Grid View
List View
Reposts
  • engaged_guilty 43w

    .

  • engaged_guilty 157w

    I'd like you to know before you go on reading this that this contains highly explicit content, I believe it does. Cuss words, pornographic literature and phychosis. Read it at your own leisure. Don't judge me based on this. This is a work of pure fiction. It may not be appropriate for readers who are prone to reading soft prose and poetry. Let me know how it came out. I would need honest opinions. This is not my usual genre. This is way more serious. That been said, happy reading, all.



    ******************
    The door rattled a little as I slid the keys in. The same jittery sensation tickled my spine. The key glided in smoothly and the door hung, half open. Tears made the contour drip. I cried. And I cried some more before locking myself up inside that little room which sniffed of old books and a rancid odour of tremendous pain and suffering. I drew the curtains and sat for hours, by the window which shivered as the December breeze swept an old area, situated on the most isolated forest road in Maine. My eyeliner was smothering my jawline and my eyes were crammed shut. His sight didn't abandon my subconscious. His glimmery, blue eyes and a drool-worthy gaze. His hands. Those gruesome hands. Those fingers that smelt of my shuddering insides. I waited for it to fade away, I waited by the shivering window pane. I dug deeper into my overcoat pockets and flinched. I was shrinking, bit by bit. I could feel the howling pain and the seering cold air crawling over me. Blanketing me like a cocoon blankets a caterpillar. Nothing beautiful was to come out of it, but. Only horrors and more horrors. It rained heartedly. And I passed out, in a while.





    "She's a whore. And I've heard her pussy is as loose as April's triple XL sweatshirts" Candice grinned, a piece of gum squeezed in between her premolars. "And she never talks, seems like she got cum crumbs under her tongue". Samantha laughed as she hid her condoms in her locker which always smelt funny. They shot me glares and prolonged laughing hediously. They hated me. They all did. I grabbed my Macbeth and made my way out of the filthy locker area. I had philosophy class in ten and I walked quietly, with my head hung low and a polite look on my face. I didn't look up. I didn't want to see him walking in my direction. Clenching on to the book, I passed the basketball court. He was there. I saw him from the corner of my eye. His hands were grappling the ball and his mates were screaming at him to pass the ball. He was the captain. Some girls in the corridor were staring, begging for his attention. All ready to suck on his penis. But he didn't look, at all. He was looking at me. I could feel the heat. And I hated it. I hated it more than I hated being abused. I hated it more than I hated existing. I hurried past the ruckus and went over the day as usual. The bell rang and I was in the corridor, going over to the library, when Candice punched me in the shoulder and my hopsack bag fell on the ground. "What's with you and James"? She smirked. I didn't talk back. I never did. I fell to the ground, mustering my old books in the sack and started walking away when she blocked me. "Answer me, you dick sucking slut!" she screamed. It was ear piercing. I closed my eyes and waited for it to pass. O' Henry called such people 'coward'. Not me. But her. And I decided to remain quiet. A distinct gift I was blessed with. "You don't pretend its nothing. I saw him fingering you in Chemistry class, you loose bitch!" She screamed louder. And it slit me. The flashbacks came rolling in. His fingers in me, those fair fingers. His skin was soft and I felt it throbbing inside me. I never wanted it. I never asked for it. His tongue tracing the crevices of my vagina. His long, soggy tongue. And his blue eyes, always searching for hidden heavens, searching for warmth behind the cold shadows. His gorgeous movements and how much I despised them. Everything came gushing back to me. A teardrop slid down the lining of my throat. I rushed past her and quitting the library, I drove back home.





    It was a warm afternoon. The blankets were breathing in the shelves and the sheets were basking in the sunlight that peered in through the attic window. I was reading A Diary Of A Serial Killer and I was intrigued. Perhaps, I was phychotic. But then again, it was just a thought. And there's no harm in not talking, or not smiling, at all. I turned to page 4 when the telephone kept at the side table rang. I held it close to my ears and a soft voice poured in. It was him. "I really, really like you. And its weird you don't like me coz practically everyone does. But I like you, and only you. Its not just about sex, babe. I understand you didn't like it but we can make it better. Why don't you say something for a change?". I held the receiver tightly. My eyes flickered and teardrops canoodled my cheekbones. I glanced at the phoneclock. 3 minutes passed, and then he spoke again. "Please, I need to see you smile. You're beautiful. Come over, right now. I would make you dinner." Another tear escaped the corner of my eye. A minute later, the line went dead. I put down the receiver and went to the racks to take out some clothes.




