors. background checks?

tl;dr.

______________

­brave girls have cranberry ***** running through their veins, isn't that right? drink up, buttercup.
what's it if you and i goes on a ride? i got a paintbrush, you've got what needs to be painted. i'll paint you so good you won't even recognize yourself.
-
portraiture is dead and landscape is only dying.
let me
-make you
-in two
-into
a landscape.
you're gonna be sittin' pretty for the rest of your life, 'cause i'm not giving you any other options. open up those ankles - we're out of paint.
-
this prototype calls for one cup of honeydew, one cup of darling- stop - .
if it's on the market, how illegal could it be?
throw 'er in the ***.
the bottom drawer plays labyrinth to movers, shakers, mixers, fixers.
all those faces are too hard to tell apart, if you ask me. ten can-can dancers, please, and make it snappier than jaws on concrete!

no, not like that.
you're spending too much money on lipstick anyways. girls don't need makeup. girls will look pretty no matter what angle i've determined your elbows should be. your short-haired sister doesn't appear to be using this blood.
-
lay her on thick; and make sure you write those scars off as business expenses.