The Other Side

Relax; he said, with my pounding heart and racing pulse I found solitude in those words. So on I went deeper into the beats, drowning myself with every riff, with every bass slap, with every drum beat keeping tune with my innards… Bliss, maybe!!! Ignorance, maybe!!!

Breaking down seems something, angels have perfected. With a misled hope and riddled trust gazing into a buckshot of stars, rage went on to create a bigger better ripple through the spines of a chaotic sea of schizophrenic affray – we all die – Don’t we?

Sublime darkness enrolling a feast of flesh eating flesh and lips pouting for cameras through soft milkshakes – quivering in the showers of mercy. Now the fermented genius comes out to play, with the soldiers of nature picking on your veins – imagining tunes of Primus!!!

The fluids of life that gush through
the plains of yesterday,
the tears that wash away
the stains of pain.

The boat that sinks
with the glory of deceit,
and the lil’ boy who fought
surviving the chaos of youth.

Behind a fake smile lay a happy lil’ girl and mean daddy and a loving mother – all the wishes granted was a blurry haze of neon smoke and behind those fake smiles were feelings and a lost life and its easy to say they no more have a life and feelings are a far fetched escapade.

Imagine a piece of land walking across an ocean in a state of deep sleep dreaming of bananas, coconuts and sodomy – yes, Sodomy! Like the rebel queen who died in a state of incinerated leftovers due to a tropical snow storm, the sole reason we all refuse to shiver in the madness of a grueling summer. And like dreams of dolphins killing a shark and darkness illuminating a dingy little room – the forsaken dreams of nothing but king sized hamburgers – exhausted and squished mustard gasping for breathe inside.

We all live for something that is non-existent, like the blind man looking at the deaf man wishing he could be deaf and not blind – tiring it is, looking for something that is “right” but when it squishes testicular fortitude or dries up the wetness of ecstasy, eyes are set upon the next “right” thing. Satisfaction measures up to a mere target of irrelevant goals set and goals end up being lost battles of fast food.

Finding a never-land with a scrutiny to die for and a three second moment of glorified bliss – reminders of a line, of a Marley, of a tight spliff. Three and half sentences of sheer slurred ignorance doused with happy moments and on latter stages – foggy temptations, 1 AM never seemed so much brighter in the last century – Has it?

Maddening saints and prancing Lolitas cry a mournful scream in the backgrounds with words of a suspended pendulum swinging to a tune of conceptual skies. Passion and lust all taste the same for the dried up stains – desirable and ironic – isn’t it always? Notice the reflection that stares back and a taunting darker side coming out with all fists clenched, ready to salvage on a lost pride and glory of a moment lost in a game of satisfactory maths.

So Arya, Anal or Santa – the bottom line lies in a building, made up of desires and passions doused with foggy temptations. All put together in a blender to make a deadly combination of tattooed backs, feather-wandering fingers and soft pillows and a guilt ridden conscience – the next morning!!!