    I was at his door, by midnight 12. He opened up, with his eyes a little hazy, he smiled. He was charming. I didn't smile back. He came a little closer and hugged me. I felt the heat, all over again. It encased my chest. I was suffocating. I closed my eyes and waited for it to pass. He let go off me. "Don't you think you came in a little late, my parents are not home though, lucky we, come on in." He held my hand and let me inside. He locked the doors and showed me to his room. There was graffiti on the walls. And there were quotes which meant nothing in a world which sniffed of suffering and pain. It meant nothing to me. I was blessed with the distinct gift of numbness and taking it all in, until the larvae burst open, sprinkling thick mucus all over the unkind world. He touched my shoulder, "what you thinking?". I looked at him and I leaned in, for a kiss. I touched his tongue with mine and tasted his warm saliva. I ran my fingers through his hair, holding on to him. His eyes were closed, he was in another world. Little did he know, there's no escape. Warmth burns us, slowly. We humans don't understand. We succumb to warmth and all that remains of us are ashes in the dust. I was not one of them. I was blessed with the distinct gift of embracing the cold. I was blessed with the gift of a raw heart made out of frostbites of fallen angels. I was blessed, indeed. With distinct gifts. I softly pushed him onto the bed, and undraped his presents. His silk smitten, soft skin. The window stuttered as the rain came down, cold and heavy. He ran his fingers through my belly and smiled. I kissed his breath. It was warm, I winced. Naked, I passed out beside him. Without a word, without a smile.




    "Not really. He's way out of your league, back off!" Samantha screamed at April as she pinched her ear and April burst, trying to control herself from falling apart. I walked past them, and I went to my locker to hide that warm thing that was slobbering the old books in my hopsack bag. Later, I went to the library to read.




    The rain came crashing down, harder that evening. It was six and I changed into a black hoodie. Something that was not too warm, or else I would suffocate. I was making dinner and I used the same knife to slice open the cold broccoli. The telephone rang. It was Juli, a classmate. Her voice cracked as she whimpered. Her words, vague. "James is dead. And his tongue is missing." She crackled. I held onto the receiver tightly. Tears encased my pale face. After 20 seconds on the phoneclock, the line went dead. I put the receiver down and went back to making broccoli. Its simple. Heat blisters. Warmth burns. I slit the tomatoes, slice by slice. I sat by the cold window, and read. I may be phychotic. But then again, its just a thought. There's nothing wrong with not wanting warmth. And I've been blessed with the distinct gift of a cold heart. And the ability to protect it from heat and decay. It rained viciously. And I passed out, cold. Near the open window.


    ©Eshita Pathak

    Read More

    Distinct Travellers

    I may be phychotic. But then again, its just a thought.
    ©Eshita Pathak

  • engaged_guilty 158w

    12.24.18. <3

    Read More

    The Crescent

  • engaged_guilty 158w

    Tag me for a couple hours.
    ,,Ծ‸Ծ,,

    Read More

    Shades

  • engaged_guilty 158w

    At times, explanations don't happen. With a swish rustling of leaves and an onset of forever rains, people walk away.


    Without the last words. Without showing the courtesy to leave behind an umbrella for shelter. They leave.


    At times, we don't get to comb through the pages of their pocket diary and understand why our name is lost somewhere in the middle pages among a jillion other names. At times, second chances don't cross our paths. Dark themed wallpapers dipped in unresting thoughts curtain the walls of our brain and after an era of searching, there are no answers.



    At times, reasons in their handwriting don't sit by the bedside lamp like a novella to be read with a cup of warm tea. At times, things don't go the way as foreseen. And people walk away. They leave behind long afternoons spent alone in the shade. They leave behind an aroma which spreads like a plague through the best parts of our hearts. They leave behind no goodbye notes. And when that happens, all we have in our hands are shards of their everyday perfume. They leave behind fragments of those handmade sandcastles. They leave with a chunk of us chained to their feet. And they never look back to return our missing jigsaw piece. They leave us, feeling imperfect and incomplete. We stare into the distance seeing them take another step away from us until they fade into the infinite space.


    At times, we can't pull someone's collar and lock them inside our souls. Those hands don't fit in ours and at times, we learn this the hard way. Our eyes are shedding and we have one word on our tongues. Why me.



    There are always some people we don't get to keep. Its as if they came around in the first place to be a blessing we'd never have, no matter how obediently we pray. There are always some people we crave after they walk away.



    We can wait all we want but some calls are never to come. While some others, always remain unanswered. Why. Coz at times, explanations don't happen.

    Read More

    Longings

    And people walk away. They leave behind long afternoons spent alone in the shade. They leave behind lessons learnt the hard way.



    At times, explanations don't happen.
    ©Eshita

  • engaged_guilty 158w

    ~

    12:58 by my bedside clock. Midnight fading into oblivion. I gotta trace my path back to the place where I was born. I've not been here and I don't regret it one bit. I've been gathering ebony and silk. And I have something to show you all. Something in my little, raggedy basket. Tomorrow, I'd be sleeping till late. Taking a day off. As soon as my iris touches a scar of amber knitted sunlight, I'd be smothering these old tales you pinned to my wall. And I'd be scribbling, of course. You've waited so long. And I'm just happy for whatever it was. And whatever it is to be. Its beautiful, its serenity. Family after all, is family. Forever I can't promise. But if tomorrow is to come, it belongs here. It does.
    ©engaged_guilty

  • engaged_guilty 171w

    I think you're hiding. Behind the shelf, in Nanny's Little Bookstore, over the abandoned bridge, in Macaè. We stole so many books together. Nanny's Little Bookstore was the best part of the day.


