// Enough with the stories //
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I remember reading somewhere a long time back;
If you don’t like the person you have become,
do something about it.
And it is as simple as that.
You do or you don’t,
doesn’t really affect anyone else but you.
Well, this is me trying to do something about it.
For starters I’d like to staple the yippity yappy mouth.
Then tie the thumbs for absolute unnecessary texting which infact will one day get me in serious trouble.
Any maybe on the side limit all the extremes.
I have a history full of extremes.
I have enough stories.
I’d like a life now.
Really.
And, if I’m writing about it, should mean something.
Hopefully.
I want to read this maybe a year later and be proud of the person I will become in the coming 365 days or so.
Here’s to hoping and wishing.
Something for me.
And only me.
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#utopiancoma
// Fireflies //
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I’d like to tell you a story.
My story.
Some version of it perhaps.
If you’d listen.
I think you will.
I mean if you do, you’d probably want to concoct a theory.
Maybe I come off as a nice person.
If not a decent human being.
I don’t know.
It’s been a while since I’ve wanted to really share a story with anyone.
With you I want to.
I want to tell you everything and anything.
Rats, bats and maybe fireflies.
Hahah.
Walking down a dingy road shreya.
I know.
I’d never say it out loud - about this stupid crush.
It’ll pass.
Hopefully.
God.
I mean too many roadblocks, too much history
with anyone and everyone.
You don’t want that.
I’m sure of it.
So I’m just gonna write about it.
Document.
You know,
I like doing so,
I’m terribly sorry if it messes things up for you.
Me writing about it.
Can’t say it , write it.
That’s been the mantra.
So anyways.
I shall see you under the bioluminescence.
Hopefully.
🌼
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#utopiancoma
// As you are //
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There’s a certain type of helplessness that comes real often
The worst of its kind?
In midst of a day while drafting a v.v. important proposal.
And you can’t help but try and breathe through your mouth because involuntary muscles skip multiple beats reading the bright blue letters.
How does someone find themselves in the same limbo over and over and over again?
What kind of curse is this?
I do not understand.
How far would you go?
How far are you willing to go?
How far will your body support this incomprehensible deterrent thing?
When does this stop?
The carousel keeps on turning.
I’m dizzy and nauseous.
I want to hurl and I want to just sit.
Sit and NOT wait.
For anything and everything.
Because what’s the freaking point of living on a stupid ventilator everyday.
Pumping the heart with all sorts of drugs just to keep something that should’ve been dead a long time ago.
It’s a sad place to be.
It’s a place I shouldn’t be in.
It’s a place I DON’T want to be in.
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#utopiancoma #freeversepoetry #confessionalpoetry
// ViCARE-S //
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Validity of 2.5 days
I think they ought to last at least a year maybe at a stretch 2.
Is that good enough?
Is that sustainable?
Is that what you want?
I can’t flip a coin because heart>head
I can’t ask the wrong questions
Because that is just downright calling for a miserable month.
I can’t seem to do anything at all.
Just wait.
Wait long enough for it to either pass or a fairy tale come true ending.
This morning I told my dad I think in extremes
This or that.
Yes or no.
Right or wrong.
And all of this goes for a toss when it comes to you.
I hate being in the middle.
Not knowing.
Hate it. Despise it.
It kind of eats away my brain, one tiny neuron per second.
I wake up each morning,
With the same damn question,
What do I do?
Written thesis about it,
Penned down all the scenarios,
Still no peace of mind.
What do I do.
What do I do?
Recharge?
Or buy a new sim?
Recharge seems to be the popular choice.
I mean I’ve got the same number for over a decade now,
Always registered to the previous state of half life lived.
The number still works just fine.
Recharge it is then.
Maybe until the chip on the sim finally gives up.
Saw a reel about a person making gold out of those old sims.
Maybe I’ll do that.
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#utopiancoma #freeversepoetry #confessionalpoetry
// Hourglass //
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If only there were something I could do.
Anything,
I’d do it in a heartbeat if it makes you feel a little better.
I guess this is what transcendence means.
I don’t know.
All I know is I want you to be okay.
And a part of me knows you’ll never really be okay okay.
Sure you’ll smile and dance and laugh eventually,
But not like before.
The innocence has left.
