You’re in my brain, 

like a car that’s forgotten 

how to stay in it’s lane.



I wonder if she knows 

how much you love staying up all night 

and watching the sun rise. 

I wonder if she knows 

about all the bad days you have 

and how you like your eggs. 

Does she know about that night 

you kissed me to your favourite song? 

Lord knows my mind hasn’t shut up about that. 

I wonder if she likes the freckles on your nose 

and the way you always smell like Armani Code. 

But most of all I wonder how she tastes 

because ever since I’ve had yours lips on mine,

he tastes like a mistake. 

The Sun And The Streets 

We fell in love with each other And then with her. 

She gave us hope in exchange for gold, then slowly you’d given her everything you’d ever owned. 

We touched sporadically, losing our minds so rapidly. 

I took a few steps back while you fell through, and into the arms of someone who would never love you. 

She kept you warm but never fed, you looked so ill now from your toes to your head. 

You spent more time staying in bed, I couldn’t remember the last time you weren’t unkempt.

You never failed to go find her, even if it meant waiting around town till everyone bailed. 

You had given in to the vices, knowing they would quiet the noises. 

She took away the sun but showed you stars and galaxies, you spent more and more nights on the streets. 

You had no doubt and you felt free, all you had left were some faint memories that you lent to her so you could drown in her streams. 

Fusilli In Cauliflower Sauce

As an ambitious child who couldn’t wait to grow up, I always imagined myself being quite stable by now. I had seen all the things that people had done wrong and decided I’d learn from them.

 “I will never drink too much. I won’t smoke too often. No drugs. I won’t ever cheat. Never believe in religion.”

Well, I kept to one of those. 

I made all the mistakes I thought I never would and then some. I lost every little bit of ambition, I don’t have goals and I thrive on misery but I think I’m doing okay. I feel like an adult. Every now and then I think about how people are always telling me that drinking excessively, smoking and being apathetic does not make you an adult. But what does? Because all the adults I know now and ever knew, did things – maybe not the exact same things but nevertheless, still things that destroyed them in one way or another. I am all the people I have ever known. I am a dysfunctional adult but so are the rest of you because there is no other kind and while I realise that I am a mess, I will not change a thing. Well, maybe a few tiny things. I might just replace my greasy mac & cheese with fusilli cooked in cauliflower sauce sprinkled with cashew cheese. 

Day-old Burritos

The city stayed awake and so did we.

We drank rum from cracked glasses

and ate day-old burritos.

I fell in love with how every pizza place was your favourite,

some for the crust, others toppings,

some for being kind and others for always being on time.

There were no complains, we always agreed and

with each kiss we exchanged, there was more familiarity.

No love was wasted, no trouble found,

no hearts broken, just wandering around.

We did nothing wrong, we made it through most dawns.

We did nothing wrong, time just hated us all along.

Loose Change

Today while I looked for some loose change in my wallet, I came across a picture of you.

You had a little smile and some of my lipstick on your face.

After a while of staring at the picture, I realised, I’d almost forgotten about that day.

Some of it came to mind.

Bits of conversations, Mexican food and piggy back rides.

A few weeks after we fell apart; I remembered it so well I could almost feel your lips on mine again.

The way your tee shirt felt and your hands.

My God, those hands.

But now, it was fading.

I couldn’t even recall our last kiss.

Maybe because I wasn’t aware that it would be our last.

Soon, I won’t even remember the colour of your tee shirt or what cologne you had on just like you won’t remember the song we danced to or any of my birthmarks.