    I think you're counting those dimes, yet again. Perched near the milk cartons, in the dairy owned by uncle Mac who scoffed a little too much, you must have that tin piggy bank by your side and an untied shoe lace.


    I think you're jotting down love letters in your pink diary with a barbie keyhole for trashy Mary, who lived two blocks down the lane. I wish you read them to her, someday.


    I think you're running from the law because those uncanny teenagers stuffed your backpack with powdery packets. I know a place where you can put them out. We both know that place. In that hole, near the well, by the window. Yes, that window.
    I think you smiled. That night we sneaked out with shovels and dug all the way. Mud in our faces, stars in the sky, love in our hearts and glitter in our eyes. Everything. Everything was so mesmerizing.



    I think you're holding someone's hand and promenading down the wet grass with blonde in your hair and dirt all over your soul.



    I think you've grown. Those chocolates wrapped in memories are there, somewhere. Sticking to the pages we flipped over. The beginning was beautiful and the end shall be too. But as I walk past the shelf in that old bookstore, I don't smell giggles. I don't smell you.



    Its just the way this is supposed to go. Red, after all, remains red. I'll walk past from here. For you're already way ahead.

    ©Eshita





    P. S.- Life's been really traumatizing lately. I'd speak soon. Happy evening, family.

    Read More

    Broken Lollipop Sticks

  • engaged_guilty 173w

    Ello buttercups!
    I'll be all over Mirakee tom and I'll be feeding on everything that you spluttered while I was gone. Eh, pardon me for not responding. I just started college. Sickenin'. Phew. U_U


    *Use ice cubes wrapped in a dainty cloth for clear, blazing skin, before going to sleep. Yes. Thank me later, ladies.*

    Read More

    By Your Side

    When I'm draped in an enchanting white and the curtains are bout to come down, concluding my stage show,
    remember to hold my hand in the sad red lights and the beautiful wine vibes, for just a last time, before I go.

    ©Eshita

  • engaged_guilty 175w

    Baby, I'm a sociopath, a sweet serial killer,
    on the warpath, coz I love you just a lill' too much.
    ~Lana Del Ray

    Read More

    Ae, papi

    And what bout those distorted mannequins in my basement, they want to touch your beautiful face. Those wax figurines are family after all, so won't you stay another day?

    ©Eshita

  • engaged_guilty 175w

    Its been a while since I've been sleeping here. I flake out for a couple minutes, every mundane afternoon. In the shower, without a stitch on. I lean my head against the faucet and let the freezing water drip down my shoulders to touch my ankles with an unpleasant gaze. With my eyelids crammed shut, I wait. All over again.




    My hands are grappling my toenails and there are brunette waves all over my forehead. My lips barely move and my mouth remains chained. My fingertips are greasy and blanketed in drool. And I don't turn the knobs. The doors always remain open. Even while I'm naked, with my head in the sink, retching and crackling.



    And then, I doze off on the bathroom floor and I wake up when my skin is numb and my fingers are thick and sore. I crawl my way to the basin and grab my towels. And then, I remain there. In the bathroom, waiting. I go out at times. Usually when I hallucinate that the doorbell rang and someone came over to pick me up. And I hallucinate quite often. I feel lighter every day. Mirrors don't attract me anymore. I remain here, in the shower for longer hours than yesterday. And I wait. There are no clocks here and waiting is therefore easier. I don't know what year it is. I'm just here, somewhere. Waiting.



    My heart is shrinking and turning limp as days go by. I can feel the crestfallen cooing as I smother my breasts with these icecled palms. Burning ebony pours in through those unlatched windows but I can't shut them out. What if someone calls for me through those openings. I can't close those windows. I can't seal the holes. That other day, I noticed yellow blotchs on my abdomen. And then my feet, they're patched. My eyes are sunken and sable scars are all over my naked body. I need to get out of here. Its time that someone gives me an arm and head me to a doctor. Those pills have long expired I believe for they taste cruddy and ill. I've to go. Someone has to come for me. What about the ones I helped in times of need and injury. What bout the ones I vaccinated against tetanus and fungae. And them, I warned them to stay away from those breeding grounds for menacing lies. Someone gotta come for me. My knees are week. My spectre is a mere outline.





    Hold me before I fade. I need someone to hold me before I fade. I'm in pain. And yet again, I'm hallucinating. I feel like the doorbell rang.


    ©Eshita





    Inoculate me against colours. My eyes would eventually fall for the grays.~Eshita


    I know I'm acting a bit crazy, strung out, a little bit hazy, hand over heart I'm praying, that I'm gonna make it out alive.~Selena Gomez

    Read More

    Plagued Jaws

    My eyes are sunken and sable scars are all over my naked body. I need to get out of here. Its time that someone gives me an arm and head me to a doctor. Those pills have long expired I believe for they taste cruddy and ill. I've to go. Someone gotta come for me. My knees are week. My spectre is a mere outline.


    I need someone to hold me before I fade. I'm in pain.


    ©Eshita