happy new year

i kiss seconds
goodbye and watch days pull further
away from me
tugging like an imaginary rope
from my mind
for the gap widens but the memory stains deeper with
each expansion
and everything about the way i feel
despite a new year

i am a new slap in the face
an ugly reminder of what i am now
and why
because during a time when everybody
gleefully bounce on
i continue crashing deadends because
i was once so certain
there was a way through.

i disowned the ability
to reverse and start over

a new year
an old wound


i imagine kissing other boys
knowing the taste won't be the same
they are only imaginations.

i bite my tongue until it hurts too much
to speak
and i keep my thoughts inside of me
knowing that's the best solution

my thoughts will give the world a migraine.
i try to sleep but
i can't
so i drink and
consume and pull myself
up to a different high
until i am numb to

and allow dreams that have
long died
to plague my mind

like cancer

the hair on my skin
prickling like warning
but i do not feel cold
it is like my body no longer finds the
need to send signals
to my mind
it is like swallowing back explosives
until i grow expressionless
and i am deteriorating and
crumbling inwards
like cancer.

my energy draining but
i don't feel tired
i hold onto solid, heavy things to stop my
fingers twitching;
i shut myself up until
the weight on me is physically painful
eating me up.

when i hurt so badly it
tears me down
at least i can remind myself
i have emotions
despite it all.


i have deceived myself
a million times in
believing i can swallow back
the cutthroat memories
of you

i bluntly decline when they ask me to
retell my story with you
our story,
that merely betrays my words
and playback like a faulty cassette player
that skips to parts that
break me most.

behind the scenes footages
flashing moments of me
cowering in a pile of my own
clutching the phone with
your last message stabbing my gut

i realize i am seizing up in miniscule fits
in the exact same position

it is cruel how one thought
trails to another
and in the blink of an eye
i physically strip and
tear from your
filthy ways of

the bitter taste of iron in my
mouth when i
threw up blood and
poured out pain through
my eyes
for you.

i bluntly decline retelling
stories of you
while they constantly ruin
me from within

never stops.

i am a mutated piece
of permanence
violated and signed more than once
by you.

it's not going away
it's not fucking going away.

the time you walked away and i pathetically lowered myself to fit under your scale the nights i tore myself open and bled dry your

voice your
your ruthless appetite
to taste me when i was
at my weakest
your laugh the

ugly sarcasm you named love and
filled me with
until i exploded

it's not fucking going away.

it doesn't end there

your words hit me like a
one-sided collision
those kind that creates the friction
of me stumbling backwards and
hiding behind doors

they settle slowly in ways that
does not hurt but

.it is the aftermath of
numbing to pain that
crushes and hurts like a bitch.

I don't see a reason for hurting myself
when you have so pleasantly offered to
do the job.

you could get a promotion
- you're that fucking good.


I have learnt the art
of blending within the sheets of
my slightly slanted bed
and not waking up without
ever sleeping
slanted because i like sleeping against the
left wall for fear of falling.

i have captured the ability to minimize
abilities and i have not written a personal
poem in weeks

i have not written in weeks.

i shut down because it is safer
crushing myself lower to a point
than trying to climbclimb
climb and never make it

i get sick of my words
because they tell me the same stories
in different verses
in a different rhyme

but they still make me close my eyes
and see things i despise.

I have found a way to
pull myself away from this
but it would take away my honesty
and disguise me with fake smiles
and unrealistic


you know you have
turned inside out when
you start to listen to silence
as a favourite routine, a daily tune
and you hate those voices of comfort.

leave me.
leave me alone.

sometimes if you listen hard enough
you might just hear another
star explode
and fall

this is how we get fallen stars beside us
and blackholes in the sky.

there are certain sounds that
scare me
like the creak of a door
or the distant horn of a truck
and memories
memories of his heart beating
like a lullaby beside me.

