A cracked polystyrene man.

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  • champagnesupernova 2d

    There's a no solace in this, he uttered, as he penned another for the night.

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    at this time
    of our pandemonium
    we're only visited by
    the best
    or the worst.

    and it ranges from
    memories to
    in little packets of
    'if only'.

    a round face
    of an untiring
    clock showing
    the same time
    of a different

    only on a
    lonelier night.


  • champagnesupernova 2d

    ode to stripping.

    is there anything
    more to be achieved
    in a moment
    than to be
    in that moment

    but the clockwork
    in our cerebellum
    reminds us that
    has an end
    much before
    it is allowed
    a start.

    so we
    pretend to
    bring out the best
    in us, always.

    and the observer
    marvels at how
    cool the cucumber
    can be, silently
    burning inside
    in a fire
    that feels
    to be lit up
    only for him
    to be burnt
    in a fatal


  • champagnesupernova 1w

    bare knuckle boxing.

    have been
    staring at the
    spotless white
    of the screen for
    the past
    thirty seven minutes
    in hopes
    of being donated
    some charity
    of words.

    but language always
    hits you
    at strange
    times in the

    like being engulfed
    in the choicest
    'could it get
    any better!'

    and simultaneously
    drowning in
    the cesspool
    of thinking
    about it too
    damn much.

    yep, the struggle
    is real,
    my friend.


  • champagnesupernova 1w

    Some background info:
    Noel Gallagher was a member of the band Oasis.
    Morrissey was the lead singer for The Smiths, and Heaven knows I'm miserable now is a song by them.
    Game of Thrones is a telly series.
    Marvel is, well, you already know this.

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    There's an unspoken sadness in being alone. Usually the weight of this argument lies in the favor of loneliness. But being alone, like an ice cream left too long in the freezer, develops a different flavor. You look around for company, but the dirty flap of the air conditioner is the only thing that seems lively, because it is the only thing that moves.

    Needless to say there's no scope of conversation there.

    You cling to the pillow tighter, as if to squeeze some words out of it. A pair of comatose headphones lie next to it. Music, you've read, always speaks to us.

    Noel Gallagher holds you for five minutes, then Morrissey takes centre stage and you realise that he was right, even heaven knows you're miserable now.

    Anywhere from three to thirty minutes people you don't know and who don't have any idea you exist, deafen out the mechanical ticking of your heart. At the end of which, like an imprudently placed time bomb, the beats of your heart become audible, yet again.

    It is not so much the bomb that kills you but it's anticipation. You're surprised by how philosophical you can be at 3:27 in the night. The lights are still not out and everything seems to stare at you, but none of them are alive. Coz if they were you'd definitely ask them for company. But a quarter of the world, even more, is up tonight. The last season of Game of Thrones premieres tomorrow. I read somewhere that two universes are coming to an end this month, Marvel and GoT.

    I wonder what of the one that seems to be on the verge of it as well, as I put out the lights and invite sleep for yet another trial by combat.


  • champagnesupernova 1w


    the only people you
    give the right to
    your life
    are the only ones
    you don't expect
    to fuck with

    if you've done

    you already know
    how the rest of
    the poem
    would have


  • champagnesupernova 2w

    a necessary evil.

    my doe eyed self
    may have you
    on your knees,
    if it tried,

    but if it did
    try i'd be on my
    before you.

    because the greatest
    rat race mankind
    has ever indulged
    in is

    and perhaps
    that is why we're
    always wanted
    more than
    wherever we


  • champagnesupernova 2w


    all the times we've
    lived life in ignorance
    of our own follies
    we've ended up

    and that makes
    the only reminders
    of why people lose
    in humanity.

    you ask for a purpose
    for life, why not start
    by recognising
    where you fuck up
    the most

    and trying a little
    hard to do
    a little less of


  • champagnesupernova 2w


    my heart knows
    a certain kind
    of violence

    and the lust for
    by it
    will only be quenched
    by loving someone
    so deeply

    that even the
    shards in me
    they could
    dress pretty
    for a


  • champagnesupernova 2w

    There’s a weight I feel on my shoulders. I don’t know what has brought this on, or if it has always been here, like an antique pot left silently in the corner. But with each passing moment this weight seems to be proliferating. Every moment spent, every breath inhaled, every flashback captured, seems hard on the legs, so much so that even time spent smiling seems wasted.

    In moments of happiness it feels like something is constantly keeping a watch from over my shoulder. When I think of it, it feels as if this entity(or whatever it is) is keeping a tab on all the times I smile in a day’s worth. As if to tell me it has to be paid back in full.
    As if to tell me that I owe it a debt. Some debt.

    Is happiness that expensive?

    Nevertheless every time I smile, as if driven by an unconscious reflex, I check my surroundings from the corner of my eye. I think I have developed a fear of inadvertently belittling someone by being elated.

    When did the world become that sad?

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    Dying of the light.

  • champagnesupernova 2w

    come to me and set me free.

    to what
    may i commemorate
    my words to
    i wonder.

    but does every
    night have to end
    with some
    thrown in together
    in an attempt
    to make
    the near-perfect

    we be allowed to
    mess up
    from time
    to time?

    i sit and ponder
    within the confines
    of the four
    and a half
    walls of my
    as the door
    gapes back

    as if to say
    all the answers
    lie in liberation.

    but freedom is overrated.
    and come to
    think of it,
    home is overrated

    finding a home
    in freedom

    or the freedom
    in a home

    now that is
    the real deal.