Monsoon Pink Elephants

It's been days and it's raining within me again like it always does. Rains are beautiful, I believe. There is this motion that feels like traveling right into your very bones. Perhaps, this gushing has its own way of making you stoned enough to not look for anything now.

I feel, I certainly have not grown up much. It doesn't seem like I do, a lot. I know how your rejected sighs have translated into rage until you resorted to a diversion of some sort. I totally understand, this diversion feels safer, it sustains. And, trust me, it is a lot more defensive for me too. 

I agree, sometimes I turn into a centipede and would be so high on blood that you almost feel anaemic. But, these are mere bouts of emotions that are tightly defended against. 

I am wanted to feel nothing, so I feel nothing at all. I haven't stopped looking for stars though, I mean how can you? They are so so beautiful. The kindness of some small, little, humans in all their drudgery asks if the sugar in my cutting chai is fine. When what you would care is to exclaim out loud, oh you are dead, I never knew. 

On some hot summer days, the hands of a man beating all the heat that he could possibly muster, would carefully straw my lime juice. Although, I wonder if his kindness for what it all is, is selective but you wanted me to deny altogether that it really feels like home. Tell me, how do I lie to that, how can one possibly do that. 

Undoubtedly, I am not the same after you left me. I would never be. Just so that you know, I am murdering pink elephants these days. Apart from that, all and all, everything so reminds me of home.