Your own bedlam

To cry yourself to sleep. A martyr to it or not, the thought of it makes you cringe. Saddens your heart to no end. But If you think that is the worst a wounded heart could endure, you're mistaken.

It's that formidable dream. That nightmare of love painted across lakes. That horrifying journey when you traversed across a long unending road, with the one you skedaddled from.

It's when you wake up in the morning, with tears in your eyes and love on your lips.

When you realize your own skin is foreign to.

When your heart no longer belongs to you. When it wants to break through the rib cage because the agony is too much to contain.

You shout curses at your heart, you peel at your skin, you carve hurt on your temple. This sorrow creeping all over your body.

Hoping it will end. You beg it to stop.

It's when morning brings no solace. And remorse is your companion.

It's when nothing is good enough and living is yet another burden to the soul.

Morning is nothing but your very own bedlam.

And at night when midnight strikes, you are taken back into the abyss of nostalgia, to mourn, snivel, into the pillow, before you fall into a deep slumber.

Only to be awakened by the nightmare of love.

And the morning... well.

Aftermath of love

Do unto other before they do unto you. Slit their throats, watch while they bleed, and laugh while they slowly but surely lose life from their eyes.

Isn't that how the world works? Isn't that how we work? Isn't that how we have been living? It’s difficult to judge people. Especially when all you see in their eyes, is a reflection of what you are.

Cold, stubborn, relentless and unworthy. When you laugh at how ugly their hearts are, you are mocking no one but yourself.

When does it start? This downhill trip… I reckon no one has the answer.
One moment you’re the fifth mountain, the one that has endured the rain, the winter and the storm. Next moment you’re in ruins. Enduring the insufferable aftermath of love.

While you sit in the corner and brood over what has become of you, your eyes well up. Not because you think you deserve better.

You weep because you have to brave this storm. You have to be strong. When all you want is to crumble to pieces. To be torn in shreds. To be eaten by the earth. To be swallowed by the waves.

There’s only so much pain one can endure, after that it’s living a purposeless life. Dependent on friends to help you sail through the ordeal.

And there they are, strong pillars, doing everything in their might to keep you from drowning. And what do you do? You kick and push and shove them away. You beg the water to consume you.

But how much will your friends swim for you.

How much can they breathe for you?

How long can they live for you?

Is it fair to them?

I’ll leave you with these questions.

Unto dust we shall return

The walls are closing in. It's a strange feeling of comfort. Of security.

It’s when you're huddled in the corner, scraping paint off the walls, the nails bleached in red and afraid of the knob.

When there's nothing left, but to accept your plight. You smile at the darkness filling your soul. With the walls, you no longer fight

Let the doors remain sealed, and the wisp has been squeezed. The wax melting off the walls, sorrow will dance among the halls.

Children run, they don't see the place. It's time to celebrate. Another spirit freed from slavery. Another captive set free.

The free are the ones that are bound, the children will weep a thousand lives and you'll be nowhere to be found.

They'll call and cry and shout your name. But, silence will be their reply. They'll wish for old times to resurrect. But all in vain.

Withering in pain, you watch in vain. They go mute in screams; you walk along the void with the stars extinguished from light.

Watch the sun set on the boulevard. Watch them retreat in their houses.


You are going home.

-- Varun & Mitchelle

Author's note:
This is an amalgamation of a random conversation we both had. It's the musings of our hearts. It paints a picture. And each of you will be able to see a different story. Hope you guys like this effort. We'll work on some more. Cheers!
Checkout Varun's other works on http://www.varunsaysstfu.blogspot.com

Walk until you lose the road

The silence on the streets and the dull thud of your shoe on the gravel is realization, of how detached you are from the world. Walk.

I hear the sound of my every move. I match it to the thumping of my heart. The universe is in place, my soul is at peace. I walk.

But the lash of somber and the wind carry the message, the stench of the asphalt and the soul hinged broken. I walk.

The bloody trail, the warmth on my cheek and the noises in my head sanctimoniously speak. I listen. I witness. I walk.

Everything seeps within; I push harder against the light, searching for a new meaning, something that might be right. I walk.

Closing myself to the scourges, I whisper to the strong woman inside the girl "search within". I tumble, but I walk. I walk.

There’s a force, a drive that explodes in a million pieces. I walk to be free, I walk to be found and I walk to go nowhere.

I walk to go nowhere.

-- Varun & Mitchelle

Author's note:

This is an amalgamation of a random conversation we both had. It's the musings of our hearts. It paints a picture. And each of you will be able to see a different story. Hope you guys like this effort. We'll work on some more. Cheers!
Checkout Varun's other works on http://www.varunsaysstfu.blogspot.com

Went over to the other side

I had a dream,
It was beautiful.

I was standing atop a cliff,
Stood for hours on end.

The wind in my hair.
The sound of loneliness filling my mind.

It was beautiful.

My eyes were closed.
My palms made into a fist.

A chill ran down my spine.
I was happy & afraid.

It was beautiful.

That fear was addictive.
It wanted to escape.
But I held on it.

And what I feared most was now looking me in the eye.
I had woken up from my dream.
It spoke of my companions.
It spoke of fear.
It spoke of loneliness.

 It was beautiful.

Selfless love's a myth

Every word of selfless love,
Every ache they cause,
I hear, and watch, and laugh and cry.
On the empty midnight street of my mind.

I've had it all,
More than I've asked for,
Much more than I ever wished.

It boils down to nothing.
The story begins with you.
The story begins with a facade.

And when the curtains are torn.
So is the past.
So is your lie.
So is my heart.
So is our tie.

I hear, and watch, and laugh and cry.
As I lie naked on the empty midnight street of my mind.

The empty room with a single light.
The empty box of memories.
The empty words of selfless love.

They stare at my soul.
They find nothing.


With what ease you let the silence dwell.
With what patience you spend the night.
Not meeting eye to eye holds no guilt and the absence of words holds no urgency.
It was your punishment. I was the inflictor.
It was, after all, your fault. I was, after all, wronged.
I didn’t realize then, but punishing you is futile.
Your punishment leaves a burn on my soul.
It makes me want to gather you in my arms. That is my only healer.
So I pick you up, dust you and take you on my shoulder.

My tear’s your healer. My tear’s your forgiveness.
The inflictor, the inflicted and the guilty are one.

The maddening thought

Envy the hold you have on me.
Perplexed, why I don't own you the same.
Beyond the merry.
Beyond the smiles.
Beyond the show of a perfect life, I worry.
Will he choose another, is not what will slit and ache.

Will she have that enviable hold on him? What if she does

I'm afraid she does.
And that stings.


The courses of true love never did run smooth
Those deep brown eyes,
like the colour of a damp tree bark.

That innocent, moving smile,
like that of a playing child.

Those locks, velvet smooth
and those arms powerful.

None of them I'd love to own.

I'd love to own that heart.
Iron tough.
Stone cold.

When I turn hollow I will fill you up

I've reached the end right now,
This is all i have to put at your feet.
All I could offer I did.
Drained my soul.
Skinned myself.
Turned myself inside out.
But it isn't enough, Is it?

I shall snatch from another and bring it to you.

When I've given all and I'm empty I shall steal for you.

When I turn hollow I will fill you up.

I will give you not only what's mine but what you deserve.

I will bleed myself for you.

and I'm not afraid to kill.

I die each day to keep you alive in me,
to keep you with me.

Yes, I will do what's forbidden.

Copyright © Riot in my head