MISERY

He's 20 and has a pot belly
which keeps on growing
seemingly each day
after his 19th birthday,
signalling him the end of his
second and last growth spurt.

He doesn’t take care of his teeth
He has shorter than average height
Never had any luck with the girls
Still a virgin and a porn addict
with ugly dark circles under his eyes.

His hands and legs are pathetically thin
like candles, just like his fathers'
His head is big like a pumpkin
just like his mothers'.

His thoughts are a mess
bleak and suffocating
Just like his room

With a perverted free will
which doesn’t need his consent anymore

His nose is a little crooked
like his standing posture.

He leans a little on one
side when he stands
because of
a surgery operation he went through
when he was ten.

His parents tell him
in which he almost died
They love to tell that story
without asking for his consent
to anyone who comes in their house
a medical marvel they call it
and always ask him
to stand up
so that the others can see
the proof:
crookedness in the way he stands
and the marks of stitches
on his brown neck.

#

At 16
around the time when his height
took a fall and his gut
was slowly forming
all thanks to
his habit of playing freddy fuckaround
in front of his computer
all day all night

he got in a less than average
engineering college because of
his less than average marks
in class 12th

All the science
he never cared to understand
he had no interest in it.

At 14
when him and his schoolmates
were asked to make a choice
which'll eventually set the theme
of their entire life:

'Which stream do you want
to pursue in higher secondary'

that time he was too excited
from getting good grades in class 10th
too engaged in the celebrations
and of course
the discovery of porn
to understand the gravity
of that question and choice.

So, he opted science
as it was
the cool thing to do
and students
with high grades in 10th
were expected to choose
the most demanding stream
and because his father's an engineer
and his mother, a housewife, liked to
proudly flaunt around
her son's act
of choosing science
and following in
the footsteps
of his father.

Since he was little kid
whenever an emotion
went into hyperdrive
be it anger, happiness
excitement or sorrow
he wrote.

One time he wrote
about a boy
whose house caught fire
other time he wrote
about a boy
who killed both of his bullies
by smashing together
their dumb heads
hard.

His mother found these little notes
in his school bag one day
and whacked him
and while he was taking the beating
he only pleaded her
sobbingly
for one thing:
'to not tell Dad'.
She didn't
she just disposed
all his little stories
in the trash
and in return for her silence
she made him promise
not to write a single word
that is not strictly for
academic purposes.

He kept the promise
and as years went by
he eventually forgot
all about writing.
So, when the big day came
at the age of 14
the thought of opting
for 'arts and humanities' stream
never even crossed
his adolescent mind.

#

"There's so much self-pity in you
it's fucking miserable"
he scolds himself
as he looks at the mirror
hating his own reflection.

"In a month you'll be 21
a useless engineer
just like your father
big congrats
a virgin porn addict who
writes shitty poetry plagued with
his own misery
while sitting in the basement
of his parents' house."

“When you stop
brushing your teeth
you are tapping out
on humanity; man
It'd be better
if you just dropped dead
honestly
the exam is in 7 months
but I know as well as you do
you're just going to
jerk those months away
by making the same
fucking mistakes
and when all's done
you'll blame your parents
Please just die man
and do a favour
to both of us"
He feels the old
stitch scars
on his neck
with his pudgy fingers
the skin there feels stretched
and made of rubber

it's the proof
of a
very delicate operation
alright
but it's also a proof of
something else
and even though the memory
of that time is blurry
he remembers
how the "accident" happened

His father was drunk
that night
and got really angry
really fast
when he argued
over something stupid.

He was kicked
in the right knee
and slapped hard
on the left cheek
at the same time.
He went sprawling down
and his eyes saw
the sharp glass edge
of the centre table
cut his neck
and shoulder blade
but before he could
feel the pain
he hit the floor face-first
and blacked out

The proof
of the last beating
he ever got
from his father

His parents
never talk about it
not even
his gabby mother
who always tells him
useless gossips
about family members
the daily soap
and the whole world

He has a theory
that his parents think
that either he has no memory
of the "accident" or they think
that they can turn it into one
by just saying so a thousand times.

“Don’t have any fight in ya?
Just gonna fuckin quit? 
There’s no escape
for you is there?
You’re your own
worst enemy; man
just give up
and let god put you out
of your fucking misery!”
He observes
his little lopsided
right shoulder
in the mirror
that is responsible
for the lean
in his standing posture

He's disgusted by himself

An image comes to mind
he sees himself hanging
from the ceiling fan
in his basement room
with a noose around his neck
hiding his scars.
His shoulder still
in the same lopsided fashion
but now the lean
in his posture
does not look
out of place
because postures of hung people
who haven't undergone
such delicate surgeries
when they were ten
also looked
crooked
   or so he has seen
   in some
   Hollywood movies.

#

he looks away
from the mirror
and contemplates
suicide
like he has done
on more than a few occasions
since he got in college
 
‘Fuck it.’
he goes to his desk
beside which
is his stereo
he turns it on
it plays
‘Ruby Tuesday’ by rolling stones

he’s a sucker for rock 'n' roll
he always listens
on his 15 year old stereo
when he’s writing
or watching porn
or when his parents are fighting
or when he feels blue
music makes everything better
 
..Yesterday don’t matter if it’s gone.
 
he glances at his desk
where there's a bundle of empty pages
waiting for him
papers white, lines black
the logo printed in the bottom left corner
of each page
'apple project paper' written in capital
beneath a printed grey apple.
 
..Goodbye Ruby Tuesday
who could hang a name on you
When you changed with every new day
Still I’m gonna miss you.
 
he turns on the ceiling fan
the image resurfaces
in his mind
of him hanging from it
 
‘maybe tomorrow’
he chuckles
 
..She just can’t be chained
To a life where’s nothing’s gained
And nothing’s lost
At such a cost.
 
papers waver under the paperweight
all apples swaying in rhythm
almost as if to say
''Hey man, we've been waiting for months
when are you going to start
that minor project report?''
'maybe tomorrow'
he sighs; as he
plops down on his chair
pulls out
from under the paperweight
first APPLE PROJECT PAPER
and starts to write
''No more will my
red bruised sky
Will turn a sunny blue..''
 
he has a song in mind this time
little like ‘paint it black’
And he has some
Kinky genres in mind too
that he’ll explore
afterwards
 
'Ah, I've a busy day today
misery sure loves company'
at this thought
he laughs out loud.

..Ca(sh)tch your dreams before
They slip away
Dying all the time
Lose your dreams and you
Could lose your mind
Ain’t life unkind
 
He finishes the song.
 
Then he gets up
closes the door
of his basement-room
comes back and turns on
his laptop
plugs the hard drive
a folder full of porn
after hours
in the dark
he cleans up
and throws the
crumpled Apple Project Papers
with his trashy poetry written on them
and his semen sticking on them
in the trash bin.