this aint me

just read all what i wrote..and shit i realised what a deppresed fuck i am..
the reality is i am an extreme optimist.
used to be really happy as well..
wonder what happned...
i think its just that i write when i am sad..
is it like that allways...
we become more expressive when we are sad....
or is that there are a lot of thoes fogies around when ur happy...
well i guess need to start writing when i am happy ....cause i hate this shit...

sunday morning

Sunday mornings….start with dizziness….its like a struggle
a struggle to stay in the bed…asleep
a struggle to complete my dreams from the week gone
a struggle to interpret what I couldn’t the day before
a struggle to see the signs I couldn’t see
a struggle to read the love in her eyes
a struggle to hear deceit in her voice
a struggle to search nothing of everything and everything of nothing hidden in the corners of my struggling soul

Its like a collating a jigsaw.
to view my ghosts,
to view my disturbed soul….
to view the one who let go
to view who didn’t
to view those I left behind
and those who did that to me..


And then the dizziness gives way to fear

the fear of what has gone wrong going wrong again
the fear of the blasts from the past
the fear of listening the screams from the past
the fear of voices so cold ,cutting through me again
the fear of missing the bus again and yet again
the fear to loose her and everyone yet again


Cant take no more…the light pierces me deep down…
How I used to love my Sunday mornings …well not anymore..dono why…

Well still love one thing about my Sunday…my masala chai…
Life is not that bad…or it is…dono…fuck it ,,tea is great though..