so i reside myself to
loud crashed of thunder and constant
whirrings of a fan
just so i might be able
to wrench all those memories
away from my

because i am sick of my screams
when i awake from
a favourite nightmare.

the tip of my lip

there was a precious moment
in my life when i trusted
every string of words that
trailed from your lips;
i was intrigued and captivated
by you
because i was addicted to your voice

i laugh and i can pretend
it is all a joke
when they call me stupid
for having

but there are no explanations to
the way i want to perish into
a million unwanted pieces
that your eyes miss and
nobody looks at

i can laugh and
stand beside their pity
when all i want to do
is run away and
break down

but i can't cry anymore

because i have realized everything
you made me
was a mere figment of your
and my imaginations of

they tell me to wake up
but i have long been awake
since before you
left me to peel open my skin
and shred out pain
and took away my breath
in ugly ways

i am awake and
wish i never lingered a second
into nightmares you suffocated me in

i am in pain
that is hard to feel but
i have long realized this is the way
it will be now


there are movies i watch
and songs i listen to
that remind me
of me
of you
and the way you made me feel

people tell me i talk too much
but there are things
i am sick of, like the
silence when i
was with you

i saw you walk past today
and i almost tore apart

i hate the silent but
there are times when i
need to go back to
what hurt me

to heal.

a different kind of pain

There are days when I wonder
how lucky one has to be to lie
in the middle of a highway and not
get runover
standing on the 31st floor
counting the seconds it might take
to feel the first scrape of skin
when you hit the ground.

I have all these thoughts I exert
through little seeps of
hellos and

I try to be a simple person.

But I am always thinking about
how much pain I can take.

when beautiful things attack

these thick, heavy emotions
i can swallow back like
unwanted phlegm.

I feel it lingering at the back of my throat
just above my chest
above that horrible
horrible thudding
I will not let it find these emotions
I will not let it

I cannot. Swallow
don't say the words
I need you to keep me sane.
I need to stay insane to not need you
I cannot need you
because I cannot hurt you
I cannot want you
because I don't want to dig
bigger holes within me.

desperation is clawing

i want to sleep but the memories
haunt me

the seconds tick by like hours in a day
i want to break free from this plague
of suffocation
that keeps my mind
insane like asylum patients
i feel like i have no more hope
i am my own patient

i kid myself in believing i can make myself better
and paint mirages of myself
for others to reach out to
something i can't even reach

i kid myself in believing
i can be better

i want to be alive

i want to feel

i want to be free

this is my normality

They stare at me with blank looks
blank faces
but I am bursting with colliding emotions
coalescing like
They silently scream 'me'
I am a thousand broken miracles
and one dying illusion

10 minutes of flashing blackholes
pulling every time, day... even worse,
every second
of loneliness and typical expressions
because we like to repeat ourself.

I try sitting crosslegged, or knees tucked
under my chin, inside
my shirt, pulling together to fill the blackholes
that never seem to vanish
but always appear bigger than the last
time it wrenched me open.

There's always a light to pull me out
but I'm living under fused bulbs.

by me and haziq. halinot :)

when the world was alive

I never thought I could live without you
and I tried to stop the clocks from ticking
each second I lived without
you under my skin
I prayed for the apocalypse and
did things to myself to make believe I was dead

I never thought I could live a breath without you
and I am depressed because
I can

I suffered under the glare of sunlight and
let it burn my insides
when you told me you were gone
because I was gone long before you
but you were always there to
keep me held on

It is pathetic that I still gasp
and find it hard to breath when
I think of you
but that's how it is
when you try to die
and wake up alive and

It is like the whole word has changed
and I am still living yesterworlds.


through the tip of my eyelashes i caught
a different you and
a different me
naming our children and painting a future that
never existed.through the tip of my eyelashes i caught
a memory that took away
my breathing and left me curled in trying to use my skin to cover
every gaping hole i could feel inside me.

