the in-betweens.

the world
full of
people

bad men
and
women
doing
bad bad
things

the good ones
undoing
the bad bad things
spreading some
goodness
along

see-saw players
keeping
the society
from
toppling

and
we
the parasites
riding on the
balance
they
create
contemplating
about
the good and the bad

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nothing.

there are days
when I have to
write
nothing special about
those days
they are usually
mundane

I’ll be on my way
to college
having my lunch
talking to someone
lying down
doing nothing
and then all of a sudden
I grow heavy

my face about to
burst
my belly
bladder
and chest
full of something
that feels liquid
like a balloon
filled with
water

I start sweating
and gasping for air
eyes start seeing
things
that aren’t there
and my mind
goes blank

no one around me
notices a thing
they don’t
understand
they don’t see
anything different
it feels normal
someone standing
in the beach
looking at the sea
beautiful
the waves full of life
the orange sun
perfect
but out of her sight
is a man
flapping his hands
and legs
gulping down salty
sea water
praying for help
drowning in the
same beautiful sea

I take out my phone
to type something
but
NOTHING
arrives

you have
a bad cold
you want to
sneeze
but
you can’t
does it make sense now?

I have a
better example
with shit and fart
but then
I’ve talked a lot
about them
I feel like
I’m full of shit

I’m so full
but I cant write
anything
all those crazy
poetic thoughts
seem to have disappeared
trying to
find something
to write about
searching desperately
its tiring

so I
piss on grammar
and fuck art
start typing
letting
the words
find
me

the empty diary.

there is
the diary
lying
inside
the cupboard

there are days
when I
take it out
leave it
on the
table

hardbound
golden yellow
with
some funny
mandarin font
on it

she gave
it
as a
gift
asking
me
to write

she was
there
and
I
never wrote

now she
is gone
the diary is
still
there

the
pale yellow
pages
waiting

for the
touch
of a pen
for the ink
to spread
for the words
to form

waiting
for a
poem
that’ll
never be

stereotypes.

the big fat
corporate
zombies
in expensive
suits
drinking wine

the cunning
corrupt
politicians
smiling leering
bloodsucking
leeches

the inked
pierced
feminists
showing off tits
arguing
shouting
on the
internet

the unclean
peace loving
singing
hippies
rolling joints in
their van

the stupid
ignorant
masses
indulging
in
trivialites

good
bad
life
death
success
failure
truth
justice
et cetera
et cetera

meanings
definitions
air
trapped in
a balloon
water
filled in
a bottle

men women
wise and stupid
rich and poor
everyone
chained
imprisoned
slaves of
our own
words

writers
bitter
sulking
writing
only to
complain
about
everything
there is

its one of those days.

only on
a few days
do you feel
like
this

you wake up
to
find
the evening skies
grey
rain drops
like
thin needles
falling
lazily

and
you don’t sulk
or go back to
sleep

you walk down
in the
rain
grab
a cup of
hot tea
sit under some shade
and watch the
world

steam from the tea cup
rising
and the rain drops
falling
you stare
the pathway
the puddles
the drops on the grass
and
lose yourself
somewhere
in the middle

you take a sip
and the tea
tastes like
sugar-water
but you drink it
anyway
for it seems like
the natural thing
to do
on such
evenings

you put your headphones
on
play some nice song
walk back
almost in the rain
just a few drops
leaving marks
on the
left side
of your shirt

you enter the room
switch on the lights
open the laptop
and
start typing
a poem