LitGeek

A quiet, nervous breakdown. Yes, that is what I'm having. An inside joke between my heart and head. My little clandestine calamity, tucked into the left breast pocket and beats, beats, beats (me like you do every anniversary.) I never wanted to be this way. Dull, derelict like the house my mother grew up in. There are earthquakes trapped in my body. Tectonic tremors of bone-breaking proportions. The static clears up and my hems burst, thirsty for release. Lifeless ribbons start to unravel the heart of the artichoke that I am, falling into a gentle heap of nude brightness. I shake off our wedding vows, the framed children in wood an

Why do we close our eyes when we kiss? The lids, a gentle curtain call for a tingle, a gasp. Do you see – A kaleidoscope of my hand running down your spine, tracing the milestones of your ribbed skin. You, playing leap frog with your fingers on my ribcage. Fireworks in your favourite colors.  A tiny vein of mascara playing connect the dots with your freckles. Both of our eyes, fixated on the light show in your 24 carats. Something old, Something new, Something borrowed and for some reason, you were blue. An empty bed, with the dent of my body and remnants of heat. What we could be or What we are.

When my parents fight, I hear the winds howl and my sister crying on the other side of the door. I hear the voices in my head singing in a foreign tongue, I hear the applause from above – popcorn kernels at my feet. When my parents fight, I hide the knives and forks we used to eat with and tuck the 5th Commandment in my heart. I hide my adult features – the 5 o'clock shadows below my eyes, the hands you used to hold and the iron taste from chewing. When my parents fight, the word of God shatters into a million little slivers of sunflower-patterned china. Mynahs stop dead in mid-flight, the neighbours turn up the volumes of Sat

I've experienced madness. I'm still here.

You are a globe of all the countries I adore. Can you see the color of my ocean? Deep inside, I can only imagine the aurorae that hug the spaces you fill. You twirl the life ribbon, creating shapes surpassing geometry, gravity and God. My little gymnast, The cocoon cups the hints of your marvelous metamorphosis: the fissures that soon would burst with your winged heartbeats, the songs you sing at night, the pictures you breathe out. But for now, I'll spectate the belly drums and percussion pieces you perform on my skin. A distant morse code, whispering – "Inside, I'm alive"

Shot. The thin tightropes quiver with the weight of a million hearts each of red, Illuminate. Your bow brought up and elbows perpendicularly placed my very own streaked white and red. A victim of senseless target practice. Aim well, aim high make me fall askew into the embrace of nets that - Cut me deep Into a sleep.

you wouldn't know I'm a time traveller. somedays i see the leaves rust before my eyes. they turn a dark burnt-caramel hue and pelt to the ground, right next to my left foot and i watch it turn green again. i watch the clouds speed past my 22 year old eyes and suddenly i am a day older than the day before and before you know it i am a minute older than the minute before and this could go on forever. the person i am grows older with each letter i type, by the time i put the full-stop at the end of this sentence, i would be one step closer to my retirement. today i stared at the clock and it read 530pm. my watch read 532pm. i was in the future

I'll take two lumps with that; one between the eyes and the other through the ribs. let's watch the tea stream down my cheeks, a mixture of vintage rose-coloured sips. boiled tears in china, you in your party dress and pigtails. Blonde blue-eyed terrorist. Love and its fingers, dance through the crumpets on your cream lap. Your sugar petals and my green thumb. Rabids pulled out from a paper hat, magical maladies of the Mad-Hatter that promise to cure you of your sunshine gleams of tomorrow. placed in a killing jar, meshed with dream-catchers your mother bought from That Indian Man. sleeping on glassine paper, hoping that you'll b