there are certain chairs i avoid in the cafe and i turn away
from people who speak like you

i have not ridden a bike since
and i don't want to because the space
is too small for me to find a position that does not
feel like

i still freeze when i see -

there are hours in a day
i keep for myself because
there are people who try to pull me out of
this & i can't stand the cold rush of fresh
air it is like wind pulling at loose skin,
ripping it further and making it

i cannot look people in the eye because the
reflection disgusts me

in the midst of a thunderstorm she cowered at lightning
beside me but i merely laughed because things that can kill
thrill me more.i heard once that brains could
fry and leave a person thoughtless
so i walked out into the rain
singing a favourite song
hoping to be struck by bliss.

worse things

i wish i never met you
because you are too beautiful
and the tingles you leave on the soft of my skin
are too delicate for someone
as scarred
and destroyed as i
i wish i never met you because
i know one day
you will feel the way i feel
and hate me for that
and you will hurt
i don't want you to hurt

i wish i never met you
so i could still paint a hundred portraits of
unknown faces and call them
and love you because it's not real
and i don't have to
realize i don't deserve you

coincidences don't exist

just fucking cry, bitch.
it's not helping at all, the way you're suffocating yourself in huge chunks of words and swallowing the pain back inside until it destroys the rest of your body, it's not helping because your mind is already screwed up and your heart has long been shut down and smashed to pieces.
just fucking let those ugly, ugly tears fall from your eyes because you will feel better, but maybe you don't want to feel better and you want to feel like you're in control when really every single organ and vein in your body has gone twisted and out of control
because you look at yourself in the mirror everyday and hate what you see but sometimes it feels good not liking yourself
because you once read somewhere that they won't like a person who can't like themself.
there was a time that seemed like a previous life when i could reach out to the sunlight and feel happy and never noticed the little things like how it made my palm redder and scorched the back of my skin until it was too agonizing to lie on my side because the skin was peeling and i stay awake counting days until all this will end, and i'm counting in seconds because i try to believe i can live like this a lot longer because i pretend i am stronger than what i really am
which is not strong
weak weak weak
weak like babies born with illnesses and old men who can't get out of bed
the phlegm at the back of my throat reminds me of things that i don't want to remember but i find myself thinking of it everygoddamnday because those things are the only ones that can show me i am still alive.
i sit myself down in my room and count the pills inside the bottle though i know there are 58 because i've only taken two and the bottle says 60.
i still go back to that place where everything is black and i feel comforted by it all because i don't have to worry about tripping over something beautiful and making sure it's not going to hurt because of what i have done but it's all a fucking phase because i still wake up to blue skies and realize there are certain things that i have done and repeated, mistakes that i will have to eat up and hope never to regurgitate out so the effect will only occur to me
i wish i was blind
i wish i could breathe properly without having to force my heart to thump another beat more because some people still want me here even though i wished every night that i was long gone
i wish i could cry
i wish i could cry
i wish i could cry

but i am afraid to feel what i had promised myself never to feel again, lying to myself that what i am experiencing right now is not that exact fucking feeling and the only reason why i don't cry is because i have succeeded in feeling a cold, hard depression not the hurricanes of reality.

and that's when i pretend i don't feel the pain
when really i do

i want to meet an alien

i am happy
so happy like the bright yellow pages
and beautiful writing
i actually feel good about myself but
i am depressed
dirty depressed
like the yellow pages that
blind me under the sun
but i don't stop staring
and words that spill
words that spill secrets i do not want to tell
tell me
i am happy and
make me believe it
tell me
i am beautiful
like things that
steal our breaths away and
make us feel elated inside
but i am not
i am not

shut me out
shut me out
shut me out
shut me out

i keep building a world too small for me
and i keep falling off the edges
i keep falling

the new page

i have to swallow up
my psychotic dreams
my mental self
and pretend i am


and don't forget to breath

and then, the crash

feelings blotted up like the shadows
of water droplets creeping down glass
screaming in my head songs
that are cutthroat just to make the real pain
less obvious
it's the same old, same fucking story
it's not like anything
or anyone can make it better
so why the hell
it's not like i
will get better anytime soon
so why the hell bother
pretending i can?

