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Noctis Verses

“You never have to change anything you got up in the middle of the night to write.” ― Saul Bellow

Missing (?)

“Once more, he saw to the point, in the depths of his heart, that woman had become indispensable to him. When I did not see her for a while, I had the impression that something was missing, something very important, and I felt a slight pang in my chest. “

― Haruki Murakami

(Not Relevant)

This is for two people who’ve become close, like family (dare I say) to me in a rather short span of time – both of them became the strangers I would look for in a crowd.

“We have formed a sick little friendship over the past year”

― Dee Remy, There Once Was A Boy

While this doesn’t sum it up – what it does is provide the essence of what they are to me. For, I never expected to chance upon humans like them, even though I am a non-believer these two could make me believe in a god. I am grateful for them if anything.

 

 

Goodbye

“Patrice, are you alright?”
Ambre, je suis bien!

“But, but you’re bleeding”
Mon cœur prend une fuite, libérant l’excès

“And your eyes, so pale!”
Ambre, juste une phase. ils sont en déclin comme la lune d’hiver

“Patrice, did something happen?”
Pas vraiment, Evey gauche. me sous-évaluées pour la douche caviar potable

“Oh my! Are you serious? Evey left YOU!”
Ambre, oui, et ce coeur de la mine est de décharger les bagages et les souvenirs de son

“Patrice, everything will work out”
Il sera, il le fera. dès que je me perds dans la rose parsemée lit de mort

“Goodbye, Amber”
Patrice, non.

 

{Not Applicable}

She had friends –
(A few – close,
Much like family)
Ironic perhaps,
More than half of a sex
Not hers –
In generic terms of the opposite

 Of them also –
The one with tails,
She had one as a lover
And one who was her muse;
In her words –
“He was a beautiful muse”

Of those who’d become family,
A select few –
Could only make her happy (truly)
Other shared laughs and smile –
Not genuinely

Now that she’d been away –
A bunch of hours, really
Wondered –
If anyone missed a broken person
(A few did – she knew
But, mental illnesses were at work)

To her muse, love and all those in between,
Someone’s back on the front

To quote this person –
“Midnight is clichéd”

Fantasy

“We read fantasy to find the colors again, I think. To taste strong spices and hear the songs the sirens sang. There is something old and true in fantasy that speaks to something deep within us, to the child who dreamt that one day he would hunt the forests of the night, and feast beneath the hollow hills, and find a love to last forever somewhere south of Oz and north of Shangri-La.”

– George R. R. Martin

Off Grid

He’d realized –
He was broken,
From inside

Not the suicidal –
“I want to die”

Rather

Dang it!
“I am not worth it”

While,
It felt liberating –
He knew it was sad

Feeling lost
Didn’t know what to do

Not just that

Wasted days, after days
Sleeping

Helpful (?), not –
Like, if he was to be true to himself
It was all, but a blur!

He felt like doing nothing
Not even – write, eat or anything else

And

Even though he shouldn’t feel this way –
It felt like no one cared

Much like a lonesome defeat
It stayed – meddling
Mood swings and constant mental breakdowns

The pillow had defined salt trails
Mentally mushed

But

To the world – he’d smile and say,
“Alive and kicking”

Not all that glitters is gold –
His life was glittery
Not gold

Ceased

Left hanging –
In a pool of blood, a string attached
A few screams
Some sobs

That was how he ceased
In a jute garland
With slashes to complete the look

A half burnt cigarette,
Note in a tissue with snot
A wilted rose on the study
With a smile on the face

He had come to be –
With a smile
A journal left incomplete
With lost thoughts and tear stains

“Sadness reeks creativity”,
He’d say – with a smile
And the nonchalant dull eyes
No one seemed to notice

That was how he ceased –
With a jute garland and crimson wrist

Swimmin’

“I tried to drown my sorrows, but the bastards learned how to swim, and now I am overwhelmed by this decent and good feeling.”

– Frida Kahlo

Depressed (!)

“The so-called ‘psychotically depressed’ person who tries to kill herself doesn’t do so out of quote ‘hopelessness’ or any abstract conviction that life’s assets and debits do not square. And surely not because death seems suddenly appealing. The person in whom Its invisible agony reaches a certain unendurable level will kill herself the same way a trapped person will eventually jump from the window of a burning high-rise. Make no mistake about people who leap from burning windows. Their terror of falling from a great height is still just as great as it would be for you or me standing speculatively at the same window just checking out the view; i.e. the fear of falling remains a constant. The variable here is the other terror, the fire’s flames: when the flames get close enough, falling to death becomes the slightly less terrible of two terrors. It’s not desiring the fall; it’s terror of the flames. And yet nobody down on the sidewalk, looking up and yelling ‘Don’t!’ and ‘Hang on!’, can understand the jump. Not really. You’d have to have personally been trapped and felt flames to really understand a terror way beyond falling.”

― David Foster Wallace

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