My Smokin' Girl.

Love mimics an addiction to cigarettes.

Women are like cigarettes.

You buy a pack of cigarettes knowing that you have twenty sticks in it.

You date a girl knowing that there are just as many other girls out there.

If the pack doesn't suit you, you move on.

If the girl doesn't suit you, you too move on.

There's a certain amount of anticipation you have before you open each and every pack. Knowing that every stick will satisfy your craving whenever you have one.

Each cigarette can be alluded to a woman you fancy. Women are great company. Liking them is even better. They offer you a sense of elation, comfort and a warm fuzzy feel. Cigarettes like women offer the very same feeling.

Cigarettes are the best companion for a lonesome individual. And likewise, women are great companions for lonely men.

The lighting of a cigarette is much like courtship with a love interest. As you light the stick up, you have a sense of excitement. You know that you'll be satisfied with each and every puff you take. The first few puffs are so intense that they knock you off your feet. You get all oozy and light headed. You even smile to yourself. As with courtships, they too knock you off your feet at the very beginning. The excitement you have before each date is equivalent to that of craving a cigarette. You know you'll be happy with what's to come on the date. So you go through the routine inhalations and exhalations. And soon you come to the end of your stick. It's about time to stub it out. And like the dying cigarette, the fun and exciting dating game too comes to an end. All of a sudden, you're taken out of your magical world of love into cold hard reality.

So what happens after that?

You probably wait for your next craving for a stick. And when it comes, you repeat your standard operating procedure. Pack, open, remove, insert, light, inhale, exhale and extinguish.

As with smoking, you do the same with women. When your dates don't work out or you decide that things aren't working out, you leave and extinguish whatever flames there are between you and the other. Just as you crave a smoke, you too crave the company of a woman. And when that craving hits you, you repeat another set of standard operating procedures. Initiate, flirt, date, date some more, realise and leave.

This is how one goes through so many packs of cigarettes.

This is also how one goes through that many 'heartmakes' and heartbreaks.

But if you think about things carefully, there's a commonality between each and every cigarette/pack you smoke. That similarity is your trusty lighter. As packs and sticks go, the lighter is the only thing that stays. It gives you the most important element a smoker needs - fire. You can abandon your current pack for another newer/fresher pack. But you can never do without your lighter. You develop a special bond with it. You never leave home without it.

And as with your lighter, only a special someone can make you feel that way. When you eventually find her, nothing can make you abandon her. You're hers as she is yours. You develop a special bond with her - love. Your heart never leaves her behind.

Your lighter isn't perfect. There are times where it too runs out of gas. Or the times where the flint is worn out and won't light the wick. You get frustrated. Maybe even angry. But at the end of the day, you bring it home and you service it with some tender loving care. You top it up with some fluid, you change the flint so that it sparks - perfection yet again.

And as with your lighter, your lover can also make you irritated. There are bumps in the road of love. But each and every time you think it's just too much to take, all you have to do is to just put in more tender loving care. Things work out; they work out perfectly.

With a cigarette you may give up as and when you want, but with your lighter, you never give up without a fight.

And as with you a random girl you fancy, you move on when you have to, but with your lover, you too never give up without a fight.

I've found my lighter, have you?

Blood Lust.

A twist of the torso

A twitch of the flesh

Each strike I take

Is better than the rest

The slamming of the fist

I know I've not missed

Again and again I let it flow

My knuckles now white and cold

I summon each punch

With zest and feel

Embedding them with a hit of steel

I see the blood

But I feel no pain

For with each strike I take

I see a face I hate

I hit and I hit

Till it's set on repeat

I learn to hit where it will kill

For I fight not to injure

But to draw blood

Blood not of my own

But the crimson of my foes

For their blood I lust

And will one day draw

I strengthen myself more and more

To keep them running

I turn to hate

With scorn and disgust

In them I soar

Their souls mine for the taking

For myself I will prepare this killing

I lust their blood

More than God's mighty floods

I compose myself

I take my aim

And once again

I start this cycle

Of hit, punch and restore

For their blood I seek

And will one day meet

I will keep this hatred aflame

With gusto and pain

I will make them pay

For sins they made on that day

For hatred is insufficient

To express what I feel

They will pay for their sins

For what they've in the past committed

Vengeance is what keeps me afloat

As I sail in solitude in this hateful boat.

