Dear Under Appreciated Self

Dear Under Appreciated Self,

I am sorry.
I am sorry for not having loved you enough. I am sorry for constantly doubting you. I am sorry for not believing you're the least bit deserving of all the goddamn love in the world.
Because you are.
You are all that and so much more.
I always complained that nobody treated you right, and you were never anybody's first priority. Including mine.
I never gave you the love you needed and then blamed you for not being lovable.
I am sorry you had to go through this without me. I am sorry you had to go through it against me.
I am sorry you were my second option. I am sorry I cared for everyone else more than I did for you. You always should have been my first priority.
I am sorry I let anxiety and depression talk me into doing and saying things I never should have even thought of.
I realize now, all you needed was to be loved by me.
Because everyone else will leave; it's each for his own out here in this unforgiving, cruel world.
And I am sorry for it all, and hope you can forgive me. Because I plan on fixing it.
I will fix everything.
I will fix us.

With Love,

Your Flawed Self

Dear Science Students And Everyone Who Got Offended

Dear Science Students And Everyone Who Got Offended,

Here I am, again.
And I am here because there has been massive recoil on my previous post, which was also addressed to science students.
I want to make it completely transparent that I, in no way whatsoever, wrote it to degrade you lot.
My logic here is simple: you take pride in your subjects, so why shouldn't I? Sure, perhaps you are more interested in chemistry than I am, but do not shit on me and everything I believe in just because it's not the same as your beliefs and interests.
To the person who said "I am a science student because I achieved to be so." The whole point of this blog was to tell you, everybody, that dumb students do not choose arts because they can't cope with science or commerce. We choose arts because, just as you develop a keen interest in studying atoms or gravity or pressure, we find beauty in the way the mind works and society functions.
Yes, perhaps our textbooks aren't as thick or heavy and perhaps our portion only consists of 10 chapters, maximum. But that does not mean what we are studying is not important. In no way does it make us worthless or unable to contribute to society.
Think about depression, bipolar disorder, schizophrenia. Where do you think people with these disorders would be right now if it weren't for the multiple advancements made in the field of psychology?
Without economics and being able to study the per capita income or gross domestic product, without any knowledge of the supply and demand curves and inflation rates, without a proper understanding of the economy and needs of people, and without the ability to make economically efficient allocation of resources, it would be nearly impossible for nations to progress.
Every subject has it's own pros and cons.
I'm also not saying each and every science student is like this. But a majority of you are.
So if you're one of the few science students who does not consider arts inferior, I apologize for having generalized in my previous post.
I have seen several memes on the internet. One such that I saw quite recently, was one that said "I do not always talk to arts students, but when I do, I order large fries."
Does anybody want to take a wild fucking guess how many times I've been told "Drop out and be unemployed already. It's not like you have a lot of career options in the future with arts anyway"?
More times than I can count.
Oh, and the part where I say you don't enjoy your subjects? That I do apologize for, because that is not always true.
I just feel like we, as a community, have been conditioned to place science above arts even though it is not true. We have been told science is for the smart people and arts is for those who weren't smart enough get into science. Not true, is it? We are here because we chose to be here.
In conclusion, my blog was not written with the objective of making science students feel like shit.
It was only written so that I could defend myself for being an arts student, because apparently, that's what it has come to. I wrote it so I could defend myself against the discrimination that I, along with so many others, have been facing, so that finally, maybe we could see it come to an end.

Sincerely hoping I don't offend anyone this time,

An Arts Student 

Dear Science Students

Dear Science Students,

I am sorry your subjects are difficult. I am sorry you can’t cope with them more often than not. I am sorry you have three subjects more than I do and most of all, I am sorry I chose to do something I love.

I am sorry for everything I am about to say, but you need to hear it.

You are not better than me. I still have to study, like you do. I still have books, I still have assignments. I still have a brain and feelings, too.

So every time you say to me “You’re an arts student because you’re stupid”, think again.

I am an arts student because I chose to be so.

And I did not choose my subjects because it means less studying and an easy time.

I made this decision because I would rather spend my education learning about how the mind works and about society rather than chemicals and the human anatomy.

This is what I love and shame on you if you can’t respect that.

Yes, I got 92% in my tenth boards and yes, I did not have math or science.

But that doesn’t mean I was handed that 92% on a silver fucking platter.

No, I worked just as hard as you did. I studied day in and day out and I went to my tuitions every single day. And I solved papers and revised everything a thousand times, just like you did.

