To the girl who broke my heart

I see you sometimes, on my timeline. My friends think I’ve muted you and am living my life. When those close to us found out, I promised them that we’re still friends which is why we still follow each other…but we’re not, are we? We’re nothing. I un-muted you last week, thinking it’s over and I’ve moved on.

It’s been months and I don’t think I have.

We weren’t lovers, god no, but I loved you. You were my confidant and my escape for the everyday mundane. Maybe we were that thin line between friends and best friends? Maybe I crossed the line from platonic to something else? Maybe I scared you… or maybe you got tired.

One-year friendships. That’s what I always feared. I remember telling you that and you not laughing. Instead you said “What’s going to happen will happen”. Maybe that was our first sign.

We messaged each other every day. KKT, Twitter, Facebook, Telegram. Before your exams and before my meetings, we’d video chat and we’d sit through our struggles. You saw me through my unemployment phase and I saw you through college… but only a year… less than a year? Then you started fighting.

Manipulation was the first trigger. “I need space” was the second. Until we let silence turn into countries, time zones, languages and fandoms…barriers between us. Maybe you weren’t tired until you got the taste of silence.

No one discusses heartbreak in friendship. The clawing gaping hole in my daily routine when I see something and my fingers hover over your contact. They talk about the end of a connection and how painful it is, but you somehow find someone better. They never mention how breaking such a beautifully intricate connection makes us more fragile and weaker. It’s hard to not love and exist, but to not trust and live is cruel.

I still think to myself sometimes, are you happy? Are you alone? Do you have a new friend to talk OTPs and fanfiction with? To discuss friend groups and memes? Do you still hate pepe memes and post Jonas brother lyrics as tweets?

Or are you as sad as I am when I catch a glimpse of your name or your writing. Do you also wish you had me close so you could send me TSwift quotes? Do you sometimes wish I wasn’t so childish and naïve? Do you wish I never left?

You linger around me even though I’m desperate to leave, but the smell of a past so dear always hangs around the head.

So close, so familiar.

What if I were to get down on my knees and beg again?

What if I make the first move again and talk to you?

What if I pretend that we never broke up and that we were still best friends?

What if I managed to coax you into talking to me again?

What if?

What if.


Blame Me

It starts with the whirlwind in my stomach,
Is it fear, is it desperation,
is it when my throat gets caught?
The invisible hand clutching my throat,
suffocation hiding behind this façade.
That here lies all of me, in your hands, broken and marred.

The remainder of you echoes in my present,
every memory, every question
Unfinished conversations put off for a better day,
A day which never came, a day which you kicked away.

And here, I get texts and tweets,
“Tea look out for them”
“They are hurt. They are weak”
What about me? What about my feelings?
Why must I be tagged the unfaithful freak?

I promised to stay and I promised to try,
Yet you were the one, to pull the trigger, and kill our time.
“I love you.” “Baby, I was just jealous”
Yeah, I get that, so was I or did you also happen to ‘forget it’?

I pay the price for every minute we shared
And now you blocked me
Asking me, why I even care

So even though I’m hurting and aching,
To your dead ass friends,
the ones you complained about,
I’m sitting like a goddamn queen, cuz I’m just so good at faking.

Yet, I know, that even after all this
Baby boy, you’re gonna be fine without my cherry,
But even years down the line,
we’ll still blame me.

The Last Night

You bring me dead flowers,
with the colour rising in your cheeks.
Flowers that drip with emotions of broken families,
flowers that mean nothing to the dead, but everything to me.

‘You seem tired,
has it been a long week, my lord?’
Death and Immortality takes its toll on you,
maybe I’m a sadist, but your pale face shines with the midnight dew.

We sit by the river side,
Oblivious to the world on the other side.
Black waters, Black skies, I fell in love with despair,
with the taste of your poison and your hands in my hair.

Spring is near, you whisper,
we both feel the warmth on my skin.
‘Shush my love, we have the night to ourselves’,
I have you in my arms, your subjects can stay in Hell.

So you kiss me, at the end of our eternal night,
Fervent and slow, moving to our disgraced passion.
And once again you fall in love, with your hands on my hips,
With pomegranate seeds and the taste of their blood on my lips.


A New Beginning

With the last box opened in the middle of the box filled house, there wasn’t much room to walk around, and yet, yet she felt so lonely. The absence of warmth. The absence of love. The absence of him. Then again, that wasn’t the him she knew. They had made their choice, her, her sanity and him, his bottle.

The boxes aren’t going to find a place themselves, was the last thought she had before she sat crossed legged, reaching first for the box labelled ‘living room’. Out came colourful cushions, coffee table books, empty vases and picture frames. Picture frames willed with memories of the seashore and beach sex. With mountains and snow cones. With hot chocolate and autumn leaves. With broken glass and torn photographs. As she flipped through the items in her hand, a small smile graced her lips. Even two thousand miles away, she still can feel the past.