All You Need Is Love.

For everything has it's cycle

And in these cycles lie a purpose

We will never know of them

Until the very very end

So, we'll wait it out

To find what it's all about

For we already know where our road will lead

In that direction, its signs, together we will heed

When The Cold Wind Blows.

It reads 2:40am on the clock.

0240hrs.

20 minutes before 3 in the morning.

40 minutes after 2 in the morning.

Time is told in so many ways, it's a wonder that man never gets confused with 'it'.

The weather is chilly. No, it isn't pouring. It isn't even drizzling. But it just is cold. Chilly to be exact. The temperature, rather, lack thereof sends a chill down the spine.

You'd think that switching off the fan or donning a sweater would help. But this cold, isn't a cold that can penetrate the skin. It's a cold that's emitted from what we scientifically call, cellular membrane.

It comes from within. No, you won't experience frostbite at your extremities. You experience it within your body. You heart seems to have been set in water that's slowly freezing to ice. Each beat is slower than the other, and it worries you. It's probably just mental - that's what we all want to think when we feel sick. Bodily aliments aren't really physical but psychological, you want to believe that; you will believe that.

It's a fine line between a real illness and one that's just concocted and executed in the mind.

You really can't tell what it is now. Cold, just so cold.

A hot cup of tea? Maybe milo or coffee. But no it doesn't help. It never does help with inward chills.

Maybe a stick? If one won't work magic, two just might. But no, the glowing ember still proves futile.

Hiding under the sheets? Pulling it right up to your neck, just below your chin. You're supposed to feel warm. Well, not warm per se; but warmer for sure?

You just don't. And you're starting to feel as though your life and soul are slipping away from you. You want to panic. You want to cry for help. But it's a sense of futility that tells you not to. No one can save you now. No drug can.

And so your body finally gives in to the chills. Your eyelids fall shut. Your breathing deepens. There's nothing else you can do. It's all in the stars, beyond you as all things are.

On nights as such, only love can work the miracle you want, crave and wish for.

A Priceless Game.

When there's too much to be lost, You don't think of winning, You only fear losing.

The Exorcism of Demons within.

In the Name of the Agape and of the Philia and of the Eros, Love.

Let Love arise and let its obstacles be scattered: and let them that hinder it flee from before its presence!

As smoke vanisheth, so let them vanish away: as wax melteth before the fire, so let the troubles perish at the Presence of Love. Judge Thou, O' Love, them that hinder me: overthrow them that prevent me.

Let these insecurities be confounded and ashamed as they make me doubt thee. Let them be turned back and be confounded that devise thoughts and worries against thee. Let them become as dust before the wind: and let the power of Love straighten them. Vanquish the way of their thoughts and presence: and let the power of Love protect we from all assaults.

For without cause they have blinded and clouded sane judgement and trust: without cause they have upbraided my heart for thee.

In the Name of the Agape and of the Philia and of the Eros, Love.

When Love Finds.

Man searches for love as he does searching for food.

Like food, love too is a form of sustenance.

What is life without love? It's like the oceans without salt - full but tasteless and bland.

When we don't find it, we crave for it. We look for it in the weirdest of places, always failing to find what we had set out to seek.

But love, isn't found. Love finds. And when love finds you, you find love. In the oddest of situations, in the most unsuspecting parts of your life.

And that, is the beauty of true love, the fact that you can never find it when you search, until it chooses to find you when you least expect it.

If life was all about finding true love, I'd now die in peace and much happiness.

For what I've found,

I never expected.

Only daring to dream of,

Is now mine and genuinely reciprocated.

Girlfriend, I love you.