menutup mata

there are moments like these when
a passerby shows her magic tricks
but she sees right through it
moments like these when
she wraps herself up and
closes in away from the world

she can see her future burning
and she's run out of extinguishers.

she sings now without emotions
because there are certain songs
that hold too much of

it is a sickening gutfeeling when
you realize there was almost a pinch of something real
and you almost feel
what you've never felt in a while
and you remember
what it was like
to have feelings

but feelings never last, because
you're too scared to accept them

there are moments like these when
big words numb her
and she sits on a windowsill
counting the stars
on the tip of her fingers

she closes her eyes
and wishes for eternity

close your eyes.


unwashed cups loose paper
a cigarette box
the fight club dvd
out of the box
wet hoodies battery chargers
tangled wires
a fan
the overused black and white bag
crumpled towels
slung on the bedpost
pages torn my favourite french deodorant
drops of idon'tknowwhat on
floor tiles laura dockrill is a good writer
stuffed toys piled like
dead bodies
peace-of-mind tablets i do not take
6 different pair of shades
a messy closet full of
messy clothes a handphone face down
alarm clock's set to 9am but i don't
think i will need it pink curtains
pink ribbon - what is it doing there?
the telephone on the chair
note to self: don't sit on it
posters of unfamiliar faces
i don't know what to do
unfinished coursework
unfinished thoughts

i might as well stop.


i never lived with walls
for i never believed in
harm nor knew things that could
break them down

until i met you

fear would slip out of my fingertips
unable to stick with someone
like me
for i had no business with fright until
the first sharp pain i felt in my gut and
that sticky burn in my throat
that tasted like rust
the day you first
choked up my veins with words that killed me
and did things that blinded others but
revealed ugliness to me.

'a year ago
i would never have imagined you like this'
they say

and i agree
because 275 days ago
i was life in a candle-flame
on a calm night
swaying and

i am still life in a candle-flame
but i have tasted the risk of
being blown out.

i never lived with walls but
now i live with 275 of them;
it isn't just a fucking ugly coincidence
that it was a saturday, a 17th
two days ago.

i have lived the past few billion hours
trying to manoeuvre the right way
wondering why smoke leave no shadows
wondering why sleep is such
a difficult concept
wondering if anything can make it better
things do make it better
until the next dip
and i cannot cling onto the changes

they told me to let it go
that i am strong
and i tell myself to
fucking forget all of it, already
but i am not strong enough.

it's been long established that
it is easier said than done

because it has finally revealed to me
that despite how hard i have tried
building walls and
distracting myself
there are still things like
one text message on the top floor of McDonald's and
seeing a friend of his outside Starbucks
giving me dirty looks
that affect me
and puncture me with bulletholes of feelings that i thought
i would never feel again

it is a disappointing stab in the stomach
when you have spent the past few months
trying to forget his number
and the pain the torture
gulp down the lies
the accusations
and one memory decides to revisit
any point of any day
and everything comes gushing back at you
crushing down your walls and
drowning any speck of happiness you
managed to recollect
the 017s and
254s and
fucking 1842s.

and i want to kill my mind because
it is killing me.

no, i don't fucking love him anymore
it is his inflictions that i live with daily
i do not miss them
i want them to go
to go
leave me

i had managed to stop myself crying
unable to digest that
the last time i cried was because of

it isn't a fucking ugly coincidence that it was
a saturday, a 17th
two days ago
and i cried again
because of him.