It was actively present 4 years back.
Two people crazy about each other.
Talking their way out of life 24/7.
Ahh the good times.
And then time wreaked havoc.
Or maybe it was one of those evil eye thingys.
Guess we’d never know.
Four years is a long time.
Mistakes were made,
things were said.
time was killed.
And we somehow still made it,
Of course with bruises to show for.
Bleeding knuckles and all.
I am glad we did.
Maybe it’s too late to weave a forever
maybe it’s not.
But I am glad we made it.
With temp stickers, empty tags and a bag full of adoration.
Because now I can wish for you to be okay.
With all that I have got, and be happy in the fact I was there and you were there and we were there:
Present in time past,
in time present,
perhaps in time future?
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#utopiancoma #freeversepoetry #confessionalpoetry
// Closer //
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It’s been a year of realisations.
Like any other.
What stood out, the bottom line as many of you would say is -
My truth and what I feel is between me and whatever god I worship.
And as it should be.
As it will be.
No single entity in the world has the power to dismay that.
And this year, I’ve realised that. More concretely, I’ve accepted that.
It all hurts the same.
The longing and the wishing and the waiting.
And this life will come to an end, any second/minute now.
It’s too short and volatile and urgent.
But, this year, especially this past month,
I’ve come to terms with the sole reality of it all.
No one has or will have the power to steal away what stays true to me and my heart.
My love or my hurt.
Is all mine.
As it will be for the days and years to come.
If it’s written in the stars I’ll be healed of this ailment,
If not, I shall pass my days on this shore as I must in vain or numb or with antibiotics or having faith or harbouring anger or simply working.
One day at a time.
One penny at a time.
But, the core truth of it all will always remain mine.
And mine alone.
And I shall have my salvation in that till my time comes.
Whether I get who or what I want/need or not.
Like I said it’s been a year.
A year alright.
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#utopiancoma
// Say it like you see it. //
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This is how the story ends and the curtain calls.
The drama stops and the protagonists call it quits.
The make believe furniture is burned.
Shame. I kinda liked mahogany.
Key word being make believe.
Anyway, for what it’s worth,
People quite enjoyed our show.
Entertaining and utterly foolish.
Caricatures of the new world order.
See that’s the thing with indulging in occult arts,
Finding meaning in the non existent things.
But hey, I’d like to know anything that ends with arts.
I did it for the art.
You did your part.
Now the clock ticks and the times out.
Can’t really mooch off faux cynicism sugarcoated as romanticism for a long while.
I can stop writing morbid scribbles that barely pass off as poetry,
and you can go back to world domination or whatever you like to call it.
Until next time.
I hope there isn’t one though.
Much love, Shreya.
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#utopiancoma #freeversepoetry #confessionalpoetry
// In conversation with my alter EGO //
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Half-baked assertiveness and some will to not be the worst person in the world.
Negation works best.
Say no,
To everything and anything and everyone.
Over and over again.
Until your mouth dries off or the staples in your heart heal.
I drink a lot of water.
My heart races frantically and dramatically.
Anxiety is supposed to do that.
Or so I’ve heard.
Healing takes time.
How much?
Give me a number?
I’ll try to match it.
Will you tho?
You’ll only count the number of stitches and if anything multiply with the number of years.
And devise a study on people who never get over stuff - even if they seem to do so.
With an additional chapter on writer’s notes.
I’d love to read the notes. And deny every single sentence you write about me.
Like I said.
It’s just half-baked assertiveness and some will, will make you an okay-ish person in the world.
Okay is not that bad.
But it’s not the best.
IT’S NOT THAT BAD!
Seems like it.
This too shall pass.
Okay?
Okay.
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#utopiancoma #confessionalpoetry #freeversepoetry #bw
// Whatever //
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Wash it down with beer and gin.
W rather seemingly encumbered strings.
Wash it down with cheap wine and beer.
W rather seemingly tired limbs.
Wash it down with paranoia and grief.
W rather seemingly merry-go-round wings.
Wash it down with insecure portraits.
W rather seemingly hypocritical stings.
Wash it down with hope.
Wash it down with rum and coke.
As long as you wash it down.
You’ll keep going as long as you want.
As long as you wash it down.
You’ll keep going on and on.
On and fucking on.
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