Your daughter won’t eat dinner tonight.

Your little girl is gone.

She wears silver necklaces that dance in the moonlight and choke upon her throat just as coldly.

She leaves the house with crimson painted on her lips and returns at 4 in the morning, with pools of dried blood between her bruised knuckles.

She’s gone.

And she won’t eat dinner tonight –
because there are embers in her soul, burning low and deep, and when she loses her mind at midnight she tends to burn herself down with them.

Your mother is lost.

When you come home at 4 am, smelling of smoke and blood, she has fallen asleep on the couch – waiting for you. She never lets you see her cry. Never. You wonder sometimes if that’s why you do the same as well.

She speaks of fire.

The fire in her blood, the flame you saw ignite in her eyes when you sat on the kitchen counter and talked about life, about dreams that taste like ashes now.

A fire that might raze this house to the ground someday.

A blistering hellfire that can’t be put out.

Your father ran away.

The world fed him honeyed lies, it spoke tales woven of sunlight and everything golden. But daggers of ice float in his veins, frozen so cold; you might get burnt at the touch of his fingertips.

He held his breath and tried to brave it all.

The chains he was born in. The shackles that he earned.
A wife who breathed fire.
A daughter born of inferno and glaciers.

A house of haunted little corners and silent dinners.

He’s still here, sitting in his chair by the window, reading the paper. You can see him with your eyes closed. But if you tried to search for him, to call out his name into the echoes of his empty room, he wouldn’t look up.

If you looked for him, you wouldn’t find him.

So here’s to all our lives.

Here’s to the crimson scars and bloodshot eyes.

To the art of rushing to the bathroom with tears spilling down your face so that no one sees you break down.

To the gift of pain we have all given and received.

To questioning the sanity of it all.

To the skies that have fallen.

And to us, who still stand.

Everything and Nothing

Lipstick stains on your cigarette
Mascara stains on my face
Let’s call it a night, shall we? ‘Cause I don’t think I can take the white noise anymore

Two blocks down, three bottles down
The back of your Maybach, our usual crime scene
Sinking in those plush leather cushions,
I lie as I pray you don’t take anyone else in along the way

But it’s almost like you can see the wheels in my mind turning,
‘Cause the car comes to a halt alright, and it’s not my stop yet.
You pop open another bottle with your new friends,
And I can hear her whisper hush-hush in your ear when she finally sees me,
Lying like a corpse, paralyzed in the lonely blue

Maybe I’m paranoid,
But when you leave me on the pavement
The concrete numbs my skin
No touch, no feel, no sense

All the chemicals and the poison that we light up,
the smoke and the white lighters,
the heat and the cold –
Everything blurs into nothing.

So I just lie there under the streetlights,
and you know me so I guess you know,
that when the party’s over I imagine life pouring out of me;
gushing at first, in a frenzy to break free,
but then it slows down to a trickle

drip

drip

dri-

Damsel in Control

Chipped black nailpaint like a summer night sky,
with the warm haze running through her veins
Silver rings on her cold, numb fingers,
like a frozen moonlit night the wolves howl into

Lilies and thorns
Lilac and black
Love and incest
Heartache and murder

She’s the girl who takes
her shoes off to run wild
in the fields with the summer fireflies,
And to walk barefoot
on the pavement when it’s just rained

But she’s also the girl
who has fistfights in downtown nightclubs,
And drinks cheap beer
with her people in the alleyways;

Child of the Night,
When she walks out her door at midnight,
the Wind cries out into the hollow darkness,
warning the boys with
beautiful smiles and wicked eyes
to never try to tame her down.

That is, of course, if they don’t fancy burnt fingertips.

good boy, Bad girl

What if your first love is your last one too?

What if your high school lover is the one you’re thinking about in the middle of a meeting twelve years later?

I still remember the night we first met. I know you do too. Party crashers and tequila shots and keg stands – the usual scene. I never really believed in fairytales and stories about Prince Charming, but I remember musing that I could almost feel the flames the moment our eyes met.

I remember standing with you on the beach in the pouring November rain, under the stars and the citylights. The ocean mist flapping through my hair; I prayed for nothing to ever change. And I’ve never been a huge fan of clichés, but somehow I find myself breaking all my rules for you.

I remember when I said goodbye before leaving for college, outside that café in the summer haze. Walking away, every step made me wonder – if I’m not supposed to stay, why is it so hard to leave?

But there you were at the airport, when I came home for the holidays next summer.
I’d always thought that our lives were tangled but never intertwined. Too young to stay, so all I did was run.
On and off, up and down – we kept ebbing into and out of life like the waves we’d once stood by. Until different timezones made me think before calling you up at 4 A.M.

“Anna?”

”Huh?”. I’m definitely getting fired one of these days.

“Any thoughts?” My boss’ eyebrows were arched upto his hairline.

“I think…it’s a great idea.”

“Well, it’s settled then. Until next time.”
The man’s brows returned to Earth and I thanked the Gods for another month’s rent.

“Hey, you wanna grab some lunch? Everyone’s coming.”

“You guys head out. I have to make a call.”

There’s a three hour time difference between New York and LA.

I cross my fingers as I press dial and hope that sometimes, you too reminisce about the ocean breeze and summer air and all the endless nights we spent together.

Fallen angel.

She’s made of
Chipped nail-polish,
Melted make-up,
3 A.M. conversations
And unexplained scars

Her hands were cold every time she touched your face,
Made you wonder what masks she wore over her own

She could make the blood stop dead in your veins,
Or set the pace and make your heart burst into flames

She’s been running for so long
She doesn’t know what it’s like to stop
To give a second chance to life,
And maybe let you stay the night

That time when she drunk-dialled you from the club,
You could almost hear the warm summer night’s breeze in her slur
And as you imagined the sweet Bourbon on her lips,
You realized-
Loving her is like
Falling for a fallen angel,
Except this one doesn’t need a knight to save her,
Her wet lips are probably contorted in a sadistic smile right now;
Go ahead and say your prayers,
‘Cause this one’s a player.

Stay the night.

Dancing in the rain, I keep coming back to you again and again…

We were lovers, though one night you’d said to me that’s something we’ll always be.
Just like the song that played in the club the night our eyes first met, the taste of your lips tonight is something I’ll never forget.

I still remember our first kiss in the rain, in that alleyway, when you tasted like stale vodka in the downpour under those divine streetlights.

For all the lovers and scars and other terrible things I’ve tried, you’re the only one I’ve ever gotten high on.

And so, here we are. On the couch in my apartment, after all these years, almost as predictable as a movie. The pain from the past blocks my vision like a cloud of stain as I try to navigate through the white noise in my head. But I don’t really care, just like back in high school, and sophomore year.

My heart’s yours for now, even though we both know we’re a couple of sadists.

You are the one.

But you shouldn’t be the one.

And suddenly, as I’m listening to your heart beat, I hear myself asking you to leave.

Cause babe, boys like you taste like infinity but never stay the night.