Debopriyaa Dutta's Blog

I have written a book called "Frozen Sparks" which is a collection of poems dealing with unrequited feelings, love, depression and eventual recovery.
It is available for sale on Amazon WORLDWIDE in both paperback and Kindle editions.
So grab your copy by buying it here.

Thank you so much guys!
I'm looking forward to your valuable reviews.

Claws embedded in flesh
Rip, tear, savor : emotions of last night.
"Are those bloodstains on your shirt, Daddy?"
I shook my head and smiled,
"No honey, just  cran-apple juice."
The mask was slipping, the rage blinded me
Its hard being a loving father and a psychopath all at once.

Struggling to keep up appearances since age 8,
Bullied, harassed, beaten up,
But smiling anyway.
I pushed Cody Walters off the cliff during our school trip
Because he laughed at me.
And the names kept piling up over the years.

"Dont go to the attic ever, bad things are there, do you understand?"
I told my seven year old, and he nodded, wide eyed.
An attic, dusty, old, and full of flesh and skin and severed heads
That I loved to collect.
I don't like it when people are not polite,
But I like them cooked and nicely plated,
or maybe stuffed inside my pillow at night.
I want to stop but this hunger never will.
And right now, I am ravenous.Author Note :
These cravings and feelings are sempiternal - no matter how hard he tries to be a better person, the hunger wont let him.
He thrives on human pain and flesh, its his drug.

I.

The moon swallowed up the shadows of our mortal trinkets strewn
carelessly across the streets: The solitary streets.
Throbbing with
nervous little heartbeats craving basic excuses of being in denial; We allow the wolf in sheep's clothing to hunt us out in the open right
under the incandescent bulbs, which add a mocking tint to those
nubile bodies we are so eager to offer.
That man doesn't need a
crown to make those endless women kneel down on their knees
before him : night after night, treason in between the crimson
sheets.
Trace out the outlines of this sadistic revolution on the
streets.
The solitary streets.

II.

Her blackened eye happened to be circumstancial evidence. But
we are so attuned,
to swim inside those flat television screens
retelling our extraordinary saga of make-believe
that we cast it aside as nonchalantly as crushed ant skulls by feet
adorned with soles.
Souls. Which threw up in digust when it saw you empty the bowl
filled with blood and sweat.
Also that steamy stew you cooked up with arteries and veins, still
pumping relentlessly.
Be vary enough not to stain your satin shirt which cost you an
entire regiment of dreams that were not yours.
Beg, borrow, steal.
That's how you stitched up that personality to die for.

Tonight,
I desire to read all the lovely verses laced with pain
And be a drunkard,
Drunk senseless on the ache without a name.
Life depends on the arrangement of twenty six letters.
It can smash your soul like dried cedar leaves,
crushed slowly inside your palm.
Am I disturbed or am I calm.
Maybe both?

Someone once said I wanted two impossible things at once.
I do.
What fun, to have absolutely nothing,
But craving absolutely everything,
Like a madman at the last stages of his crazed existence.

I want the open valleys and the thirsty deserts
spreading endlessly across continents,
The lovely seashore with its conchshells littered along with human waste.
I want to huddle around bonfires
and write pages inside tents,
And dance tameless during tempests full of rage and haste.
I want it all, I want it all.

I love you for the simple reason you exist,
Or maybe its hatred of the highest degree,
bordering on insanity,
Did I forge your identity?
Did I fill your hollows and paint you flawless,
And get carried away in this life of lovelessness?
If yes, what a fool I have been.

But you're the wildest beauty I have ever seen.
I cannot unlove you even if I try
excavating my flesh and ripping away my lungs
You're in my system, you're in my veins:
Like the last bloodbag attached to the dying man,
Drip, drip, drip, drip
And the final cruel twist of a knife.

Neruda stared at me out of my dusty bookshelf and said,
'Tonight I am going to write the saddest lines.’
I laughed a shaky laugh.
That kind of laugh which trembles because
you might choke on your own tears any moment.
How could you steal my emotions even before I started to exist?
I whispered to the bookshelf,
To the man who wrote a hundred tireless love sonnets,
But now I, tired, sick, disgusted of the emotion itself - so tired.
Every kind of love damages you beyond repair.
Allow me to illustrate?Its that smart without a name,
A numb and aching pain when you remember every time someone,
Saw you shuddering and crying and used it to their advantage,
Jabbing your wounds with hot steel pokers and burning you alive,
and you let them burn you
because you loved them.
Every time when someone,
Twisted your soul and ripped it apart,
laughed at you,
deserted you,
loved you
because they thought you were someone else,
loved someone else behind your back,
led you on mindlessly,
misunderstood you worse than that stranger you saw near the coffee machine everyday.

