Huff puff puffing away
She told herself it was the last one
And realized that she had puffed a packet away.
Life in a cloudy haze is something that is purely experimental. One puff and the white cloud smoothly slithering into my lungs, I feel it engulf my lungs. As I slowly exhale, I can sense reluctance in it coming out, and leaving a part of it behind to affect my mind, body and senses. The cloudy haze begins with each increasing puff. I can feel the clouds in my body exalting and evaporating each and every drop of water, as my mouth and lips start to feel dry. Fight it! I tell myself, so I don’t lose control of my body. As the world around me and the movements slow down I feel that the world has stopped and slowed down to my pace, a pace I am comfortable with. But I keep huffing and puffing, after all have to finish the joint.
Now everything that my mind processes and I say out, or hear has a deeper significant meaning attached to it. But is it gibberish that I speak? Or is it my subconscious thoughts which can be expressed more thoroughly coming out from the haze that is my mind. Because, ironically the thoughts are emerging with clarity from the haze of my mind, through the huff and puff of the clouds.
You pull away with a flare of my touch,
Burning your soul;
The body showers down in
Every inch of me craves for you,
The stillness of my mind resounds my heartbeat.
Rhythmically torturing me,
It leaves me wanting more.
“The only people for me are the mad ones, the ones who are mad to live, mad to talk mad to be saved, delirious of everything at the same time, the ones who never yawn or say a commonplace thing, but burn, burn, burn, like fabulous yellow Roman candles exploding like spiders across the stars.”
“A last day of a man’s life doesn’t exist. Outside of story books, there is no hope, nothing but soap bubbles bursting. That is the best proof of our absurd existence, my dear friend. Nobody’s granted a final day, just an accidental interruption in his life.”
Looking down at the unfathomable,
I was standing up there inhabiting the very essence.
Lithe like a sword you Peirce my heart and soul,
Leaving behind a gaping wound, my love.
You think you can heal them?
No! Only your soothing kisses and touch will act like Jesus’s healing hands.
Caressing my wounded body and soul,
Bringing me back to life.
“Loneliness is personal, and it is also political. Loneliness is collective, we are all in it together.”