Oh do you know about the old lady who replaced the picture of her dead son with his daughter? Their resemblance is striking and very coincidental, but what she forgets is that she isn’t him, she doesn’t know her, just assumes to, her perspective like a broken down road full of concrete buildings and damaged things. She finds that right. She finds that beautiful and smart. Her assumptions, speculations and judgments are her humour. But a few nights I’m sure she looks up at the ceiling questioning everything like everyone does.

 Do you know of the men begging for customers to come inside their store and to have some tea, 

Hoping that they’ll buy something just so that they’ll fall right in with society. Soon they’ll all die not making a difference, 

You’d say I’m pessimistic and silly but I’d say that I’m realistic and right. They die not making a bare change, 

Selling half broken things to half broken people with fully broken minds. 

Praying and starving for a better world but how can the lack of food help you accomplish your goals with a lack of everything?

                                                                      The Meticulous Button


A Sadistically Short Story

She stood near the edge of her terrace, ready to jump, but before she did, 
Her life didn’t flash before her eyes, no,
Just moments that passed on that very terrace,

Oh, and the lights of the hospital bulbs, hung on the ceiling, seconds later, apparently.

                                                                                             The Meticulous Button 


Our relationship could be termed as something complex, fixating each other partly to be what we already are and as what I’m sure we’ll never be, they say it isn’t strong to hold on, it’s strong of you to let go but how can you let go of something that your imagination has built up? How can you let go of something that never was? And that’s what I think hurts a lot, you’re the same, no new scars etched onto you so that you can sigh and reminisce when you look into the mirror, you never teached, you never reached, you just existed in my life as that useless button on a button down shirt. The undeserved collateral damage I wish never existed. There’s so much more I wish I could write but I’d rather save it for later when life reminds me how you aren’t going to be there anymore.
                                                                              ~ T. M. B 

Capricious ecstasy 

She put a pretty flower in my hair, plucked out from a pretty garden with a pretty past, marred in scars,

She put it in my hair rather than hers; contradicting all that I thought of her. 

Soon she’ll continue choking and showering me with an overload of flowers of all sorts, overwhelming me, nothing new there. 

We’re a spark that I hope won’t ever die. 


                                                                                          ~ M. B 

Thought catalog #3

I want to keep something of myself to myself, something for no one else to see. So that when I question how much I’ve told, those folded pages will remain to be folded, but folded happily with satisfaction for once unfolded they will all tear and it will all look ugly. Something I’ll walk away from when I really shouldn’t.       

                                 The Meticulous Button.

Simon says.

Hello there my pretty, I call myself Simon. Simon says to touch your nose, so you did. 

Simon’s demands became increasingly doubted by a lot, but those ones were silenced. 

Simon says to get an education! Get money!

So we did. 

Little did we know about Simon’s trap. 

Simon then said,

Shame yourself, get a better body. 

Daily, we don’t know about how the passerby looks at themselves in the mirror, do we?

We just judge them. 

Simon says that adolescents are to be sent to colleges!

So we sent them away!

Get the money, so they did. Did I mention how much Simon hated talking about the failures?

Just focus on the good side. 

Not the negative ones. 

Mickey, an adolescent, 

Raging hormones,

Short temper and whatnot 

Got into as they all might,

The fine doors of peer pressure. 

He didn’t want to lose his only good friends. 

Simon told Micky,

Earn the money, listen to society,

Burden yourself, 

You’re a boy aren’t you!

That’s your job! Not a woman’s. Obviously. 

Micky is a damn fool. So is Simon. 

Would you listen to what Simon has in store if I just forge his name and claim that I’m him?
                 M. B