Notes from a dying youth.

Tell me something I don’t know, she said. I looked at her and in that moment I knew I loved her. I didn’t love her as a lover would, though we were lovers by then I suppose. No, I loved her as she is, and I wouldn’t have loved her if she was even a little bit different. I loved her because she deserved my love.

Young men have no business writing about the world or even about love; they haven’t seen enough of either.But I suppose they can write about the spaces between love and the world, where anything is possible and everything is a revelation.

Young men also have no business feeling melancholy, it is unnatural. In most cases it is a simple pretension, the young long for the woes of the weathered, but every once in a while a man is born with an inherent sadness, a darkness. And they take it to their graves which come too early to these misfits. Darkness chooses wisely, and leaves too many traces behind.



Lazy dark clouds floated above the funeral house like an apparition, while the chilly mountain wind whipped the clothes about the congregation below. The attendees stood around a particularly small coffin, unbelievably small almost. Cruelly small.

A group of eight stood on one side of the coffin, like how only a family could stand; closely, without discomfort. The youngest of them, a woman, barely, stood closest to the coffin. Tears streamed down devil red eyes, dragging her mascara down her slender, delicate face. Her abused eyes did not leave the coffin.
The women in the group were sniffing loudly, the men stood solemnly, with stern jaws and firm eyes. Eyes that would occasionally settle on the man on the other side of the coffin and harden.

He was young man, almost as young as the woman on the other side. But he seemed to grow older the longer one stared at him, as if time were speeding up for around him.
He did not cry. His face betrayed no emotion, his eyes were lowered but his gaze was distant, his shoulders slumped slightly. The wind whipped his long bangs, making them move about his head in fantastic ways. A leaf caught on his jacket zipper and stayed there before setting itself free.

The funeral master’s voice rose and fell with the wind, his monotonous discourse lost on those who were grieving.

“….and we lay this infant child down into the earth, into your care again lord,
Ashes to ashes, dust to dust….”

The older women wailed at a higher pitch now, one of them even blew her nose dryly into a kerchief. The men held their women, the children, two of them, fidgeted and waited impatiently for their elders to get a move on. Eventually the family hustled and floated away, towards the gate, to their parked cars, leaving the young woman and the man alone.

She lifted her eyes in a quick motion and fixed them on the man. He was looking at her. Their eyes met, like so many times before, but they both knew something had changed in it now, forever. From now on, every time they would look at each other, it would be a reminder, a reminder of the part them that was now lost forever. That piece of them that now was in the ground between them.
Her eyes now pleaded at him. As if begging him to do something. Anything. But he just looked back at her, with eyes that saw her as she was. It was impossible to see behind them. She suddenly gasped and cried out, her face crunching up, like how she must have cried when she was a child; overwhelmed by pain. She clutched at her heart and slowly came down on her knees. He was there before she hit down. He grabbed her around the waist and lifter her up. She leaned against him and clutched at his jacket.
They walked back together.

She looked up at him while they were walking, through a glass of tears and saw the same expression. His eyes faraway, his face blank. Neither of them said anything.

When they reached the parking lot he stopped near his dusty red hatchback while she walked back to her family. They were already in the car. She stopped midway and turned back, again, with the same begging eyes she looked at him. Searching for something, something she knew she’d find only in him. Her hand found her breast again as she held his eyes. His broken eyes. She took a few steps forward, as if to come hold him, but then she stopped, turned, ran to the car, got in, and then she was gone.

The man looked on till they turned around the corner. He then turned to the hill and found the dark patch in the ground, he made as if to go to the grave again, but he stopped and just stood there. The sun slowly went down behind the dark clouds,without showing face, and still he stood there. He stood there as the clouds finally broke and let down upon him. He stood there even as he got into the car, pulled out and drove away, his eyes, the same. And still he stood there.

A Practical Solution

He gave up looking for the pills and looked around the wrecked room.

He’d knocked most of the things around in his feverish frenzy. Trying to breath calmly, he focused on his heart pounding against his chest and ignored his thoughts and the rising anxiety. It was worth trying.

He gives in, and thinks of alternatives. One presents itself. Not very healthy. Not very practical. But there is the promise of effectiveness.

He steels himself, walks slowly to the wall and leans, resting his head against the cold plaster. Slowly lifting his clenched fist he begins knocking it against the wall.

Slowly at first, just a gentle knocking. And then faster, harder.

Before long he’s pounding with all his might. Over and over again, with tears starting to flowing down his face.

A muffled scream escapes even as he clenches his jaw tighter. The fist stops mid air and he lets it drop to his side. The blood slowly trickles down to the floor into a pool, next to a smaller puddle of tears from his face.

He listens for any thoughts that might pop up. But there’s no space for thought. The pain dominates everything else.

Pain kills pain. The irony is not lost on him as he chuckles through the tears. Pain, the painkiller.

And then it comes. A silhouette of a face. A scent. The essence of a memory. Vibrant, alive, breathing.

His body shakes as a torrent of energy takes over him. Anger. Self-loathing. Despair. Pain.

But mostly anger.

