FISH

type, delete
type, delete
type and fucking delete

“What’s happening” her thoughts alerted her
my fingers have lost their rhythm
the music that once was has now been raped by silence
that racing mind has now been seduced by stagnation
“why”
the morning used to be her haven that black coffee
used to be her drug, the one that carries her away
from the plastic bags that suffocated her
every freaking day

“is this anger?” this foreign feeling
that’s infiltrating her soft skin
making her quiver with wrath
she penetrated her brain, beyond the thoughts
that clouded it, across the nerve bridges
that balanced her sanity
she walked on the lines that connected
the cerebellum to her frontal lobe
she could feel the throbbing pain
that caused this anger to erupt
that’s causing that white slate in front of her
to haunt her

Her eyes dilated
glazed with a layer of tears
that she fought so much to hide
everything around her blurred
her brain power has infiltrated her reality
altering it, trying to convey a message

She found herself
on a window sill
looking down,
this new augmented reality
surprised her,

she saw individuals wondering around in circles
this mind over body experience beat any psychedelic
she could taste emotions, her eyes had the ability
to strip the raunchiest of fakes to their birthday suits

Her eyes scavenged them scanning them from head to toe
As she did, she peeled off a layer that was translucent
that covered the muck and gunk within
She wowed herself with this ability

She was astonished to notice that those close to her
were filled with more dirt than the bottom of an oil spill
they were dense but had a beautiful cover
that lured the loveliest of people

She felt like she was looking down at a fish bowl
filled with gorgeous colored creatures swimming
peacefully with each other
red and blue, pink and velvet
weightlessly swerving, waltzing
with each other

“what a brain”
“what a reality check”

while some were filled with dirt
others were consumed with niceness
a humble nature, that of a rare breed
a diamond with in the rough
their colored glowed from under the water
seducing her being, wanting to be part of her real reality 

She had never exhibited any rough nature
but that boiling within needed to be tamed
or adapted to
that alter ego wanted to surface and paint
murals with the insides that embodied
such beautiful creatures
while keeping those of pure nature
of transparency swimming seamlessly
in her world around her

The fish surfaced
and fled the waters surrounding her
leaving those
dense ones at the bottom

“we know” they said
she found herself
naked
plastered with colors
layer-less
and
seducing nature
by her true
sense of
Self

Stencil

Her notes are everywhere
pencils and faded lead on paper
She even has used erasers 
scattered in places where you 
can detect are her “use zones”

She has that yellow notepad
with scratches on notes, 
parenthesis on clauses 
written with such depth
you can tell she was serious when she wrote them

That bic pen cap
Oh poor thing, chewed on 
it almost seemed like she was sculpting
her thoughts, as she bit it
thinking, igniting her neurons
into starting some electrical chain reaction

Her papers had circular coffee stains
she must be clumsy, but that did not stop her
from using that stain as a boundary for an idea
a creative limit, to enclose that floating thought

Oh headphones! That must be her secret to
her enjoyable seclusion
Her collection must be vast
since her headphones are big enough
to make sure she heard every note,
every decibel, every strum, every beat
every drop

Look! Her doodles wander from one page
to another, from one notepad to the other
signifying that none stop flow of random
little things in her head
Small pencils that have been used till the end
sit in a small bowl, to the corner of her
She keeps them, they signify a journey of doodles
they have utilized, they have been carried around with her
She wants them there, she collects them, like how people
collect pennies!
Each pencil had his share of writing!

Look there!
Pages and pages of clustered lines of writing
She actually hand writes!
HAND-WRITES!
It’s been a while, since I have seen anyone
or any paper that isn’t typed! You can see where she lay
her hand as she continued to fill the empty lines,
that lingered for be penciled upon similar to
how a tattoo junkie aches to be inked!

She barely kept any white space between the lines
She likes it messy it seems, juicy and weighty
filled with on going run-on sentences
and only she can probably know where
to insert the right punctuation, the moments to breathe
and the moments to smile.

Cigarette pack! It lays next to the phone
I am jealous of those death sticks that touch her
lips, she must be one wordy person

She probably takes a break
when she’s had enough of her rowdy thoughts
running in circles, rectangles, triangles
basically in any sporadic direction in her head
until they make her drowsy, dizzy with overthought
not the bad kind, but the kind that needs nicotine fix

So much un-wasted paper
so many blunt pencils,
random post its with fragments
sometimes with cursive and sometimes not

I wonder, do you think
she’s written so much
that she has stenciled herself
to the person she is today?

Has she drawn her thick eye brows
colored her eyes a darker hue
outlined her silhouette with charcoal?
Has she thickened her rib cage and
slowly brushed over those feminine
naïve feelings that have cost her
almost everything?

As I saw the progression of possessions
in her zone, I noticed,
more broken pencils
darker intensified notes
stronger
paper depths.
I bet it wasn’t always like this

She must have
started with shy blurry lines
that left mystery for discovery
Secrecy, beauty, rowdy, blurry
and slow
visibility

FRAME

Don’t constrict your vision
to what you can confine within your hands,
it might hurt, it is risky, you will grow some balls
but widen that freaking frame,
your portrait will be much more colourful
you will have a story
whose series of events
are not in YOUR control

Don’t be scared
Keep it in the back of your head
the cocktail of events
will stab you, kiss you
hug you, dump you
but, think about it
why would you confine
that frame to your
so called “comfort zone”
constricted vision

Widen that frame,
involve people
involve ass holes
involve lovers
involve beauty
involve ugliness
involve strangers
involve pets
involve family

Widen
that
frame

Let the events paint
your masterpiece
some blotches will be messy
some corners will have details
some parts will speak to many
others will be precise

but
take my word
for it
widen
that
Frame