“Well, it’s time to move on.” She reminds herself before moving quickly to the next box. Kitchen items slowly were placed outside it. The chipped bowls they were forced to buy after chasing each other in the shop. The different coloured coffee mugs because she wanted to match her outfits. The chopping board where the lip stick stain remained even after number of rinses. He had her bent over, whispering and caressing her softly, while fucking her slowly.

Her body flushed at the memory and the chopping board slipped out of her hand. As she bent down to pick it up, she felt phantom fingertips run across the spine of her back and she inhaled deeply, shuddering.

Goosebumps grow on her arms as she forced herself to get back to unboxing. But she couldn’t, not when she was forced to set up the bedroom. Every sheet had his smell, every pillow his cologne. Her study was filled with books with written notes written by both of them. The bathroom was filled with her shampoos and perfumes he loved on her.

It was like he was following her everywhere. She was trapped. Neither minded it.

The sound of her ringtone broke her thoughts and she jumped from her bed. His ringtone!
Are you done unpacking?”
“Not yet, there is still so much to do!”
Thought so, I bought pizza. Open your door.”

She barely could reply before the end tone clicked in, rushing towards the door. There he stood, a bit shy, a bit awkward, nervously shifting his weight from one foot to another, holding three boxes of pizza and a beer pack in either hands. He grinned at her and stepped in.

She stared back at him. This wasn’t supposed to happen. She wasn’t supposed to be so happy to see him again. He wasn’t supposed to be here, he was supposed to be drunk somewhere.  He wasn’t supposed to drop the food on the table and hug her like his life depended on it.

“I can’t live without you. Let’s start over. From the scratch. ”
She could only nod.

A Vampire’s Curse

The taste of your blood, so sweet
the way it’s soothes my parched throat,
I feel my wounds close
My body reformed into its perfect porcelain.

Daylight find me hiding in between shadows,
With every heartbeat, I find myself hungover
With every death, I find my companion
In this cold dead world.

The dusk finds me waltzing
Finding a partner to dance with,
With screams of strife,
My pet, your fear buys me dinner.

Your essence of life,
Your longing to live a pig’s life
It is my precious treasure,
A pig must die one as well.

A luxury and a bore
in knowing life has no length.
Allows me many to warm my bed
a tragic consequent in my dull life.


Denied to walk among living again
I contain my anguish,
Oh to feel the softness of a breast
Oh to stop playing with my food.

Your blood,
My alcohol my drugs.
Demon of the night,
The devil to your dreams.

Seeking and feeding,
Always out stalking prey,
Sucking on humans bleeding,
I flee at the coming of day.

You humans are nothing compared to death’s scope,
With the full extent of my wrath,
You humans just pray and hope,
For I am destined to walk Satan’s path.




3 AM

It starts at 2AM, after the party ends and when you have enough time to clear up. It is when you finally have time to sink down on the ground, and observe everything around you. The way strangers lay drunk on your favorite couch, where you see your roommate snogging a guy who’s not good for her. The way your classmates sprawl themselves on your floor, clutching empty bottles. Bottles you downed to enjoy and adjust to the noise and the chaos around you.

Chaos. It’s 2:30 AM and you can feel the pain and exhaustion roll your body. The room gets stuffier and you find yourself inhaling the smoke from some girl’s extinguished cigarette butt. You told yourself that it was the last time you call a bunch of people over and host a party. A tired smile stretches across your face, after all, it wasn’t a bad night.  Yet a nagging feeling, which you pushed down a long time ago resurfaces…


Did you enjoy the party? Did you have fun?


Sure you did, you tell yourself. Yeah, the party was fun. You met loads of people. Hell, even the cool kids came over.  This was definitely one of the rowdiest nights you’ve had in a while.


But, did you have fun?


Did you?  Did you speak to someone? Anyone? A person who cared? Did you find someone who knew about you and who wanted to find out more about you? Or did they just come for the ‘fun’? Were you an extra in your own party?

You don’t like these thoughts. So you try to think of something else. You’ve settled down, you’ve found a group to like you.

You stare at the clock in front of you. It’s 3AM.

They like you. Isn’t it?


After all these nights, you know what’s coming next.

You look up to face yourself in the mirror in front of you. Broken sometime during the night, you see only jagged pieces of your face together.

Large, bloated face, with blood shot eyes. You’ve seen it all before. You’ve laughed at this face. Called this face pathetic.

Who would want to be friends with an elephant? You had no reason to have any friend. You’re loud, opinioned, stubborn and strong willed. Your friends find you brash and rude. They laugh at your mistakes. At your marks.

At you.

You can’t breathe suddenly.


It’s 3:15 AM

You step out onto the open ledge. You breathe again. Your lungs eagerly breathe in the nip in the night air. The stillness makes you aware of the loneliness the night has to offer.

Your tee shirt feels twice as tight suddenly. The ledge is dark and is a definitely more than ten feet above the ground. You feel exposed under the moonlight. The night stars offer no solution. You hate your skin.

Mosquitoes buzz around your head. The air clears any type of buzz you had. Deep breathes scratch against your throat. You feel faint hearted.

