they used to say i was a Talker.
i have had the words sucked out my tear-ducts.

nothing but a memory.
the dream and the reckless reckless reckless abandon into your infinite embrace,

'whiskey kisses and the sex, whiskey kisses that are best'

lies.

poetic nonsense signifying nothing, hollow plastic insinuations.
borrowed vocabulary.


i had so hoped to prevent this blog from becoming the reflection of pitiful young angst, petty mediocre and entirely pointless.
so is life.

that, in the way of justification. perhaps.
perhaps, words.

dar lagta hai akele sonay mein ji.

-dil to bacha, Ishqiya.

or perhaps, more.
 -eeda