I Write

I write

For wet concrete blocks and

Empty park benches,

Of ugly winter sweaters and

Unsaid forgotten thoughts.

For limp leaves and bright socks,

Lukewarm hearts and filthy weather.

To fill blank pages and 

Lonely memory slots.

To drink down daily nights and

For faithless sanity's sake.

I prefer

Pouring bleach on blood stains,

Melancholic life over dream constraints.

Flatlands over magical plains,

Observing grey everyday.

I prefer 

Enduring tragedies over

Fleeting calamities.

Come ask me why.

I write 

Brimming grins over 

Yearning lives.

Come ask me why.

Digital Dirt

Love me more when I'm gone.

When you cannot see me at last, 

Living one thumb flick away.

When you can finally look past,

My insouciant nods,

My obnoxious quips.

All the wordless confessions 

That I could never give.

When you cannot find,

The picture that didn't exist.

But it seems, you are

Satisfied with that ode, hidden

In a pool of polemics.

Or when you cannot go back,

To the night that never was,

To the pause that wasn't filled,

Pity, nostalgia, unjustified regret?

Welcome to the hole in my chest

Write on those bluest walls and skies,

Some morning coffee powered lines.

Think of those vaguely false times,

You were laughing at my pleasantries.

Forget my misgivings and disguise

Our uneventful lives into a dream.

Be slightly saddened 

if you knew my name,

But shed the thought if it lasts 

More than a TV ad.

Love me more when I'm dead.

That's all the love I deserve.

Everything I hope to get.