I would call for a hundred canaries,

But I know I don’t want to.

Yell out a hundred notes,

Yet unsung and unheard,

Deeply submerged,

But I know that I don’t want to.

To all of you that feel like you can and you should,

Do it .

Maybe you’ll keep doing it up until you don’t want to,

Or maybe after a while you won’t have to.


Of a little alchemy.

“How do you do that?”

“Do what?”


How do you do it? I thought all it took was time and a little clarity.

After copious amounts of both and some extra helpings too, I found myself in freshers abysses, at each turn. They started turning cozy , I even hung on to the comfort.

But I can’t tell if I was ushered out or drawn out.

So tell me , how do you heal?

Of celestial shows and tides.

I must have watched a hundred stars speed across the sky that night;

calmly sniffing at the wafting , fragrant smoke.

I must have smirked to myself a dozen times at the uncertainty,

the paralytic existence that recollections and realizations left me in.

These concrete walls of nothingness and overwhelmingness have me ricocheting.

There is only so much of this that I can take,

or so I have been telling myself for a decade.

In futile attempts of blurting out the emptiness, I must have heaved a thousand times;

squeezed my eyes shut, cradled my ribs,

that night and every night after that.

Will you walk along the beach with me?

With the surf, these tides , the breeze and the sand , gently touching your soul.

Tell me, if you could visualize them,

would this lifetime of memories and reflections of yours be enclosed in an ornate chest,

would they be coral shells , pearls , crystals that you stumbled upon and found , searched and excavated, some of a lesser significance albeit;

perhaps a gloomier section too , with

thorns , rags , dark pebbles ?

But you would have a treasure alright.

Wouldn’t you?

I fear that mine only houses jagged salvages.

Did I trip over and drop it somewhere?

Did I break it somehow?

That’s okay, I guess.

I can still watch the stars race each other.

This time, I promise that I’ll count.


Through steady walks ,I kept advancing towards … well ,uncertainty .

Stepping ahead, one foot in front of the other ; till I strayed too far off.

Almost fell of the iron ledge.

It was only when I was at the edge

that I turned around and noticed ,

there was no iron ledge.

I glared at it,

Wanting to believe ,

dying to believe

and it started to dissipate;

Fading from iron to wobbly, crumbling stacks of rocks ,

to a dilapidated twig work,

to puffy bales of cotton

and eventually , to blocks of air.

I expected pangs of vertigo to hit me and spiral me down,

for I was staring into pits below ,

rock bottoms.

But they never did.

I stayed afloat, somehow .

There was an eerie silence for a brief while

,but all that hurt was the dissipation and nothing else.

Everything else was calm and in sorts.

I drew a long breath , checking to see if I was alive.

I leveled my eyes with my supposed origin,

Smiled and turned back;

Because now I knew,

All along, I was the Iron ledge.

And bitch, did I run.

Of chaotic thought bubbles.

There are so many hues and shades of people out there. Maybe there are those who are out there to hurt you, maybe some are there to heal you. Well, I can safely say that you usually meet the former for the most part of your life. No, this doesn’t make them or you horrible , or any less human for that matter. But what it does is it creates voids, this not only in the poetic and emotional sense. When I say “voids” , I mean mental ones as well, voids which are too real and impactful to not physically manifest themselves. Well, their effects mostly do the presentation justice…eventually. So , I guess it’s all squared out.

I used to think “trust” is the bad guy here. It’s always so satisfying to think that you have things pinned down and figured out, ain’t it? How funny is it that you can still manage to maim yourself just the same or maybe even more while maintaining a safe , viable distance from the dreaded thing , as you would do by trusting blindly!

The most important mantra , though ? It isn’t always about you. In fact, you know what works for me even better? “It is never ever even about you.” What one does is merely a reflection of their own being, of their ‘deep downs’ and impulses. I write ‘impulses‘ because an impulse isn’t just unwillingness bottled up, it is a reaction that you choose, it is a cry that you allow yourself to let out. I am not saying that a person is the summation of the above β€œtraits”,Β you can never overstate the obvious affects of foreign behavior on one. The outside world does unthinkable things to you , no matter how high up you build your walls or how thick and impenetrable your shell is. At what point do you question yourself then, what if you are the perpetrator and the victim all the same?

I read something a friend shared a while ago, it said “You cannot save people, you can only love them.” – Anonymous.

But, what if you are so selfishly entrenched that you need ,for some inexplicable reason to save people? Perhaps it makes you feel less shallow, perhaps someone else being okay makes you feel better, maybe it doesn’t even change how you feel at all , but in some way settles you ……. the underlying cause being your pathetic self or not so pathetic after all. These are all versions of the obvious psychological diagnoses, almost. I do not associate this with any superhero complex, I would very much appreciate if the glorification be left out. No , no reverse psychology operating there.

I don’t even know what this is about anymore, I figure that the most of you could be undiscovered, disputed and incomplete , just like this post.

Holy shit, I gotta study now.