birthday thoughts

Dancing in the sky
I find beauty in things that
with time
Blinding my eyes
And I feel free like seconds
and Ants on my skin
I find beauty in things that
don't exist
Like happiness and memories I
try to keep
I waste my time trying to find more
Realizing too late that there's
none to save
I am still locked in, locked
out of home
Maybe things will get better,
maybe I won't

drawing smiles

there, a girl sits
with a pen in her left arm because she tries
to feel different
she has smiley faces on her arm
well, she draws herself smiles and
pretends she is happy

she covers her head with her hands
and tries to see the world when
her eyes are shut
but she still sees a knotted blur
of what she used to
know by heart

there, a girl sits
and writes poetry
singing songs she used to love but
feels nothing towards them, really
she looks at the smiley faces
and tries an attempt
knowing she's been trying to hard
to draw smiles on her face
to pretend she's happy

i don't like eating

i hate the way my tears dirty my face
and they feel horrid on the tip of my lips
but at least it was anger
not a cause of my depressive state.

i was locked in my heart's cage,
screaming for death, his hands around
my neck and i'm screaming
"kill me" -

why the fuck am i still here?

i like the idea of dying and
smiling at the pain, laughing because
the pain is the only thing that
remains real.

His slap tasted good and felt like

I save sundays to starve myself and I want to
twist, i want to coil up and split
open my intestines and

page breaks

there are fullstops in life
and i stand on a ground of
hopes and dreams that are meant
to come true
and it's crumbling beneath me
like broken ice and
psychological landslides.

i used to stand on tiptoes -
but where is my balance
where is my strength?

i fall upon cushions of rocks and
sharp knives and i feel safe
torn and tattered
i feel secure under
broken roofs
because i know now
that i can go no further
than pitbottom and
life won't hurt me
as much as it once did.

i drop
i am free.

dead and gone

i see nothing.
i feel nothing.
i start a new life that holds
emptiness and i hold
chills in my hands
i see nothing.

i feel nothing.
yesterday blew away
and i am not looking
back because there's
nothing to look back on
i look forward to a hollow road

nothing is calling for me
i see nothing.
i feel nothing.

smelling chlorine and
overdosing on dark dark thoughts
listening to the same goddamn song
dead and gone
i see nothing.
i feel nothing.

i do not intend to wake up from
this spotlight dream of
a new me
an empty me
i see nothing.
i feel nothing.

and it's better this way.

mother told me

I'm just garbage dumped
by the roadside, I'm just the
picture on the wall they never notice,
I'm just how it's become, I'm
just the broken
glass of fused light bulbs, I'm just the girl
stabbed and forgotten, I'm just the debris of
explosion, I'm just the one who's
walked out on life, I'm just the one
who's lost her life,
I'm just the one who was born too easy, I'm just the accidental
suicides, I'm just a prayer ignored,
I'm just frozen memories
broken, I'm just a moth that loves
the lights, that blind
that kill.

There are still comforting days when
I think of dying
like sunset skies.

notes, write notes

i scribble i scribble i scribble
i want to say things i want to do things i want to
be things i want to

let me be.


34 flashes of light

i am scalding my skin to find what
else is beneath it,
curling up on loose hair on the floor, watching
smoke escape my fingertips like dirty
secrets, dirty emotions
i try to hide under piles
and piles of transparent sheets

i still see right through me.

there are a number of things that still
flash under my mind like
the smile i fake when i fake i am
happy i am a pathological liar because
i feel real being somebody with
colossal stories, i am my own coloured
canvas that hurts my eyes because deep down i
see nothing but a monochrome dead-end.
i have succeeded in trying not to
cry, because my eyes now hurt
when i feel the prickles i spit out
i am dead deceased in my own world
where things no longer
exist like poolside memories
and love love is dead
love is
dead love
is dead.

i feel revived when i feel cold. cold like
english wind slapping you in the face.

the lights are burning out and i smell my
own sin i can see myself better in the
dark, because i am parallel to torn sheets of paper
and ripped emotions and
a pitfall.