So don’t you dare invalidate that. Don’t you dare come and tell me that my 92% doesn’t count because I had economics, commerce and arts as my subjects.

Quit complaining about how science is the most difficult stream ever and arts is a cakewalk.

I am sorry you don’t enjoy your subjects.

I am sorry you have to continually put arts students down just to feel good about choosing science.

I am sorry, but get a fucking life, mate.

Sincerely,

An Arts student

just because

just because she tells you her parents aren’t home doesn’t mean she wants you to come over.
just because she says her lips are chapped doesn’t mean it’s an invitation for you to force your lips upon hers.
just because she occasionally touches your arm while talking doesn’t mean she wants yours all over her.
just because she says she’s had more than one boyfriend doesn’t mean she’s easy.
just because she’s had a few casual relationships doesn’t mean she’ll sleep with everyone who comes her way.
just because she doesn’t tell you to shut up when you call her ‘hot’, ‘sexy’, etc., doesn’t mean she likes it.
just because she doesn’t slap you when you shamelessly stare down her top doesn’t mean she likes being objectified.
just because she doesn’t block you on snapchat when you ask her for nudes doesn’t mean she secretly wants you.
just because she’s being nice does not mean she wants to be taken advantage of.

since you've been gone

something came in the mail for you today. 

and all of a sudden, i was reminded of you. all over again, like the roof falling down upon me. but not all of a sudden. no, the roof didn’t come crashing down. it closed in on me, inch by inch. i could see it coming down and i couldn’t do a thing to save myself, or to save you. and i watched as it crushed everything one by one- the bookshelf, the couch, the cute little souvenirs kept on the wooden frame mounted up against the wall. it slid down, as if it were a slippery roadside covered in moss and algae just after the rain. it  came down upon my shoulders, like a weight i couldn’t carry. i felt like atlas. i could feel the oxygen in the air getting scarce. i struggled for breath as i tried to find a way out, but you were already lying unconscious on the floor. and there, i started reliving those moments over and over and over again. the moment amma woke me up in the morning with a tear-stained face, telling me you were in the hospital. the moment we were on the plane and amma got up to go to the washroom and came back, sniffing and blowing her nose into a tissue. the moment we landed, and instead of taking a cab to the hospital, we took a cab to ajja and bappamma’s house. the moment i asked her “aanu is still alive, isn’t he?” and she told me “just get in the cab”. i remember every second of that awful day. i remember crying for all of the two hours in the cab. i remember crying and not caring what anybody that might see me thought. i remember preparing myself to see you, swearing to myself that i wouldn’t cry in front of all those people. but what i remember most vividly, the most heartbreaking moment of all- when i finally walked into the apartment. people were everywhere- ones i knew, ones i didn’t know, ones that had known me since i was a child and others whose names i couldn’t even remember. but all of these people knew you. they knew you as a little boy and as a fresh-faced college going young man. some knew you as the talented boy from the school band, others knew you as the hard-working and dedicated man that you were. and they were all here for you. but none of this broke me as much as seeing you there- lying on the floor, clad in all white. you looked almost peaceful- i could’ve thought you were asleep. but you weren’t snoring the way you usually did. and for the first time, i wished you were snoring that loud, sleep-disrupting snore of yours. i thought of all the times i got up and slept in the other room because of your snoring, and then in that moment, i would’ve given up everything in this world to hear you snore once again. you weren’t wearing your glasses. you looked so incomplete without them. you were always so alive aanu, always there. whether you were angry, sad, happy, sleeping, a whole state away from me- you were there. no matter all that. but suddenly, you weren’t. you were just… gone. gone in a flash like those beautiful clouds in the sky that remain in that beautiful pattern for just a second, and by the time you can get to your phone to take a picture, it’s gone. and the sky will never be the same again. my sky will never be the same again. 

i never thought of losing you so early. the thought never crossed my mind. i always figured we’d have a lot of time to spend together. to do all the father-daughter activities we always dreamed of. painting my room, redoing the house. getting a dog, cooking together on sundays. movie nights and you introducing me to new bands. you getting to watch as i got 92% in my boards, and moved here to bangalore like you always wanted me to. and go to this college, just like you’d always dreamed for me. and it’s all gone. it’s all gone now.

a lot of what i am today- a lot of who i am, is all because of you. every morning, i wake up, even when i don’t want to. because, remember that one day, when you woke up at 4 am and tried to wake me up at 6? and i drove you away, and again when you tried to wake me up at 8. every morning, i think “i could’ve spent more time with him if only i’d woken up. if only i had opened my eyes and looked at his face while i still could. spoke to him while he was still breathing. hugged him and told him that i love him.” every morning, i wake up, because you didn’t. 

and now, here i am. you’re gone, and my whole world is just… hanging somewhere in the middle. the burden is too much for my shoulders without you here, and i can barely breathe.

i am here and you are not, and it’s all just too much for me.