He clenches his fist again and raises it and throws it against the wall with everything he’s got.

A crack. Followed by his bellowing.

He collapses unto the floor, writhing in pain, and listens to his own repressed screams bouncing off the walls, clutching his broken, mangled fist.



He lights a cigarette and watches the city’s skyline through the rain, smoke rising up in disturbed patterns. Patched up hand still throbbing, he focuses on the twinkling city lights with moist eyes. They were seldom dry these days.

He leans out the balcony and stretches out his better hand to the rain, and the rain embraces it with cold droplets. He looks down, 15 stories down. A long way to go. He sighs and steps back, pulling long and hard at the cigarette.

Death was a solution he couldn’t afford yet.



Of Old Friends Lost…

I’ve been loathing myself for too long,
in dark crevasses of my mind
shying away from light,
I’ve let these thoughts grow like a cancer

burning, consuming, eating away
at my fragile conscience,
an ever increasing void
that brims with your sickness

i feed on what you give me
and what you give me feeds on me,
your indifference makes my soul cringe
but longs for your warmth, now long gone.

Where Is My Mind?

the clock is ticking on the wall,
the sun goes down, leaving shadows behind
betraying light slowly fading away,
and now darkness is, and still the clock ticks.

time is running out and leaves my soul crying,
trapped between what should be and what is,
abandoned by everything except your dreams,
the clock is not your enemy, you are.

is someone else how you want to be?
stumble and fall and get up crying,
walking through this senseless maze,
your essence trailing behind you, fading.

scattered and disconnected and lost in the cosmos,
beautifully dense mind, pitifully empty heart
nothing sets you on fire anymore
nothing calls you out anymore.

endless rancid pits of negativity and disgust
visions of elevation wake you up from restless sleep
only to despair at it’s falsity
and you hear the clock ticking in the darkness.


The Unbroken

the clouds moan above as if in sympathy,
for the silent one below
and then the tears roll,
hurtling down on the lone one

head raised to the skies,
only thing colder then him is his heart
an empty smile to the heavens,
he hears the silences between the thunder

timeless, sacred child,
no one can break his heart
this unholy defiance of love,
might scare some, but not him,
wild one below

blessed aloneness amongst a pit of writhing souls,
incredibly vulnerable and yet unbreakable
blessed one, dreaming of ascension,
amid the tears and cries of the skies.

SoulKill Theory

Do you know the difference between being alone and being lonely?
Everybody wants to be alone from time to time, but nobody ever wants to be lonely.

He’d switched his phone off an hour ago. Rum and coke, cigarettes, a spliff and himself. Two hours later, head in the toilet, vomiting his soul out, he did not notice the watch go by 12:00. Happy birthday.

I saw a man cry in the rain at 2 in the morning on an empty street. I was on the balcony of a friend’s apartment and just staring out into the splatter when i saw him, he walked steady. The last guy i saw was drunk and that was 20 minutes ago, he was pretty fucked up. But this guy was sober. He stopped and held the lamppost, and then i saw him clutch at his chest like it hurt. Heart attack? Then he was shaking, and then he turned his face my way and i saw it. The sorrow, the sadness, the pain. He must have been there for 2-3 minutes. I did not take my eyes off him. His shaking eventually ceased and he was just standing there, drenched, face down. And he lifted his face up to the sky, the rain beating down on and he sighed. I remember thinking that must have felt good, the sigh. And he looked around as if to see if someone was watching. He never saw me and he probably thinks no one saw him. But i did. I saw him that night.

Something very depressing about begging nothing in particular to stop doing or being nothing in particular to ease your pain. Please what? Who are you talking to? What do you want? But nothing. Just “please”.

Chasing sorrow

Her fingers quivered slightly as she used her other hand to run the shiny blade across her upper arm, she made a near perfect line right next to the older, half healed ones. Her breathing, which had been rugged and uneven when she had first entered the washroom now slowly found it’s original rhythm as the blood flowed down her pale hands. she sighed and leaned back against the toilet seat and closed her eyes. she had a few more minutes before her next class started, which meant she had half that time to cover up the wound with a fresh band-aid from her hand bag. But for now she just felt the numbness race across her hands, the pain was there but it was just a throbbing in the background…it would pass. Till she picked her wounds open again.

He couldn’t have been more then 18, definitely not more then 20. He stumbled across the dark street in the rain, occasionally missing his footing and reaching for the building to his right to help avoid a fall. To an outsider, he was just one more drunk guy trying to get where ever he was trying to get, there sure were a lot of those around. what no one noticed, thanks to the rain, was the tears running down his cheek. He had said nasty things to her and she had returned the favor, words cold as ice cutting through mind and soul was not something he was new to. He turned into a dark ally, started throwing up, lost his already damaged sense of balance came down on all fours in his own vomit, followed by another bout of throw up. Silent till now , it finally took over him as he shook bodily with waves of sorrow washing over him, rain, tears and vomit dripping down his face in the cold December night. No he wasn’t new to this, he had been down this road countless times, and he would probably be here again. And deep down inside, he didn’t really mind , this was after all, the only time he felt alive.