Grunge

I had one too many yesterday, popped pills like I was
scattering dimes on the dinner table, laying them bare,
I smoked a pack of Marlboro Red like I usually do,
flicking the half-smoked cigarettes into the rotten,
weed-strewn patch of land that haunts the left side
of my cracked wallpaper, slightly jaded house.

I stood on the balcony that’s barely holding up like
an oxygenated man needing tubes and needles,
I watched the honeydew sunset with dilated
pupils, drifting in and out of a lazy reverie –
a blurred door in the distance with misty vines
creeping over it, the cobbled path like fish scales,
coalescing now and then. I was half-running, half-stumbling
but without fear or paroxysms of angst, I tried
getting to the door but suddenly woke up
only to find myself beginning again.

Is there a point to pointlessness?
Is there a reason for lacking reason?
Am I knowledgeably-knowingly ignorant?
Or am I ignorantly-innately knowledgeable?

Nah, these questions didn’t haunt, nah,
these questions didn’t haunt
while I stood in my thrift store shirt
and track pants, unwashed, unclean
and unattended to. I guess there’s a sense
of freedom in a slightly reckless abandonment
or a partial hedonism.

I didn’t need you at that moment and
I don’t need you now.
I didn’t love you at that moment and
I don’t love you now.
I didn’t feel you at that moment and
I don’t feel you now.

So fucking carefree and wild –
So lost in smooth transition –
A hit that’s gentle and mild –
One that needs no translation –

And that quatrain summarizes this shit, and it’s a fucking wrap.

© Nitin Lalit Murali (2018)

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12 Comments

  1. Dear Nitin, this place, the “one too many” is close to the edge of the abyss and oddly welcoming. It’s a place that drops us to our knees and some of us can’t wait to get there. I find it’s a place where strength and weakness hold hands, and at times they’re one in the same. This place has no exact location, no directions, no maps, yet there are those of us that will always find our way to this place. I sat and thought about, “the cobbled path like fish scales, coalescing now and then” for far too long, I think I should thank you. Excellent writing as always. ~ Mia

    1. Dear Mia,

      Yes it is indeed a place where strength and weaknesses meet. It’s both a difficult and an oddly beautiful place. I’m so glad you interpreted it that way and the depth of your reading humbles me. I’m glad you liked the imagery too. Thank you so much for your kind words. I’m deeply moved by your comment – Nitin

        1. Definitely. Art never stems from a perfect place. It’s fracture that needs healing or at least sustenance and art gives us just that in an oddly beautiful way.

    2. And I absolutely loved this – This place has no exact location, no directions, no maps, yet there are those of us that will always find our way to this place.

      1. Thank you, Nitin. Many will argue this is wrong: a bad mindset, yet in some right-way this place feels like home, it fits like home, it just maybe home. I hope Sunday has been good to you so far. ~ Mia

        1. My Sunday was good although I’m finding it difficult to sleep now! It isn’t wrong Mia. I dislike people who preach that way. They’re very dogmatic and authoritarian and don’t seek to understand at all. Thank you for such an encouraging comment. -Nitin

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