They comment about me. The time during the presentation. The time during the shoot. The time during the photo session. I was the awkward one of the pile. I was the one chosen last. I was the runt of the litter.

No one else ever needed you. You didn’t either. Did you? No you didn’t. You never do. You can survive on your own.


Your feet have a life of their own.


You find your feet at the edge of the ledge. You sit down there. Dangle your legs in the open space beneath it.


It’s 3:30AM

You struggle to think of anything that makes you happy. People- maybe older friends. Maybe they see beyond your flaws.

Breathing becomes heavier as you stick your hands in your pocket. Your phone, you can’t find it. It’s not where you thought you had it last. Your mind runs through the events from the night.

You hadn’t thought this through. You remember every glance and scoff thrown your way. You remember everything you thought you’d ignore. You know they noticed you conscious. You know they continued.

Your phone.

Your phone.

Where was your phone?

You don’t know if that was the past you talking in your head, desperate to ignore the unwanted attention or if it was the present you, desperately trying to ignore the party.

You find your phone next to your knee.

You release a breath you didn’t realize you were holding.


The stars look beautiful tonight.

I always wish on stars, nothing has happened yet. Am I not worth a miracle?


It’s 3:45AM

You’re tired. You’re just so fucking tired.

You stare straight in front of you and all you can see is a chaos of buildings together.

The hidden emotions that stayed inside for so long. That stayed hidden. That you wanted to keep in. They all come out

Your heart betrayed further.

Remember when you thought you had a chance with him? And then saw him making out with her in your room? Wasn’t she the one who had always told you that you had a shot at being with him?

Was she always with him?
Did he know too?
Was this just a game or a prank by them?

You shake your head, you know better than that. She was your best friend maybe she liked him too? Maybe she was drunk. You knew she was and so was he. Maybe they both were drunk. Both were interested in each other. That’s good, you would be happy for them.

This wasn’t the first time you were rejected for your friend anyway.

You can feel the tee shirt cut through your skin. You always loved this top. The blue always made you feel comfier. Yet now you could feel the excess fat around you.

It’s 4:00AM
Exhaustion eats you alive.

You can feel your mental breakdown attacking your heart. The constant beating makes it difficult to hear anything else.

You want to stand up. You do. But you sway, your legs refusing to help you, drained of any energy to give you. Tilting over the ledge-

Maybe. Just maybe. More to the left and then-


But the ground looks so nice and smooth. No bones to be too badly damaged. Just a few broken bones and pile of clothes and skin.


No more pain. No more self-doubt. No more questions. No more pressure. No more ‘eyes down hood up’.

It tempts you. All too much but you run away from there. You rush back inside the rooms. To other people. The snores and the smell. Anything to bring you out of this.

You strain to find anyone to talk to. To talk to you about regular life. To talk you out of this.


It’s 4:15 AM.

And now you find the pills.

You stand opposite the bathroom mirror.


You face looks lifeless. Sunken eyes poring back into yours.

Sleeping pills. Your roommate had insomnia. You know the procedure.

One pill and a glass of water and then to bed. If nothing happens try another pill after two hours. No more than two in a day. Otherwise it would prove to be fatal.

You know all this. You reminded her during her worse days.

The bottle opens easily, used to the regular use.

Pills fall out easily.

One. Two. Three. Four. Five. Six. Seven. Eight. Nine. Ten
Ten pills. Exactly ten. It must be a sign.

You stare hard. You remember how you screamed at your roommate, overdosed on accident.

You empty the contents on your hand back in the bottle.

You stare at the mirror for another whole minutes and begin to furiously wash and scrub your face.


It’s just 4:30AM.

You stare at toilet seat. All the alcohol and the junk you at the previous night run back to you. You taste it in your mouth before you rush to it and puke right into the bowl.


And puke again.


By the time you empty your stomach, open the windows and air out the stench, you feel a little lighter.

Maybe I can try this for another day.

You have given up trying to remind your brain of what’s right and wrong. You just face your wash again.


It’s finally past five am.


You walk back to the balcony. The early morning air hits your face. The sun hasn’t hit the skies yet but you can see light in the summer sky.

“Hey, awake already?” It’s a girl from the party. You don’t know her name, you smile her a good morning.

Suddenly the day doesn’t seem too bad and the morning stars shine a bit brighter.

“The sky looks pretty”
“Hmm. I always adore mornings. Nights are scary. Apparently 3AM is called the ghost hour. That’s when demons and ghosts come to life.” She shiver.

The smell of green tea hits you, as she offers you a sip off her cup. You hungrily take you large gulps.

She laughs and calls you a dog for almost finishing her tea. The sound hits the air and the morning birds’ chirp along with her.

You look at her and her eye smile makes you smile back.

The rising sun was better with another person to watch along with.


You’re not alone.
You overcame the ghost hour and now live to see another day.






“So why were you up all night again?”
“Oh I was facing my demons. I won.”
“Ooh! A hero!”

She winks at you.
Yup, definitely not alone.