Things NOT To Say To A Depressed/Suicidal Person (Trigger Warning)

If you are someone that has never experienced depression or suicidal thoughts, it may be a very foreign concept- something way beyond your comprehension that someone out there is thinking of ending their own life. I understand why you think this way- it is the one basic instinct each of us have instilled in us by default. The survival instinct. Each of our bodies, at this very moment, is doing everything it can to make sure we’re alive and breathing. 

I grew up with a bipolar father who used to get depressed often. I have seen him go from super happy to extremely sad in a matter of hours. As a child of merely 8 years, I never understood what in the world could be so terrible as to upset my father so much.

But, as I grew up, it became clearer to me. So clear, in fact, that I found myself slowly slipping into depression myself. It was like being caught in quicksand. 

And not until recently did I understand the plight of people who tried to take their lives or successfully did so. 

I am proud to say that I have dug my way out of that ditch, but it was not easy. 

And now, as I am recovering, I am quite open about my past problems. I find it is healthier to let people know rather than piling it all up.

You’d be surprised how many people have called me ‘selfish’ and ‘stupid’ for my attempts. 

Let me tell you this: if you have a friend or close one who is suicidal, and you want to help them get better, making them feel guilty about it is not the right approach. 

In fact, it is just about the worst thing you could say to them.

Never say, ‘you are selfish and stupid’. Never say, ‘think about your family, you’ll cause them pain’. Never say, ‘don’t be a coward’. 

No.

I am not stupid. I have weighed out my options. I have gone through this. Me. Not you. You do not get to decide if I’ve had enough or not- I do. This is my decision, my life. 

This is not a sudden, momentary decision that I have taken. This is not something that cropped up into my thoughts while I was dreaming last night. NO. 

I feel helpless. My behavior isn’t reasonable, but neither is depression. Even today, I don’t think I can come anywhere close to explaining how miserable I felt when I was depressed. 

The depression, paired with the anxiety, made me feel useless, helpless. My anxiety kept telling me I was worthless and my depression made me believe there was nothing I could do about it. Yes, it was all in my head. But every time someone told me I was being selfish or stupid or not thinking about my family, it made my feelings even stronger. I felt guilty, guilty about being self centered and cowardly- not the traits of a good human being. I was convinced I was a terribly worthless, good-for-nothing person who was too selfish and too much of a coward to live in this world surrounded by such beautiful things and amazing people.

And that is the problem with depression- it makes you believe that everything in this world is a flawless masterpiece and you’re a crooked mess of mishaps and inconveniences. 

I thought it would be easier to run away from my problems rather than facing them. I was a coward, yes. But I do not need to hear that.

I needed someone to tell me that it will all be fine. That everything would settle down while I could learn to be myself again. That I was worth the so-called inconveniences I caused, that I was a good enough person to be here. 

And that is what every depressed and suicidal person needs to hear. We do not need someone to tell us we’re stupid or that our families will suffer- these are things we already know. These are the things eating us up, driving us to the edge of the balcony and towards the sharp razors.

No, we need you to tell us what our depression has forced us to forget. 

We need someone to tell us that we, like everybody else, are human after all and make mistakes, no matter how often. 

We need someone to tell us that it’s okay to love ourselves, no matter how flawed. 

a letter to her love

they share secrets

as often as they share clothes

the whole world knows them as best friends

but she wants something more.

she has her telephone number memorized

just like her smile

and her favorite songs and shades of lipstick

and the color of her eyes.

these little things that others miss

are etched into her heart

currently on the top of her list of beautiful things

just waiting to pour apart.

and her laugh, oh her laugh

is as though drinking water after months of drought

she’s infinitely gorgeous and quirky

she really is something, it’s no doubt.

what a pity to not be able to come out with the truth

for her mind knows she doesn’t swing that way

and decided to set herself straight once

but her heart, a rebel like herself, led her astray.

and it breaks her a little everyday

that she is somehow worth enough

to be so heart achingly close
yet so far away from love.

