mayday_calls

frost before the snow, never felt this cold; preemptively closed- this gamble of twists  and targeted turmoil,    at the request of     decaying teenage,    or the victim of     shielding macrophage,    rumoured instincts-    drawing a younger girl     into his holding cage,           the first clean break           comes when we swear,           the second one when            lives are bottled up            at the front and rear; october boys did not talk about the fall, october boys knew well to withhold love in control, october boys. - chetna 🌻 

in the theory of a hungry child, i was the piece of bread, he could ever touch feeling short of fights, a story of portions, never the whole- in  the confinement cell, devouring and feeding myself malice in bites,  in the theory of a  hungry child, i was breeding the milk, he was chewing fire, scattered flour,  another scandal in the quickest cold hour, sensing his broken belly, i caused the famine, in the theory of a  hungry child, i wish  i had become a glass of airèn wine- oh, to be tasted; not just kept down, handpicked even if the sparkle fades out, to be sipped throughout, in the theory of a  hungry child, he saw the hunger, i stayed starving like a bereft child. - chetna 🌻   

every morning i feel  cursed for existing, i swallow my tornadoes, and call it risk aversing, putting my nervous system under fire, here i have nobody  who is scared of my asymmetric smile, i put garlands over  my bargaining power, smiling in cruelty and i'm breathing sour, cleaning everybody's  closets and shelves here i have nobody  who  handles my  tears  with care, i draft eulogies in my days and fraying nights, is it feminine or divine? why should i not bury deep that haunted child? trusting my intuition, i feel now i must die, here i have nobody  who prays to my God "this storm must expire!" - chetna 🌻 

i am waiting for  the Sun, sitting at the bar, the beer is coloured darker, i am recalling you now, "just fix the way you show your rage, i'll love you harder!"  i am trying to swallow this clash, t o swallow this glass and ash,  i am talking in my head, "rage is the price of  feeling and loving you far too much!" i am tracing the  patterns of your  freckles and jawline  against my face,  "sir one  more pour  please, he t hinks i  am due for a rampage!" i am waiting for  the Sun, sitting at  the bar, neon-buzzed  humming in my teeth, i am convincing my heart, "my anger is a weapon that turned into a martyr, darling, i will greet  the Sun unbroken, even if  you promise to love  me any harder!" - chetna 🌻 

there's an attic inside my ribcage, you know, where the light, to this  date,  has never arrived, i was a charmer on the  surface but  a belittled  town on the  inside,  my friends and family  feared that soon i would subside into  a classic  and counterfeit delight, i guess this was true, as now i have a thousand  reasons to be left behind, the quality of being  the smallest in the room, i like how they question me, and dread that whatever i  answer turns out to be true, shaking my feet on floorboards, reviving my ink, i assumed  arms did not work in cold wars, sealing my lips, gazing  at  my falling kinships, i presumed i was nicer while harboring their silence and silts, they ratified some peace but i am still decoding their receipts, inhabiting colours of the summer  i am the thriving winter inside it. - chetna 🌻 

i inherited deception, losses and the salt, from the oceans  which cast trust in dark, the world, so cruel, indifferent, burnt-out, it heated up so fast, so i persuaded my  porcelain puberty to pay a currency at last, metabolic midnights, i ripped off my heart, i still wonder why i  chased him just to  lick the taste of tart, he peeled off the derma of a fifteen year old, such a nice art, i still wonder why i  boasted of fantasies like a wasted craft, later in the numbing, frozen aftermath, i smuggle this damn wreckage, dump all this rusted ballast in my present bloodbath, eight feet above the ground, eight years under the  earth,  what a specimen of  suffering and i still  sleep holding a scalpel. - chetna 🌻 

pitiless purgatory, is the pain i get when watching   pornographies, fuck you man, now i press my pulses  to check if i ever overcome this paralysis, i often picture Plath, she was presented with poisoned probabilities, her teenage arithmetic was spilled  like the  youth's cold serum, was she being branded an eternal psychopath? well her husband  called her at the dining  table, smashed her with  name of his mistress  and dark labels while clutching her thighs, i tell her stories to the father of my future child, after he dresses me back in my shirts and panties, she bled through a  miscarriage but her husband was  coercing her bed to  produce another child, fuck you man, one boy once set the same snare and a world  serving me lust and lies,  peddling his paper paradise, but my man had a string i know, he reeled me back before he even arrived, i am the safest now, spared from being crucified, fuck you man, but she committe...

i hope you never  hold me close again, close enough to roll my erratic impulses  away from your door, my life is decrepit; i've kept my delusive  sleep in dead drafts, yet it's still better than the way your arms wrap me close - close enough to dig  potholes, spreading  dirt on my forearms, still evacuating the  roots of rosegold, we are raising high walls of our sanctuary, uprooting the basis of how harmoniously  they looked at our story, i hope you do not put your lips ever close  to a fading memory, close enough to watch us indicting, impaired  by something we could  never handle from afar. - chetna 🌻 

park seat, cirrus sky, haunting memories, torrential downpours, scared to roll them down my sullen mask, i know they will freeze  like my hope in the dark, maybe, i am unworthy, just heartless, Calgary, ivy creeping up my leg, swallowing the girl i was, slamming my flesh apart, echoes screaming all  around how they always  saw me in the shade of  addled grains and dust, i believe all this now, i am heartless, Calgary, it comes no wonder  they never fail to unsee, how my clock did bleed, stole some years from me, this fucking heavy tragedy, it legit erased me personally, yes i feel like i mopped  every sense of my heart, but i'm not heartless, Calgary. - chetna 🌻 

i inhale oxygen, sigh out cigarette  smoke, and it echoes the bile i've been keeping  in throughout,  i inhale oxygen, tokenize my lipids and cells,  but when i grieve,  hiding myself in velvet curtains, i sympathize with my beloved persons, but i actually mean,  "fuck them all" i inhale oxygen, psychic fears  cutting my thin, downtrodden skin, but when my  lungs heave out, they torture some fresh air, and i  again ache for the  cigarette smoke, i am still pure and perfect in this pollution, then i inhale oxygen. - chetna 🌻