But you cried and vomited,
Slashed your skin and soul unrecognizable and irreparable,
And allowed them to reduce you to this zombie like state with suicidal urges,
Because you loved them.How does one simply go on living
after they've felt so much in such a short spell,
Can you tell?
I have seen too much already.
He, an abuser,
She, a, backstabber,
You, a sadistic monster.
I have also seen sentimental excesses,
Emotional vultures and people who defile trust.
He, a charmer.
She, a hooker.
You, a compulsive liar.
I want to live fast and die young,
I am twenty one, and have seen it all.
I am reckless, impulsive, frightening,
There's no salvation, you see.
I dare you to live a day like me.
 But no, you cannot.

"If it were a cold November night,
with a howling storm outside my cosy home.
Rattling the glass windows with such urgency and haste,
and making we want to light the fireplace,
and have roasted apples and buns
Also maybe some marmalade.
I can show you happiness in a cupful of ground coffee beans,
and in the sin my eyes commit every time I stare at your face.

You were staring into space,
and I was staring at you.
Staring, wondering, dreaming, yearning, longing :
but I continue to stare,
as I just stood there,
tracing the outline of your jawbone with my eyes.
It is frightening what a few well defined bones and expressions
can do to another soul.

You've a mouth to die for.
Oh, yes. That Adams apple,
which vibrates as you speak.
I am sitting on my couch on a cold November night,
and here you are.
Maybe just eating roasted apples and marmalade,
Maybe just watching something on tv,
Maybe just sighing out names of other pretty faces,
But I simply watch you weaving magic,
without having absolutely no idea
About the effect you can have on another soul.
What does an artist need more?
On a cold November night in her warm, cosy home,
Such a blasphemous sight,
Of beauty existing on its own."

The streets were suffocated with smog,
which invaded and claimed every shady corner,
much like the arrogant hipsters, their blood vessels throbbing with
adrenaline. Boosted by
sex and ultraviolence,
dissolved with twisted ideas of happiness and peace,
cocaine in their veins, poison in their lungs,
they're out to change the world.

Those pretty little apartments we all dream of,
have their own little ugly fables to tell.
The walls have seen nasty brawls,
bleeding mouths and jaws, petty squabbles over money, women
and ego.
Spoons full of sugar, tea and toast, cake and marmalade do not
make a household,
Floors sprawled with skirts discarded in lust and violence,
Unseen blood splatters, pieces of a broken heart..
Fragments of a meaningless existence.

Look at the world.
Cheating, lies and manipulation are the new garments we wear,
Flesh and masks mingle, broken souls.. who are you?
Who do you want to be?
And
Who do you have to be?
Mortal hunger and howls are more terrifying than that of beasts,
We are free.
Oh, is that so?
Cannibalism is a criminal offence, they say
But nobody talks about how we feed on
fears, doubts, feelings and insecurities of other people.
How suicide is cowardly -
But those people who actually pulled the trigger aren't.
Oh, we love illusions, dont we?
We are free.

"The kind of beauty he possessed, is rare.
 I say 'beauty' instead of 'cuteness' or 'hotness' because that's what he is. I haven't set my eyes upon somebody half as enchanting. It has nothing to do with the way he looks, that's just a bonus.
It's what's underneath - the courage, the strength, the zeal to carry on & live life.
The kind of silent friend who does not promise anything with artful words, but acts as a catalyst - the kind that changes you forever.
He doesn't whine, complain, sympathize : he could break you down to the smallest atom, only to make you get up & feel stronger than ever before.
To be honest, in weakness, in sadness, in desperation, in death, his words are the only thing which has made me challenge things, & I have never felt so alive.

He's not fearless, he just knows how to master fear, control it, tame it, bring the best out of it. Such courage, such beauty - has left me speechless, & I am not sorry that I am in love with someone so beautifully deep, so beautifully human."

"What with thunder, what with lightning,
What with the storm welling inside,
They all say, 'Its okay. Let it be.'
Is it?
Its so heartless on everyone's part
To let such destruction continue
To allow rocks to erode and flowers to get devastated
To say pain must be stopped while its felt most intensely,
Cruel, cruel world.
Only if you were me, only if you felt
All those multitudes of emotions each waking hour,
You wouldn't have.
You shouldn't have.
You couldn't have."

You're a drug.
I desire to smoke you up
whole, like meth and cocaine.
Visions blurred, you're
more intoxicating than the
usual Ecstasy doses.
Melt the pain, like snow
and come live inside me.

You're a mystery.
Like unending veils
shrouding some terrifying beauty,
The more I undress your soul, the more baffled I
become.
Let me in, let me me live inside
you.

Lets live inside each other,
Cause you're an art.
Almost perfect, I could
paint your bronze
harvested skin,
and sculpt that maddeningly
handsome face,
forever.
Let's live inside each other...