A Glass Of You 

A Glass Of You 

A glass of you 

Just for me 

Would sustain my soul

For eternities 

But I chase you

And I taste you 

Like the traces of fragrance 

That lost its way 

A few faded moonbeams

Forgotten on the earth after

The break of day 

Like fresh water lost in 

The salt of the ocean 

A thought centered by its

Own gravity, in the midst 

Of perpetual motion

No, my heart

You would leave me to starve

And I happily would too

We lovers, seemingly,

Aspire to sink 

And you could nourish me

If you were as real

As substantial 

As the bitter words I drink 

Some nights we pour, 

We smile, and

We down

Some nights, we laugh

And

We 

Drown 

©CM

10.03.2017 

Because beer contains more calories than your love‘- Sumit Goreja

I. Am. Not. 

  

I. Am. Not. 

With those words, could I cease to be?

Would that taut thread we walk, between today and tomorrow

Tatter into nonentity?

Do the separate organs of body too rebel?

Do my muscles know when I tell

Stories, or do they just guide the words, unconcerned

Have I inked only paper? Or has my flesh 

My tendons, my cartilage also

My stories learnt

Are my nuclei content to divide and multiply 

While I lay here, staring at the ceiling in the dark 

Do the cells in me that are reborn know what it is to die 

Half new, half hastily repaired parts 

My arm twitches, lying across my forehead 

My chest heaves with unspeakable things 

Can my alveoli taste the sour tang of fear too? 

Or oblivious, they function imperturbably 

They do not choke on inspiration, as I am wont to do

I. Am. Not. 

Not after tonight 

Oh, my body will still exist 

My skin will wrinkle, my joints will creak

But this hollow left inside, I’d gambled for this 

And I lost 

My axons will revel 

In their tallying synapses 

What never has been can leave 

No lapses 

But I’ll always know how much 

I’ll miss 

©CM 

20.02.2017

Whore 

  

A whore is pointed at 

Not because she sells herself, but

Because she sells herself for 

Far less than she is worth 

Not because she lets a strange man

Paw her breasts for money 

Sweat on her face, grunts between her thighs 

She’s not bad because she’s ‘easy’

We all have prices 

We all have sold ourselves in

Different ways

At different rates 

Some more than others 

But we all get paid eventually

A different wage 

And sometimes

You have to whore yourself

For a lesson learned that 

Will not be forgotten

Can not be denied 

You lie naked on the floor

Next to a man you thought 

you knew like your own skin

And you realize 

That if the price you paid

Was respect lost, then

That price was altogether too high 

Whore
©CM 
14.02.2017

Happy Valentine’s Day, everyone. 

Half Past Four 

 

Wax work, soft 

imitation of life 

Posed on a pedestal 

Paused with infinitesimal 

Care 

Every inch measured

Every vein contoured 

To be frozen, decorational,

There 

You left me

To be lifeless all day

Almost real to touch, they sing

Who would’ve thought such a thing 

-so real, just see
But I stay mute, expressionless, on the floor 

Till they fall into little deaths of sleep, at

Half past four 

In that stillness

I breathe 

©CM

12.02.2017

Don’t wait for the night, to come to life. These days are no one’s but yours… 
❤ 

Greenstick Fractures

Greenstick Fractures

Days after the apology
Mornings of the aftermath
The sky isn’t really blue yet
The pillows still suffer my wrath,
No, I’m not yet okay
And I don’t know why it’s so
Difficult to wash with a thousand ‘sorry’s
The blood off a bruised ego
Bared in the light of day
My vision blurs, at the oddest times
The world is gray, semi permanently
You riddled holes through which colors leached away
Even your smile doesn’t stand out to me

I don’t know, maybe I can’t see
Maybe I don’t want to see

Let’s count this one as a lesson learnt
Even love needs some time to fill fury’s cracks
Pride does not suffer greenstick fractures
Spines can bend till they break, and not always
Grow back
No amount of alcohol can atone for
A drunken night’s sins
Even angry words are more potent when laced
With whiskey
You’re hung over, and I’m struggling to re paint my sunrises
Rather ineffectively
And I can’t
-you need to hold the brush
Because these are colors
You have to give back to me

©CM
13.11.2016

Anorexia 

Anorexia 

Thought starvation, for a period of time
Doesn’t do me any good
The pathology’s the same, like the stomach
The brain too needs its food
Denied a victim, the gastric acid
Into its own walls leaks
-similarly, a concentrated vitriol
An empty mind keeps

Atrophied ideas, dessicated hope
But what’s a hungry girl to do?
When muddied flirtations blend into one another
Faded bruises written black and blue
When nausea becomes a sentient sensation
When you’ve cauterized your heart with self wrought ablation
What’s a girl to do?

I thought too much, now I want to be thin
Your beauty’s enough for both of us, who
Cares about my within
I’ll be like you, just words and skin
Hollow cheeked and empty eyed,
But it’ll do
Hungry, but
Just
Like
You

© CM
21.10.2016

I learnt that being hungry for love is nothing compared to being hungry for respect.  There are some things that just strip you of your dignity.

I don’t remember the last time I felt this small. I think I need to take a break from everything. I might be offline for a few days.
My love to all of you,

Cookie

Fall

Why did He make me from clay?
What did He do to me?
What sort of vessel am I shaped into
To contain these fallacies?
Blinded, blinded, I don’t know my face
The mirror shows me a stranger
But ask me yours, where your smile lies and
I will know all the answers
Who are you, who gave you this
Power, over me, over my sense
Of reality, how did you change
My touch to thought, to impermanence
The sky is raw and the earth bleeding
How did you construct this bent
world, did God destroy me, or did you
-Did you both?

And what was my offence?

I loved you too much by any measure
I knew there was a gaping void
I promised myself, I’d fill the indifference
I’d push hard enough from my side-
and I did, see-
I’m already crazy
A drunk girl laughing at the edge of a cliff
Inching closer to the precipice, and
The howling promises of the wind- If
Only, if only, I could step away
If I could tell myself I mattered, you’ll miss
The scattered moments in your life
where I appear, where I exist
Inside my head, it’s a nice illusion
A sweet lie to say, if only
If only I could step away

Oh, that fall beckons too much, today

(c)CM
09.10.2016

Some days, nothing makes sense. Nothing you do makes sense. The rain stops  your sky and the walls won’t let you breathe and you want, you want someone to love, someone who will sit with you when you’re trying to make sense of what’s even fucking happening. In a corner of your mind you know you’re raving, but the other corners drown that tiny one out, and the day passes in a bewildered blur.

Maybe you want more. Maybe you want one sign, one small fucking sign that this altar you sit by isn’t where you’re going to starve and die, but grow, bloom, flourish. Maybe you resent everything in the world today because none of it is fucking yours and you have no one to call your own except you- and you don’t love yourself anyway, so fat lot of help that is. And the self pity and bitterness steadily simmers and gains momentum, and you find yourself staring off the side of the building, wondering if today’s the day.

But today is horrible. Today was horrible, which means it can’t be the day. Life cannot fall like this. Today can’t be the day, so let’s sit at the edge and breathe.

Let’s wait for tomorrow.