one thing i hate about depression is
you can't pretend it's not there
because you can so obviously feel
it poisoning smiles and killing
sparkles of dreams that once mattered.

i still can't sleep what
do I make of me now?

the heartburn theory

raging emotions.
lock up. pile up. hide away.

everything is clear

you know things have changed
when you forget to look in the mirror
when you have to take pills
when you take a drag and
don't really care about saying 'fuck'
in front of your mother, it's never the same the way
i wake up in the mornings
not from sleep but
clogged spots in my mind
where you once dotted with red ink and
carved your name on my brain
like aboriginal art

you i was maybe
but never will
i try to stay in a place
where time does not exist
for time is an illusion, they
tell me
so i try to make it stop
but i find myself skipping the parts
i wish to be in
life is drifting away like
seaweeds from a shore
and i'm following through
spluttering like
a helpless piece of

i sneeze a little louder but still
nobody hears me
i am getting old
i am getting deaf
i am getting blind
i am getting dumb
because i forget how to speak
and i don't see beauty
because i forget how to smile
and i forget how to feel

sun burns
dragon flies
heart breaks

i dream graphic dreams like head splattered on
car windows and splinters in your eyes
and they wonder why i do not sleep
those ignorant, innocent, happy fuckers

there was a time and a place where you had held
my life in the palm of your hands
and there was a time and a place
where you dropped me

and it's an abyss of which i can
never stop falling
so i try to space myself away from
and tear my soul apart like
how i did your love letters and photos
and movie tickets and your smell your memories
your life your life
i divide uneven proportions of myself
so perhaps when illusion breaks away and
i hit the bottom
it wouldn't hurt as much
for i'd already be broken.

blank paper

several dispositions several
conditions like the way

I like it a lot but am
sickened becaused
it makes me giddy 
until I am

weaker than broken
showing me what nothing
is, and nothing
feels good.

several figments several
fragments cut apart

because I tear things
up so I can feel

whole, like the palm
of my hands that
hold nothing
and nothing

feels good.

Originate From The Park

Though we are under surfaces and
unable to connect
we will still find time to 
regenerate dead things
inside us
we'll put plasters over our hearts 
and sing "Don't Worry, Be 
Happy" - jumping cues and
high jacking planes
Though we no longer say
'cheese!' and smile for 
we will still find 
moments in us
to be content
we'll stretch out our painful
thoughts to make space for nothing
because we don't need
reasons to be happy
without reasons

a halinot production. :)
for you, haziq


I am a full born hypochondriac. But I cannot breath. But I am real. But I cannot breath. But I am real, not real, real. I am?

I try to suffocate in cigarette smoke so I can fake surviving life, it's sick, I know, fucking sick. I float on dirty, grey clouds of my dirty, grey thoughts, where is the sun? I am a product, property, proprietor of my own demise, I cannot see further than where I stand. Where do I stand? I am the broken shards on your floor, reflecting your distortions. I want to, I want to, I want to - WHAT? I am loose on the edges, my thoughts are distracted like dead symphonies and the shadows of bright lights burnt out. I drown like vegetable in oyster sauce, I am my own peace and my own war. I drown because I want to, I shut myself because I feel safe twisting myself inwards, I stop caring because it takes
and I put enough into learning how to breathe like an average human being. I am trying to be average. I find delight in little things like chocolate and favourite lines of a song, but that's about it, no more. I want what I want, but I know nothing of it, I will go wherever this confusion leads, I don't care much of precise directions. I swallow gutfulls of lies and emit twice as much, I don't even tell myself the truth anymore - you are still beautiful.

