Incomplete

Wanting to cry is like wanting to throw up
Nobody wants to but we all feel better for it afterwards
There is also nothing worse than the nausea of tears
Feeling my face preparing for the waterfall, though not granted such relief
The reason for the emotion being of course that the physical does not match the mental state of me
My mind sees me holding you, hugging you and basking in your warmth
My skin feels empty and cold and nothing at all and this is in dissonance with me
When I close my eyes I am kissing you, licking you, biting you, tasting you
But my lips remain dry and even the sweetest food tastes bland instead
A thousand times I have imagined the smell of your hair, your skin and you
The air instead is acidic and pungent and even sweet fragrances leave me without opinion
This is why I want to cry
Because though I am with you, I am completely without you
The tears sit behind a dam, creating a sense of nausea, as if to further my dissonance with myself
Where my mind is crying but my body refuses to comply
The onion ninjas spite me by not coming to my rescue
I am where you aren't and I feel like the store sign with one letter missing that never gets fixed
Incomplete

Soul Suicide

These words are like knives and they cut into my sides and I am barely sleeping these nights
While I wouldn't suicide, it's a wonder how many times I've slit these wrists from the inside and how often I've hung myself on my own ropes in the hope that I cease to exist
For it's all in the mind and off late I haven't been the smiling kind
I wish that someone could show me the light but even then to walk into it I may not have the might

Goals

Write a book, make a song
Make it short, make it long
Get fit now, live my life
Get fit now, love a wife

This is one, this is short
Fill the moat, leave the fort
If not great, then not best
Time to win, at this test

Be self proud, make it loud
Not the crowd, no dark cloud
Pick me up, keep me there
Oh my muse, you're my flair

Yes I'm game, yes I'm lame
I'm not tame, I'm not sane
This is done, it's been fun
You're the sun, you're the one

Skin on Skin

Bodies surround
Skin on Skin
Where my sweat ends and yours begins is a mystery that doesn't bother me
Skin flushed with the blood that came rushing to meet my lips
Pulsing with the same anticipation of your lips against mine
If I haven't made you blush by now, I am not doing my job right
For I want to climb that mountain with you and ride the waves out to the shores of our afterglow
As with the end of every ride and water slide, I want to do it again
Skin on Skin, I want to be the explorer discovering new territory on you
Planting flags with kisses all over you and claiming the land as mine
I said once that I want to be the piece of cloth that drapes you
Now I say that I want to be within you, a part of you, one half of the same creature

Bodies surround
Skin on Skin
Where my sweat ends and yours begins
At best your landscape is a mystery
Skin on skin
I want to consume you within

© Rahul Chidambaran 2015

Funny Not Funny

Funny how things are usually not funny
Forever tiptoeing on the sidelines
Kicking the dirt as I look up once in a while and feel no less an outcast

Go play with the other kids they used to say
But how? Why would they want to do that?
Today as then, feeling an invisible barrier between me and the world
Still somewhat withdrawn, still somewhat in my shell
Still incomplete
Asking me what's wrong is like trying to use a lighter when the fuel has run out
Pointless and frustrating
The root of the problem is so deeply buried under the mountain that is every failure and every sadness and mythical unturned rocks that may or may not exist.
You could catch me when I fall but I may keep falling
Landing nowhere and everywhere at the same time, an implosion within an explosion
I cannot tell if I've been moving too fast or if everything else has while I stood still
Getting lost within the shoulda woulda coulda's, being left with my hands still empty
The desire to escape persists as does the burn up in ash and nicotine

Go play with the other kids they used to say
I never did really
For the times I've kicked a ball around, I couldn't tell you if I was running home or walking the plank
Then again, I couldn't tell you where home is

Funny how things are usually not funny
Forever tiptoeing on the threshold of nothing in particular
Kicking the dirt as I look up once in a while and feel no more at ease than I do at home

Implode

Fall into this heart of mine
Fall into what's not there
It is then that I implode
Fold into myself an untidy mess
Cave into myself and no debris escapes
For it remains inside, fermenting
Turning cancerous unless I dig it out
Excavate the remains of me and air out
Clean up and rebuild the home of me

But then one can never tell if it's hope
Stupid hope or an attachment to the dirt
Sometimes feeling terrible feels good
Good enough to want it more
Good enough to feel justified
Bad, but not enough to be not good
If these words painted a picture
It would be shapes in the dark
The edges light, but not right