Cold

Imagine this: You find yourself awake on a cold, winter morn and decide to busy yourself by going on a walk instead of simply lying in bed for the rest of the morning. You step out of the warmth and familiarity of your home into the frigid street- barefooted, barely clothed with your hair carelessly cascading down your back in the tangled mess that it is. Your lips are pale and dry, your face is entirely make-up free and your shorts barely cover your thighs while the strap of your spaghetti top keeps falling off your shoulder with each step that you take. 

The pavement feels chilly against your feet as your cheeks flush, your body trying to keep itself warm as you shiver. Goosebumps make an appearance all over your arms and your unshaved legs, while your teeth chatter lightly.

You’re roaming the streets, all alone. The icy air pricks your body like a thousand needles all at once. It’s like lying down on freshly cut grass right after it’s been watered. 

At first, you try to warm yourself. You rub your palms together vigorously as if trying to light a fire warm enough to save you from this frigid weather. You run your hands along the skin of your arms to create some friction. All your survival instincts kick in as you realize that this isn’t what you need.

But the road is long, and never-ending. You turn back, but see only a thick veil of fog for as far as your vision permits. 

You’ve walked a long way, and now doubt you’ll be able to find your way home. 

So what do you do? You keep walking. 

Your feet start to feel a little numb from the cold. Are you even sure you can continue walking for much longer without stumbling and tripping over the ground? 

No. You are not certain of anything at this point.

There is no way back, and there is no way out.

And so, you start to embrace the cold. 

You figure- I can’t control the weather, but I can control how I react to it.

You try to stop your body from shivering and shaking. You place your foot firmly upon the ground come the next step.

You let your guard down.

You let the cold eat you up.

The cold is the thick mist that has swallowed you.

And instead of struggling to get out of it, you are going to allow it to annihilate you.

The cold has no way back, no way out.

You start to lose all feeling in your limbs, but you keep walking till you can’t feel anything at all.

And you aren’t sure of anything at all.

Until, finally, you miss a step, perhaps, and your entire body lurks forward in one quick movement as your face stridently comes in contact with the tarred road beneath you. 

You hear a faint crack, and aren’t sure if that was your nose or your chin. It could even be your arm or your fingers. 

But you just lay there, exposed, not able to feel a thing.

Not a thing but the cold, harsh wind.

And that is what it was like loving him.

Walking down a tedious, unremitting road laced with uncertainties of so much and yet so little, with nothing but his cold touch keeping me sane.

this is what heartbreak looks like

your lips on mine,
your sweater on my bed,
this is what heartbreak looks like;
and it is just like they said.
words never spoken,
messages never sent,
so, this is what heartbreak looks like;
with suffering to no end.
your pictures on my phone,
my lipstick stains on your shirt,
this is what heartbreak looks like;
and now i'm left eating dirt.
the empty beer bottles,
the quick cigarette breaks,
perhaps this is what heartbreak looks like;
when you've had everything you stand for at stake.
the long rides on your bike,
that tie i really liked,
this is what heartbreak looks like;
when you've taken me on this emotional hike.
stolen glances in the hallway,
secret rendezvous after hours,
this is what heartbreak looks like;
when we never even had much to call ours.
blown away by a storm so strong,
oceans apart and completely forlorn,
and this is what heartbreak looks like;
when i no longer have you to call my own.
you push me away like I'm a door,
a door to your next- your forevermore,
so this is what heartbreak looks like;
when you've loved from your very core.
those last few words,
were as though deliberately poisoned with hurt,
yes, this is what heartbreak looks like;
as i watch you go running right back to her.

v.k.

