Destroyed restoration

Pick me. Pick at me. Pick at every part. Pick at every fibre of my being. Pick me. Pick me apart.
Scatter them. Scatter them all on the ground. Scatter them like they mean nothing. Scatter them like they aren't me. Scatter me apart.
Lick them. Lick each one of them. Lick each piece at a time. Lick it off of every emotion to have coursed through me. Lick me apart.
Stomp over them. stomp over all the ghastly pieces. Stomp over the words unspoken, the memories yet to be perfected, the love yet to be immortalised. Stomp over my existence. Stomp me apart.
Redesign them. Redesign each one of them. Redesign them to suit your thoughts, your feelings, your insecurities. Redesign me to be you. Redesign me apart.
Cut through the rotten ones. Cut through the dreams, the aspirations, the moments of pride. Cut through them, stab the fucking life out of them. Cut through me. Cut me apart.
Pick me. Pick me up. Pick up every piece. Pick up every fallen part of me. Pick me together.
Reassemble them. Reassemble the hope, the life, the glint in the eye. Reassemble them to be me. Reassemble me together.
Caress them. Caress every piece. Caress every emotion, every tear, every smile back into them. Caress me. caress me together.
Cater to the bruises you left. Cater to every gashed attempt, every bruised love, every dented success. Cater to me. Cater me together.
Restore me. Restore every piece of me. restore my mistakes, my successes, my insecurities, my strength. Restore me. Restore me together.
Glue me. Glue every fibre of my being back together. Glue me back together to form a perfectly imperfect person. Glue me. Glue me back together.

I am back. I am here, and I am back. I am breathing, and I am back. I am dreaming, and I am back. I am striving, and I am back.

I am back. I am me. Or am I you?
I am back. I am living my life. Or am I living yours?

I am back. I am restored. Or I am destroyed to be you?

Am I you?

Writer's Block go away, come again another day. REALLY. :|

So, I won't count this as a post. It is essentially a desperate attempt at getting rid of the writer's blog that has been plaguing me ever since January now.
This might go from random to boring to plain nonsensical. So please, bear with me.
Also, all the new followers of my blog, thank you for appreciating my blog. :)

NOTE : The paragraphs aren't related in any way whatsoever. It is random rambling at its best. Or worst, depending on how you see it. So don't waste your time trying to establish connections that aren't intended to exist.

I am essentially stuck in a rut of a lot of events presently. What did our humble NCERT call it? Yes, "caught in an ugly middle position". Though this particular phrase always made me grin because of its not-so-holy meaning, this is the only one I could think of. I divulge. Getting back on track, the rut. Yes. School's over, Boards didn't go very well, preparing for an entrance I'm not too sure of and apprehensive about college and its related dimensions. Aren't you just a lil' bit jealous of how perfectly life's fairing for me? :')

So that's the reason behind me writing this post at 4 in the morning, sitting in a corner of my room with the most reliable companions of all times : A steaming mug of coffee and a pair of headphones. Sad life, yes. -shrugs-

Have you ever had that feeling of getting something you weren't too sure of right? Of being awed at how very perfect it turned out to be? How, even with all its oddities and impossibilities, it is quite possibly the most beautiful thing in your otherwise hueless existence?
Amazing, isn't it? :)

If someone asks me to pick three words that best describe me, I think I'll go with love, insecurity and art.
Bizzare combination? Maybe.
But where there's love, there's always this nagging insecurity of losing it, isn't there? It is just that in my case, the insecurity is a bit too pronounced.
And art is love. Love is art.
Music, colours, words, faces, skies, patterns, emotions, fabrics, places. All if this, and more. Art. Love. Insecurity.

You know what calms me like nothing else days? Looking into a child's eyes. The innocence, the purity and the love that resides within them just...HEALS me. I am not a great fan of children mainly because they basically come with self-destruct buttons, but this somehow gets to me. Maybe the child in me? I don't know. But it does.

You know what I REALLY want to do? I want to tie my hair loosely, wear random clothes, carry a beautiful notebook, go off to someplace like Italy, and WRITE. Write away to glory. Write till the voice in my head gets exhausted. Till I've used every word I've ever known. till I've depicted every emotion to have coursed through me. Till I'm so tired that I don't feel tired anymore.
Of course, a little music won't hurt either.
Damien Rice, Birdy, Andrew Belle, Secondhand Serenade, Stateless, Coldplay, The Weepies. The likes, more or less.

I hope this will get the "creative juices flowing". ( Pardon the cliches')
'Cause if this doesn't, God knows what will.