you called me

to let me know

that you were fragmenting,

and I, being someone

who can fall apart


retrieved the sweeping brush

from the pantry

of horrors-

not even an ounce

of sanity

was salvaged

from the brokenness.


“We die a little every day and by degrees we’re reborn into different men, older men in the same clothes, with the same scars.”
Mark Lawrence

Featured image from Pixabay


We had barely glanced

At the glorious menu,

Before deciding on

A meteor shower,

And to wash it down,

We had ordered

Some fluorescent rain,

But after only a few spoonfuls

We had felt quite full,

For it was more than what

Our subdued lives could contain.


“There are no uninteresting things, only uninterested people.”

G.K. Chesterton

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The Room

the rugged, old desk

in my room

is a proof of a life

lived hunched over it,

and my window

stays jammed

on most days

as if tired of ushering in

the outside life

into this quiet room

that has no choice

but to pretend that

it is a world

of its own,

and my shelves

contain places that I

have broken into,

escpaed from,

and have been

banished from at times,

but they keep

gathering dust

as if this room

is a lot bigger

than all the worlds

they contain within

their glorious pages,

and I am here too,

outgrowing the room,

but just like the desk,

the window, and the books

on the shelves,

I do not leave.

I cannot leave.


“The secret of a good old age is simply an honorable pact with solitude.”
Gabriel García Márquez, One Hundred Years of Solitude

Featured image from Pixabay


from living

in the moment,

and being right

in the middle

of it all

to staring

at dried paint

getting drier,

chipping off,

from making

paper boats

when it rained,

and paper planes

when it did not

to never

setting off,

from wanting

to be someone,

to mean something,

to not being

here at all;

we let a heart

believe it is past

its prime,

we let a heart

die way before

its time.


“These fragments I have shored against my ruins”
T.S. Eliot

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We wait

For small joys

With our backs

To the wall

As we sit out

The Spring season

To recuperate

From the Fall.


“In everybody’s life there’s a point of no return. And in a very few cases, a point where you can’t go forward anymore. And when we reach that point, all we can do is quietly accept the fact. That’s how we survive.”
Haruki Murakami, Kafka on the Shore

Featured image from Pixabay


There is no way to put down

The crushing weight

Of everything I am forced

To remember,

The sharp images,

Searing fragrances,

And crisp sounds

Play in a loop,

And my mind wanders

At times,

But does not dare

Leave the confines of

Dark, imposing memories,

For it knows

That if I’d will myself

To forget everything,

Everything will forget

Me in a blink as well,

And a mind when empty

Might scream louder

Than when it is being

Weighed down by everything

It remembers!


“I usually solve problems by letting them devour me.”
Franz Kafka

Featured image from Pixabay


The room around me

Begins to disappear

Ever so slightly,

The warm glow

Of the lamp fuzzes out,

Gets bigger and lighter

And impossible to ignore,

A chair in the corner

Casts a strange shadow

On the floor,

There is a gaping hole

In the wall where

There used to be a door,

And I am not there either,

Outside looking in,

Or inside looking for

What isn’t there anymore—

A mind needs no excuse

To fall apart,

It readily fragments

With the crumbling indoors.


“That’s what the world is, after all: an endless battle of contrasting memories.”
Haruki Murakami, 1Q84

Featured image from Pexels

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