Redhya

Memories and experiences, sequentially-arranged, complex  patterns, have been broken infinitesimally into fundamental particles. The process dissolves the nihilistic chaos looking for the meaning and the purpose,  washing out everything between a point and infinite. A human, vibrating between asceticism and hedonism,  has been strangled and tossed into an empty ocean. superego  asceticism  pain  white  depression ego  human  I grey  normal id  hedonism  pleasure  black  mania Perception is the only gateway  for the universe to enter conscious beings  to imprint patterns in their minds and to study their behaviour. The cosmos’ very first vibration. The cosmos’ very first cause. Everything first dissociates and then dissolves. I disowned identities and patterns having being ingrained since I'd first started mimicking sanity. To nothing,  it seems - nothingness within  and nothingness without. When en...

i’m sorry - i’m too afraid to open up either sufferings die inside me or turn me into an unfathomable disaster *exhaling intensely with a racing heart* hush! and hear me out i felt nothing in october. so i prescribed myself some sedatives and three hangovers. i’ve got this fear i might abuse substances ‘til someone labels it as a disorder the intoxicated blood carries the packets of euphoria and the bag of bones animates when the packets burst inside the brain i feel - life is a boring consciousness when it’s sober. i should’ve opened up and just been vulnerable like an open wound infested by flies and maggots i hid a victim inside me ages ago you might see it donning a charming cloak and smiling every now and then pain travels from one to another and i was too afraid to hand it over because when pain is restrained for ever-so long it reaches the brim and overflows i’d have rather said, “don’t make another barrier – just let it flow.” because pain flows from one to another damaging the...

Some mornings, I sit motionless with a fixed gaze at a blank page. My restless mind wanders, and the page senses deceit in my attention. Whether this white, unwrinkled page wants to remain blank or to be filled, who knows? I’ve never asked a page before. I selfishly scribble on innocent pages, believing someone will relate to it. Some evenings, I sit nervously and stare at pages filled with sugar-coated words. Whether these soiled pages wanted to be written on or become paper boats that could have swum miles in a drain, who knows? I didn’t ask the pages. I just wanted to write some complex verses for escapists. Some nights, I lie on my bed and read the letter I received from an admirer. I’ve never reciprocated her feelings. Whether the colourful page (letter) wanted to soak tears of a one-sided lover or become a wedding card, who knows? She didn’t ask the beautiful page. She just wanted a little love for herself. Her feelings were snug on the damp, warm page. *** buy my books on amazon...