Inclined Chronicles of Indulgence

Broken hearts make better homes Almost midnight - my whole body is shivering with fever - the only thing buzzing in my head is love.  Love . Nothing has destroyed me as much as love. And yet again, I am in the arms of love. It fills me with fear of another world. I know I am not ready to be broken again - I know I will be shattered like old glass,  again.  **************************************************************************************************************************** After a series of mishaps, if that is a word enough to cover it all up, I was finally ready to take a deep breath. I was finally accepting my life to be one long dark tunnel. I was finally accepting the magical love stories are not meant to happen for me. I was finally accepting the best has been done and dusted. I was finally accepting I am damaged. I was finally accepted I have to carry a kerchief for myself wherever I go. I was finally accepting my long hair won't be played with by anot

In love, there is hurting. Tell me where to ask, and what to do, because I am waiting and you are oceans far.  Things we decided together, things we chose together are static now. Because I am alone and you are oceans far.  Ambitions we plan together, dreams we web together are foggy now. Because I am here and you are oceans far.  Laughs we jollied together, tears we rolled together are silent now. Because I am lonely and you are oceans far.  In this togetherness, you are the other half. In this tug of life, you are the other half. Come home. Come to me. It is time. It is time you and I are under the same roof. It is time we go to bed together. It is time that we throw away pillows and cuddle together. It is time we wake up to the same sun and birds. Come to me, baby.  My love, if you were here, you would know you are my world. Come, and put your arms around me tight, that never again we break apart. All the love I have been safeguarding me, my heart feels heavy.

Google search Last night I pulled out the King James version of Bible from the shelf and put it on my bedside table. I was not in a very good state of mind. I did not do so because I was afraid to be shunted to hell if I killed myself. If God was merciful he wouldn't inflict the curse of depression. May be he is mythical. I don't exactly also disbelieve in God's existence. It is just that an entity with such powers will have to franchise responsibilities to others. Back to the Bible. Being a long-term (if two years count as long) depression patient, I have found that I need an anchor outside my head to hold on to life. Often it is my dog whose unconditional love keeps sticking to this painful side of life. I have been keeping away from her lately. I am afraid she will contract depression. And that is something no mother will ever want for her child.  I keep diverting from the Bible. If it cannot hold my attention when I am blogging about it, then I doubt how much

WARNING: If you are happy with your life, do not read any further.  That being said, let me tell you how harmless depression is. It is a blown up amalgamation of anxiety, sadness, fear, and trauma. It does not have a real identity. May be that should explain why it attacks your self-esteem and renders you with an identity crisis. But you see, depression itself isn't bad. Consider it as a spoilt child of an obnoxiously rich family.  When depression befriends you, it makes you unconditionally attached to darkness and isolation. You will always find yourself better off without people. Any interactive move not made by you will cause you annoyance and irritation for any random reason. It is not always without cause, though. Gradually, at a really fast pace, you learn to live by yourself, keeping a distance from everybody possible. Well, the alter ego which, if decides to fight against depressed mind, will give in to isolation but will make you long for close company. The

I am not a storyteller, but I tell you one today. A few years back, I got severely sick and I was rushed to a hospital. It was early morning, almost dawn. Two nurses came running to my friends with all sorts of questions to get data for a complete idea of the situation. They spoke Telugu, the local language. My incompetency at Telugu was costing me time. The sickness made me scream at them, instead, for not speaking English.  As I was getting treated, I started reflecting on my behaviour. I felt terrible. I felt ashamed. I felt little. The entire time I remained admitted, surviving on a nasogastric tube I was contemplating about my unacceptable behaviour. The machines beeping at medical rhythm were the only distractions as if they agreed at my bad conduct.  On the third day, when I could finally speak a bit with chapped lips, I requested that my friends should be allowed to visit me. One of them had taken note of the doctors and nurses who took care of my arrival at t

Source: Google search All I need is ink black; black ink. I want to scribe on a sheet of white. I want to scream from a point of height. But most of all I want my fall. I want to whisper in your ears. I want to linger in your tears. But often I wish I could vanish. Before I wave au revoir to me, the stiff. Again, here we are like a known whiff. But sooner than later I leave the barter. Clock on the wall sweeps mute like the mind on a chute. Hurry! Run! Fetch! And take me to the edge. In the eerie silence of burning candle I shall write the scandal. All I need is ink black; black ink.