Starry-eyed

Wave goodbye to moments akin
Ferment the flesh of the fruit of sin
Sip it, now, with nonchalance
In death do I live my foreverdance.

Loop

I must have entered through the back-door, although it could have easily been the front, if I happened to looked at it that way, once, twice, thrice, or if all of us inside already chose to perceive it that way, but that was not the case, as the case may be, or must have been, and so I must have entered through the back-door, the black-door, the aging, deceased, forgotten minority of a door, even though there have been only two doors as far as I can remember, as the rest of the front and back-doors ceased to exist completely, like when you shut your eyes as tightly as possible till starshine seeps into that enveloping vacuum that floats, infinitely, infinitely, I wouldn't know, I don't know, I must have known, I must have entered through the back-door, I don't remember, I forget, I don't remember, I have forgotten all of you in the process of remembering where I have come from and how I came to be here, I have forgotten all of you for I grew fond, grew to be perhaps, perhaps too engrossed with myself, my hands, my feet, and the world around me from which you were to be rubbed off, erased, the world that I entered through the back-door, the black-door, the strong, silent, stone door, I have walked on oceans, yes, oceans deep and oceans wide, deep and wide I entered the back-door, the black-door, after which all of you were forgotten and the gaping hole that was left in my memory was filled with that back-door, that black-door, the door behind which stands a million-foot fall, I fell, I fell, I slipped away, through the back-door, the black-door, I don't think I will ever remember when we are.

A Letter of Apology To That Little Man Inside My Brain

Little man, speak;
For you have been silent for many nights
And I have made you wear silly smiles,
As you walked back,
Endlessly,
Back to your curious little cave-lair,
My head.

Little man, scream;
For you are very very angry with me,
I know,
And I would really really like to make it up to you.
Truly, honestly.

This time, we walk back together,
Endlessly,
Back to our curious little cave-lair,
My head.

Fucking Alcoholics

Wake up, wake up, little child,
And smile your toothy smile.
I have heard your calls through your little red window,
And I, I have decided to help you.
I have decided to help you
Fight the man-eating monsters under your bed.
That being said,
It will cost you a cookie,
And seventeen golden coins,
For each ghoul I slay.
And if streaks of treachery
Cross your mind even by an inch of hair,
I will sit you firmly on your chair.
And you will have to watch,
As I beat your pregnant mother with a bottle of scotch.

Call me Dad.

Agony

It was one of the brightestnights in his life and he lay on his green grass-bed blinking unblinking at the starry starry night-sky ceiling shimmering sleepily above him, like divine rosy cheeks of a white virgin goddess. He bid the world the softest of sighs, and closed his crescent-moon eyes. Inside, a massive pulsating void vast as the ocean and scarlet as the fiercest of fires engulfed his torso as he melted into a gleaming green stretch of deep-seated joy that was his happy little room. His jingling, shrieking box of kaleidoscopes. His dancing, singing, jingling, shrieking box of kaleidoscopes. His secret, silent trap-door. And yet if all was well and the world was shiny, then why, oh why so glum?

Poor child, he was colourblind. He was deaf. And he was alone, for his parents had passed away.

The end