Third-rate comfort

We need to talk. We need to shout, yell at one another. I need to be angry. We need to say worthless things. You and I. Nasty things. Give me reasons to hate your living guts. I will give you plenty to hate mine. Let ugly things be said, be exaggerated. Let things that make no sense be said. I need you to scream at me. Tell me how useless, pathetic I am. Tell me what an asshole I have been. I will tell you what a bitch you have been. I will tell you how you disgust me to the core of my deranged existence. You tell me how you get repulsed by the mere thought of me. You need to laugh at my sorry state. Let me be thrilled by your miserable life. Let's get hysterical about it. Tell me how big a loser i am. Tell me how rotten my jokes are, how appalling my touch is. Offend me.  I will tell you how numb your brain is. How fucked up your thought is. Let's be angry. Let's be agitated. Let me be sickened by the sound of your name. Let's break a few things. Let's dance in the gloominess of it all. Let a million strangers be amused at this spectacle. Let the wretched broken thing be crushed to dust. Let it be thrown in the dirt. In the dumps.
Let's torture the memories. Let's kill the wonder. Let's disgrace happiness. Burn it.
Let's be ashamed by the idea of one another. Let 'vain' be tattooed on our foreheads. Let's do some lasting damage. Let's be monstrous. Let's be free.

Silent Gunshot

His life was abruptly interrupted and thrown off to a very far away land by an inevitable piece of news from a very unlikely source. Even in a state of unpreparedness, there was a moment of articulate numbness.
It was over within a few seconds, much more casually than ever thought of. More like a sudden death by gunshot to your head. Painless.
They had been walking all the while, and now climbing through the familiar staircase, heading towards a dingy small room.
"Hello! ''
"A drink ? "
" Neat. "
It was quick goodbye there and they headed back towards the people who had in the first place dragged him out of his house, denying him the privilege of solitude. Another quick goodbye.
Slow. Subtle.

----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

The Young Man came to the Old Man seeking counsel.
I broke something, Old man.
How badly is it broken?
A million little pieces.
I am afraid I can't help you
Why?
There's nothing you can do.
Why?
It can't be fixed.
Why?
It's broken beyond repair. It's in a million little pieces.

----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Closure

I need closure from the disorientations that i have. Relieve me, of the latent lingering gut-wrenching pain, of endless moments of desolation, of the brain's fancy to connect, re-connect with human life, only to find disproportionate sorrows. I am horrified by my own tragic contradictions. I see futility. Trying to mend the irreparable. You cannot bring a slaughtered lamb back to life. Can you?  I seek liberty or shall i say the cold detachment, from you, from them, especially you. I have been running around in self annihilating spiral circles. Cant you see how dead, how broken i am from within. Blood refuses to flow. If only you could see and feel the anguish, the scent of stagnant blood. I desire to surrender my abandonment of right and wrong. Set me free from this whimsical obsession, this pathetic desperation, this delusional hope. I ripped myself apart just to feel that blood drip, drop by drop. The nauseating sound. I cannot even gather the strength to write a fitting obituary. For a man incapable of hate, deserves one. Dont shed pitiful tears, for you had drained his blood out. A man who lived here, somewhere closeby, died. He was cold, numb, and on his behalf, i seek that cold detachment from you, from them, especially you.  

Dark Tranquility

Wiping out everything & everyone, obliterating every conundrum, discarding every compromise, stretching the boundaries of a terminus existence, i think of you. Did you even exist ?
With eyes dead. Drifting across the disjuncture, i try to recollect the voice, the smile, the lips, the touch. I try to feel your warm breath,  that moment, that rush. The unprepared passion, the unrestrained desire, the unhindered embrace, the unquestionable faith, the unambiguous tenderness, the unavowed love. Glimpse of vanquished souls on uncushioned concrete. 
Your hair, your scent, dark tranquility through glittering night. Time stands still. You are beautiful, more beautiful than a prolonged sunset, than a cool summer breeze. I die a hundred times, each time you smile. Your wonder eyes, your glowing skin !

Defunct

Had the entire universe conspired ?

A lot had already been said , and it seemed pointless to even begin trying to explain or figure out things, it just seemed futile. The opinion was deeply ingrained, overthought, reinforced - the opinion that it was a bad idea. Taking a moral high ground was more important . It struck me how every drop of purity, sanctity and every inch of trust had been sucked out. It does hurt, if you ask me. There was indeed no scope for spontaneity, no scope for freshness, all that was left was a big rut. It had been dragged by too many people for way too long to leave any sign of charm or innocence. Too many souls had had their say.

One feels as if being weighed, measured, judged and found guilty.