Memories disappear too

Trapped in this monotonous thing,

i cant even sing

grasping for a  hand like yours in the depths of despair, i m trying to figure out who we were.. how did we end so completely and finally, when we cant figure out how we want to live our lives. wHAT IF WE WeRE PERFECT, WHAT IF WE WERE THE HEAVEN in this infernal???Pick me up again, take my hand ,lets dance on Earth if you cant reach that star. your voice is the candy weaving in and out of cotton. Even if it doesnt last forever, if its now, then who cares about later. eVERY NOW I SPEND WITH YOU, MEANS a little longer and a bit more memory film…

A possible Tale of mine #1

Sometimes, I see the world ,my world, in black and white. When simple, beautiful things capture my attention, like the curved edge of a ruined old book or the unfluttering wings of a dead bumble-bee. My world was uncomplicated- I had a father, a house, a school, my belongings and I had the questions floating around in my head. The questions whose answers couldn’t be learnt in a classroom, the ones that make parents close their ears and teachers shake their heads. Maybe, if I knew the answers my world would suddenly change and become complicated ans confuffling. Perhaps, they didn’t want THAT, so they ignored me.

My English Teacher

I have this undying idea that my English teacher is secreting away the stories that I write for her classes.She returns everyone else’s on-time,but mine are always missing, disappeared,unseen or in some other condition I didn’t leave them in. Its a suspicious business that enrages me-quite conceivable. I write, no – conjure the stories from the depts of my hidden insanity with the intention of disguising them as assignments to be marked, then sharing them with the world via wordpress. But she, like a serpentine human ,spirits them away to the cubicles of  box- education, amongst her collegues ,never-yet for me to see them again. I must, regain possession of these tales of mine, for they’ve got chunks of my soul on them, bits of my memories cling to the echoes of their wings’ noisy flap- they are my celestial flesh, without which I can’t suffer to live happily.