RAPE #2

A few days ago, my mother sent me a text saying that 'Pink' was a wonderful movie and that I should watch it. Now, if I'm being honest here, I didn't really give a damn at that time. I'm not too big on bollywood movies. But I then found out that Amitabh Bachchan is in it, so naturally, I felt inclined to watch it. And now that I have, I have a few words to say. The movie in itself failed to impress much: the cast was average and so was their performance (if not a bit too much), the courtroom and trial scenes were poorly thought out and I could point out about fifty loopholes right now. Amitabh's character was witty yet senile, and not a very good lawyer as far as I could tell. But that's just my opinion on something I am not fully educated about. That is not what I am here to talk about.
What I wish to talk about, is the concept. The concept that a guy can get away with raping a girl just because she's 'easy'.
This is India. Our men are manly and bearded and our women and holier than thou and dressed in saris.
India is moving forward in a way that I myself do not fully understand. Women drink, wear short dresses, date several men, homosexuality exists. But people hesitate to talk about it and accept it socially.
A girl is judged based on the length of her dresses, the size of her heels, her tolerance for alcohol and her list of ex boyfriends.
She is judged based on how often she goes out and how late she comes home, the boy-girl ratio within her friends circle and how she supposedly 'flirts' with all her male friends.
In today's day and age, where women work and live independent lives, it is impossible for a woman to survive without having certain relationships with certain members of the opposite sex. What's even more shocking, is that some women choose to be in the company of men without being romantically or sexually involved with them! Shocking, isn't it?
But what I learnt from watching this movie, is that it could happen to any of us.
I could go out with my friends tomorrow, and have a nice but strange boy offer to buy me and my friends drinks. Of course we would accept, because he seems polite and educated enough. Of course we all get a little tipsy. Of course him and his friends already have a plan in mind, an evil scheme.
But of course they don't see anything wrong with what they're doing, because me and my friends are all single girls partying on a Friday night, drinking and dancing and wearing short dresses and high heels.
Of course those boys have some friends in common with me, and of course these common friends have told the boys about my past relationships and several casual ones, too.
Of course the boy thinks, 'What's one more time to this whore?'
And of course I can't do anything about it, because at the end of the day, I'm the one that's begging for it. I'm the one that's gotten drunk, because I want them to take advantage of me when I'm vulnerable. I'm the one that's wearing the short dress, because I want to provoke them. I'm the one that's had multiple partners in the past, because that makes me public property and easy access to all men.
And at this point, I'm being raped, because I brought this on myself.
But no, it is not rape. It is just another name to add to my list. It does not matter that I did not give consent- once a whore, never more. Never a woman with free will, never a girl being violated, never a daughter being scarred for life, never a friend being stripped of her rights. Just a 'slut', getting what she deserves.

So, on behalf of every girl out there- whether she drinks or stays home, whether she has more guy friends than girls, whether she has had multiple boyfriends or she's a virgin- I want to say this: thank you. Thank you to the society and to the law, and to the men and the mentality in this country.
And I am sorry.
I am sorry, because it will always be my fault. 

cigarette

it’s 2 am, and it’s chilly out,

i sit in my living room with nothing to ponder about.

my cigarette is lit, 

and it’s killing me bit by bit.

your face flashes across my phone screen,

memories flash by like a tragic scene.

and i start to feel,

was it in my head, or was it real?

because you kissed me like you were saying goodbye,

were you telling the truth, or was it a lie?

i see you, still, but you aren’t there,

you aren’t in the clothes you used to wear.

the ghost of your being haunts me,

it’s been six months, and we still don’t meet.

everything i have, was one yours,

i gave you my everything, it was ours.

and then, the scene that played out,

was just as i feared.

because, just like the smoke from my cigarette,

you disappeared.

v.k.

coffee

and my coffee comforts me

like no other can

it holds me and settles me

gives company to my lonely hands.

my hands, the ones you never held,

my lips, those you never kissed.

the coffee that i drink to no end,

now touches everything you once missed.

you missed those late night conversations,

i now have with myself,

my coffee and i have been places,

i need it more than you can tell.

telling me stories i've never heard before,

my coffee does all the things you should have done,

it tells me i'm beautiful, i deserve more,

you see, my coffee and i, we are one.

it keeps me company at night,

we've been on so many adventures together,

it likes all the books i like,

my coffee makes me forget, makes me feel better.

i savor its taste on my lips, 

like i did yours,

i cherish the feel of the warm cup on my fingertips,

while you left me broken on all fours.

but i cannot stay awake for long,

unless i’ve had my coffee.

ever since you left me and did me wrong,

this caffeine is what i breathe.

the stuff of dreams, 

while i wake,

i stay alive

for my coffee’s sake.

it needs me, just as i need it,

you will never come 

and will never care even a bit,

at least my coffee makes me numb.

but my doctors say it isn’t healthy,

as if you were any better for my form,

they say i have developed issues of dependency,

but about you, i was never warned.

because, you see, my coffee, it will stay,

i know this for sure.

but you, as always, will run away,

leaving my dependency on you with no cures.

Anorexia

stares at her bright screen all night,

they've lost their way, she gives them advice.

"you have to eat, you need it"

"your body needs you to stay fit"

"do it for your mother, she loves you"

"you should eat if you love to"

she's saved many from a terrible fate,

but is filled with self-hatred

"look at my body, have i put on weight?"

"i can't have my next meal yet, i must wait"

she's beautiful, inside and out, 

but the only downside is, she's filled with doubts.

no one to tell her that she is perfect as she is,

how could she be so stupid as to not realize it.

but her thighs touch, and rub together when she walks,

she's always a little conscious of her double chin when she talks.

she skips meals almost everyday,

she's been starving herself so she can lose weight.

but her body is drained,

it is in pain.

