MONOLOGUES OF A DRAMA QUEEN ~ I

Thundershower and lightning brought the internet connection down on Friday, last week. I called up the local service provider more than a couple of times regarding this and more than a couple of times I was assured the problem would be fixed in less than a couple of hours. Yet, a big red cross over the network icon continued to remain a permanent fixture on my desktop system tray. So on Sunday afternoon, as I was thinking ‘consumer court’, a friend took a peek at my PC cabinet’s sexy behind and then, with a pretty massive grin, he told me – “Looks like your Lan card has eloped with thunder and lightning”.

So, I finally managed to get the problem at my end fixed yesterday only to realise there’s something still wrong at the service provider’s end. A good number of calls later, my net connection is finally restored, though the speed can still put a snail to shame. But the thing is, after an agonizing week of a lousy internet-less existence, even tiny doses have started looking good. Seriously people, a couple of more hours of this unbearable withdrawal and this turkey would have really gone cold!

Jeez! I can be such an online drama queen.

MONOLOGUES OF A DRAMA QUEEN ~ II

Yearning for a quick fix during my dark internet-less hours, I reacquainted myself with my old notebook and pencil. But the problem is when the three of us meet, the result is not always pleasant. Here’re some samples of the distasteful things we’ve been discussing after being left to our own devices:

IDLE WORSHIP
Lightning strikes, life pushed into a coma;
mangled wires mutilate my ethereal conversation.
As a dying screen flickers, life ebbing away, and
silence devours the last shrill cry of death,
cold sweat trickles down my spine; fear grips
as I grope around in darkness cursing God.
“What did I do to deserve this?” I scream at Him;
“Idle worship,” He chuckles amidst thunder.

SELF-DEFENCE
Covered in purple and blue, you hit at my shadow;
sprawled on the floor, your mouth froths at my reflection.
It’s easy to hate me for faults your own, bear the grudge;
It’s much too easy to kill than be killed, you lay the bait.

Delirious in the sweet smell of old brown Mary Jane,
Nirvana attained in the rotting cunt of a whore you hate.
Repressed feelings now shoot like semen
in a womb of nothingness, a life lost in digression…

… Tell me, do I bring out the worst in you?

SHADOWBOXING
Stifle those screams, your mind can be so distracting
Dodge your shadows, fear can be extremely crippling
Resist the urge, clip your wings, you’re afraid of heights
Run. Run from reality. Embrace. Embrace nothingness…

… Just like I did.

MY TWISTED LOVE AFFAIR
Complicate things if you must, if it makes you feel mysterious;
Let me deconstruct your myth to reconstruct my righteousness.
My anal obsession with removing all shades of grey
has ended up in me breaking you down to black and white.
Violated, angered and shamed, you pluck at my eyes;
Directionless and disoriented, I stumble and rip out your face.

MIND FILTH
Welcome to my filth
where I reign supreme
over chaos both you and I created
with mutual love and hate.
I levy no entry fee,
self-pity being the only requisite.

Welcome to my filth
where I’ll be the antiseptic
over your bleeding wrists, and
the hand to pass the razor again.
I’ll be the wound you can lick,
the pus you’ll suck dry.

Welcome to my filth
where I feign empathy
over your appetite for devouring pain.
Please feel free to soak in my filth;
your sickness feeds the system
and at my bowels you feed.

SWAP
The lurking tendrils of your nightmare
creep slowly into my sleepy day;
in our crumpled bed you twist and burn
as I send you the horrors of my waking hours.


DISCLAIMER: I leave poetry to the lyrically attuned for I have no pretensions of having the caliber, or even the emotional depth, to create something so beautiful. What you saw up there are simply thoughts – some mundane, some slightly sick – that find their way out of the recess of my mind once in a while for self-purgation.