Capturing The Dread That Visits As Your Birthdays Approach.

God declared guilt the day his image

Ran away from Him-

Grew red with fury,

Grew up, up, up, up;

Until he covered the sky.

Eve was not the one who brought damnation or sin, no,

God named sin the day

Someone disobeyed him;

Who is god if not a living thing?

Eve came in a storm shock,

Came a reminder for God

That one day

Thou shan't be

The Judge,

The Jury and

The Executioner;

Thou shan't be the harbinger

Of all this fury.

A woman carved herself a piece of sin

The day she walked out of obedience,

Walked out of being a mere accomplice to a man.

In an act of trust, Eve reclaimed herself;

Don't you get it?

Lilith ran away from the disgrace of submission

And God named her fallen,

Named her a demon,

Named her evil;

Wiped out the first injustice

From memory.

What is so bad about morality?

To know the good and evil;

The first humans bit into the apple

And the apple grew them a conscience-

Grew the thought that there was a body.

Grew the feeling of all of this being,

Being here,

Grew the thought that they were here.

The Garden shut its gates

And the humans wandered off;

The first act of foolishness will perhaps always be trust.

Eve trusted the serpent,

Adam trusted Eve

And God trusted something human.

A.G.

Our love was wine drunk

At 3 am on the kitchen floor,

We made space for each other.

We were giggles illuminated

By the fairy lights in my room.

We were lights turned off

And windows pushed wide open;

We were a clear night sky,

We were so beautiful, so pure;

Two stars besides one another,

We were bright and free.

Hi are you from india sorry if its weird asking out of nowhere

Nope it's completely fine! Yep I am from India. Brown and Proud haha :)

Love Birds (but like the Love is real and pure)

Dripping chaos everywhere I go.

I was not the broken thing anymore.

I cried and fought and fell

And scratched and clawed

My way back from hell.

I made an armour out of this body,

Grew my heart into a soldier,

Marched to once friendly lines

To cut off all ties

And fought you off

With all my might.

You weren't here anymore

And I grew myself a garden,

Planted my heart in its bosom;

Took the armour out to let it rust,

Felt the sunlight burn my thick skin,

And I almost could feel the years turn,

And could almost feel myself turn to dust.

When I was little, I used to stay away from matches because I was sure I would set myself on fire. What I didn't realise was that I've been burning for a long time. You know how they say you're a sum of everyone you've met; everyone you've come across? I think I'm other people, more than I am myself. I still remember the phone number of my friend from the third grade. What do I do with the memory of that? That's the problem. I remember too much. I can never forget: numbers and people. I am a walking ache, I am a fresh scar; I am open wounds: always aching. I am hurt. My happiness is pretense and my sadness is a default. I have been hurt too many times and I can never forget it. I never remember my happiness. I remember too much of what went wrong and too much of all that hurt me; that's the problem. What do I do with all this hurt? I carry a lifetime of hurt. I think I will age backwards; I already hurt so much at so little, I am sure there can be no way this gets worse so I have to hope this will get better. As the years grow, I will grow. I will be taller when others are starting to hunch. How could I not? Where do you go from this ache? I am the ache I feel and I am the thing that hurts my heart. My happiness is always a pretense. I am always sad during the happiest moments of my life. Someone called me arrogant and I laughed at their face. I think some people are always sad. I am always other people and I have never been myself and I do not know what to do with that. I am a stranger in my head and my face is always a foreign image that surprises me. I remember too much. I don't know how to not. How do you forget? I don't hate myself, I just don't know what to do with her sometimes. She is a child and she is so grown up and strong and she is always grieving the loss of some part of herself.

Surgeons// Cuts

The wound bleeds.

The wound bleeds,

Gushing with everything

That was intended to be kept on the inside.

This safe of a body was not meant to be shared, sliced open,

Quite so literally.

The blood will soon clot off, sealing everything temporarily//

Body's own defense mechanism.

The surgeon will surgically remove the growth.

The local anesthetic will make your body funny;

You'll feel your ear become a fabric,

The sound of sewing of sutures

Rings in your head as the surgeon finishes.

He is impressed with how well you handled the needles.

You smile.

Being numb doesn't even feel like numbness-

A lot more like no pain

But your body turns into things

It has never been.

When you exit the operating room

He tells you to keep the dressings dry.

You text a friend,

Tell them not to hit you in the head again-

You just had surgery.

It rains on your way home.

And how do we forget all this glory around us?