"i want food, i need some"

"feed me now, don't be dumb"

"do you not love me enough?"

"i suppose it's time to give up"

but each body is beautiful,

thin or fat,

tall or short,

pale or dark.

you are not just your body.

you are not just what you eat.

you are so much more, and beyond that, too.

anorexia is bullshit.

the end.

Her Hair Was Blue, And So Was Her Mood

Tell me, where I should look,
In the notes of your music or the words in your books? 
Under the bed or on the window pane,
On the rooftop or somewhere down the lane?
In the memories or in the polaroid photos,
Tell me, in which part of our home,
Can I find you again- alive,
Fully well and alright?
Hazy, like pieces of a puzzle,
Without you, I can't get past this hurdle.
Ironic, isn't it, how I need your help,
To get over you not being there.
So I dyed my hair blue,
And pierced my lip, too.
Thinking if I change into someone new,
I'll find you again without much further ado.
How? Don't ask me why,
Why I thought of doing something so wild.
But I did, and now my hair as well as my mood,
Is always blue, always just looking for you.

rApe

Late night at a strange club,
Stumbling around, feeling dumb,
People with faces blurred,
Alcohol with soda stirred.
Drink, drink, till she loses count,
Dance, dance, till her head starts to pound.
Short dress, riding up her thighs,
Drunk men, getting high.
Predators watching this naive, unsuspecting prey,
She's weak, they think, so I can have my way.

Her mother had told her before she left home,
It's dangerous out there, don't stay all alone.
But mom's just mom, she had thought,
Heard it all right, but she forgot.
Then a tall man comes her way,
Offers her a drink, she says 'okay'.
Drinks, drinks, drinks are all the same,
Gulps it down, oh, what a shame.
Out of the corner of her eye, she sees him smile,
It's nothing, she says, I'll only be a while.
Her head starts to spin, what a wonderful buzz,
Her heart, in her chest, starts to pulse.

So when Mr. Tall asks her to dance,
Drunk, swooning, she accepts his advance.
He leads the way, backs her up,
Into a corner of that shady club.
But with hardly anyone else around,
In her delirious state, she frowns.
Her attempt to push him away is a waste,
Now she thinks of it- the drink had been weird to taste.

Should've listened to mom, her thoughts scream,
But she can't, her arms are weak.
Her fear fights back, as she drowns,
But her attacker is stronger, he pins her down.
Why? she thinks, as he kisses her neck,
Repulsed, terrified, her mind is a wreck.
She tunes out the rest as he pounds into her,
Overpowers her as she twists and turns.
Does her will count for nothing?
Are all women men's playthings?

He leaves, she's broken, lying on the floor,
Picks herself up, walks out the door.
Still doesn't know his name,
Can't properly remember his face.
But stared into his soul too deep,
Cruel and beast-like, it makes her weep.

Shivering, shaking, takes a cab home,
Looks around in her purse, doesn't fine her phone.
The cab fare has risen, she pays so much,
But it's still nothing compared to his unholy touch.
She cringes as the cabbie hands her the change,
Looks at him, sees a monster in his place.

Enters her warm home, still feels naked,
Lights are on, mom is still awake.
How was it? Mother asks, smiling for she doesn't know,
The poor girl covers her face, and falls to the floor.

Mom is worried, her daughter is in tears,
She just confirmed all her worst fears.
Let it go, it's too big a shame,
Mom tells her to forget his name.
And that is the story of how a girl, innocent and all,
Became not-so-innocent after all.

My hands, your hands,
We're a tangle of bodies,
Sweating, loving,
Burning with passion.
Like a fire ablaze,
Like an endless abyss
Of foreign ecstasy.
I try to figure you out,
Put you together slowly,
Like pieces of a puzzle.
A thousand skies lit up tonight,
As we lay underneath the stars.
A thousand deaths I've died,
A thousand lies I've lied,
As we lay beside one another.
So I put you together a little faster,
To escape this web of lies
We've woven together.
You're like the sky,
You change colours,
You turn grey,
You storm, you settle.
Your rain down on me,
With all your love and all your rage.
You're endless,
And I could get lost in your space.
So I map you out carefully,
Tip-toe around the edges,
So I don't fall off
And find myself, all over again
In this mesh work of falsehoods we've mastered,
Dying a thousand deaths every day,
Only to relive a thousand lies in every possible way.