Dreams and sleep.
There is a reason we love to sleep.
When you spend your entire day fighting monsters,
And watch yourself lose anyway,
You get tired and your shoulders slouch.
When the sword becomes too heave to carry,
But the villain still triumphs,
You get fed up and your eyes feel drowsy.
When you stay up all Christmas night,
But Santa never shows up,
You are disappointed and you go to bed. Continue reading Dreams and sleep.
I’ve made the official Instagram handle for this page (@myspirals). Do follow and stay tuned. (If you’ve written and posted something that you want me to read, use the hashtag #ourspirals)
I’m addicted to coffee. There are more dirty mugs in my sink and empty coffee bottles in my dustbin than the number of people I trust. The first conversation I have in the day is with a steaming mug of coffee that smells of hopes and reality. I wrap my fingers around the warmth and let it wake me up, despite me not having slept at all last night. The bitter taste of coffee burning my tongue is like a pat on the back, and I am all for motivation. I am high on coffee every day.
I’m addicted to music. The melody is my drug and I cannot live without it. I sleep to the voice of Ed Sheeran and wake up to Selena Gomez. Which is why I’d ask you to ‘kiss me’ at night and have anxiety attacks as I run through the jungles of my mind like ‘wolves’ in the morning. I’d relate to the lyrics of a song more than have feelings of déjà vu’s. I’ve been called an introvert, but I am not. I am an extrovert and I socialize a lot with music.
I am addicted to lying. I have this weird habit of telling myself every morning I will sleep that night, even though it is nothing but a white lie. I’ve pretended to be over someone, even though I still look for them in the hallways of my university. I’ve said I am okay way too many times, for even that to be healthy. When you fake a smile often enough, it becomes a habit and your smile is reduced to being just a twitch in your muscles.
I am addicted to her. I am addicted to the way we read poetry to each other like lullabies on a Tuesday night, and the way she giggles at dark humor. I love the way she looks at me in dim lights, and the way she trips over nothing. I love the smell of her hair, honey and coconut. She isn’t sunshine. She is hot chocolate and Christmas.
But most of all, I am addicted to the way the butterflies in my stomach go crazy when she whispers in my ears as we take a sip from the warm mugs of coffee with ‘Skin’ playing somewhere in the house. “I love you too.” Oh, what a beautiful lie.
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Previous post: Wake up call.
Related post: Bare waists and midriffs.
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I’ve made the official Instagram handle for this page (@myspirals). Do follow and stay tuned. (If you’ve written and posted something that you want me to read, use the hashtag #ourspirals)
More often than not,
I’ve slept my problems away.
My problems have been
Like a beast in the dungeon,
Like a dragon in the caves
of the tall golden mountains
that echoes like my mind.
I’ve used sleep as a defense mechanism,
and defeated such dragons,
over and over in my dreams.
My problems have been
Like a task for me,
Like a big step that I have to take,
in order to survive,
amidst the world of flames and cuts.
I’ve used sleep to procrastinate,
and thought everything through.
Used the veil of a perfectionist,
to cover my hopes in a belief of awakening.
My problems have been
Like a clock that is ticking away.
I’ve used sleep as my fingers,
and removed the cell.
Today,
I’ve decided to wake up.
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Related post 1 : Palettes of life.
Related post 2 : It’s okay.
Friends, if you like reading my work, do share it with your friends (on whatever social media you deem appropriate). It would be amazing to have more people reading my compositions. Please help my infinity grow bigger ∞
It has been a while since I had posted something I’ve written, and I really wanted to. The Whiskey Words is still going on. Tomorrow is the last date to submit, though. Enjoy!
I’ve been asked
time and time again,
How can a person be your home?
Now, how do I explain this?
When I am with him,
I wear comfy pajamas and absolutely no make up.
I confine to the wall of his arms,
and cry with my face buried in his shoulder
like a kid holding a pillow to muffle his screams.
His dimples are the trampoline to my fingers.
Every time Lust and love,
his best-friends, and our guests
come over,
I dress up fancy and serve myself.
Honestly, I just sleep all day in his arms.
And even though I need no-one,
He protects me anyway.
He makes sure I walk on the right side of the street,
And that my hair is tucked behind my ear.
Home isn’t built in a day,
and neither were we.
Like wizards without their chosen wands,
And Ross without Rachel,
I am alright without him,
but completely empty inside.
If I was a goddamn house,
he would be my furniture.
Like a sailor on a quivering boat,
in a black night storm,
I miss him when he isn’t around.
What else do you get homesick for,
if not a home?
And I love him so much,
with all my heart.
Home is where the heart is.
So yeah, he is my home.
Two arms, wavy hair, brown eyes,
breathy voice and a musical heartbeat.
Also, I have thought about doing a little something on the side. I’ve written an erotica and published it on Wattpad (you can read it even if you don’t have an account), and might convert it into a series if you guys like it. Do read and respond by leaving comments here or on wattpad. Go there by clicking : here.
My Spirals 