Oh, his jawline, his fingers,
the trail of his spine beneath his skin, I don't miss you, I swear. I see you, I see you there, but you are out of reach, maybe it's better that way, maybe not, it's not, it is. The coldness, the cold, it's burning because I have no correct sense, not since the phase of you, what I left myself in. I wallow, I fall, I hide behind walls and pillars and doors of what was once -. I dream nothing and it is beautiful, I wish to be this way forever, I don't wish to, I want to change, but where are the emotions? Eyes cracking like dry leaves, I am dehydrated of my own humane feelings, I dilute myself with self-satisfaction that is non-existent,
I thirst,
I thirst,
I thirst for what's gone.
And that's you,
that's me,
what's me?
Bleak, trodden and

I am used to control, I am
losing control. 
I watch things like rainbows, water and time seep through me and I am overwhelmed by things I can't claim my own. Like bitten fingernails and hair clogging up drainpipes. I never thought razor blades beautiful, anyway. I kid myself in fixing jigsaw puzzles when I don't even see logic in piecing breakable things together, like when he
and danced me through the best hurricanes.
Yes, I tried to do it, I tried to, I had sex with it,
it made me bleed, yes,
the razor blade made me bleed.

I see you, I see you, I don't want you. You are like the stink in Birkenstock shoes and rusty diary keys, I would love to keep you, but there are things people throw away along with torn pages of a chapter. I understand myself lesser each day, and I think I no longer like mysteries. Lurking behind every blink, every step, every twitch of my finger, I can hear it, I hear it. It is the sound of it calling. The sound as hollow as its name, as gross as its meaning.

It will swallow me whole and I want to let it.

Emptiness. Take me.

I have run out of seconds and
third times are never lucky for me.

we are aftermaths

There are things
in its place
bottle caps, air
Indian sugar
But they don't matter
now, do they
now that you're gone
and everything
seems less beautiful
like maybe the hours
when I think of you
and the days when
I think to not
think of you
the days I smoke to not
cry for you
like the days I suffocate
in hours of you you you
and I swallow chewing gum
because the aftertaste
tastes like you.
There are things that
linger delicately
in corners I avoid,
I understand things
like meeting people or
washing hands or
listening to songs that
broadcast my heart
but after you,
the balance can never
sum up,
the plus signs are odd,
the numbers are
disfigured and I
cannot find you
because I don't want to
I want to, I shun
you, I keep you
I become the effect of
your haunting memories
your voice your body
you are the part
of me that I
try to kill mute
you are gone.

a poem
Fiona and I

I once drew god a lullaby

The temptation drips down like
chocolate syrup on the slant of my lips
as I breath in uncanny
sounds, hot and heavy.

From the corner of my eye I see
him lying beside me and
he's smiling
waiting, he
makes it sweet, death,
he makes me smile
for it's been a while since
I last saw him
I feel real with him

with nothing, like before but
this time it's closer.

The day is quite painstakingly
but it doesn't matter for
people don't fall in the dark
only by night.

My fingers are a shocking
cold, no longer parallel to warm
steady throbs I toy with
wedged between broken veins and scars beneath
my skin and
the sky is burning but I no longer

The tempation drips down as
I lick my lips and taste
rust, and I'm falling into
my favourite dreams.

From the corner of my eye he
holds my hand, and the cold
from his fingertips
soothes, because death always
feels good at the palm of
your own hand.

It'll feel better soon,
when the throbbing stops
and pulse gives in to silence.

such a drug

there are certain things i have noticed since;
like how roads i found beautiful are now
just roads
and they sometimes scare me because i am reminded
of accidents and
abandonned bodies and lightning is so much prettier
on the palm of my hand than
in photographs

sometimes i forget to breath and have to
remind myself it is okay to
live a little while longer
because something on the other side is
pulling my curiosity
i think Ian Curtis and i could be good friends
when i kiss a boy i no longer feel
sweet but like expired products so
sour and wasted because i
kiss lips and dream of tobacco
seeping between my teeth into my lungs
because a body of deterioration only consumes
what's bad for it

there are certain things i cannot chase after
now like seven shooting stars
that left empty handed
because i had nothing in me to
wish for
and time
i can never stop time
so i
watch the skies turn brighter hoping for another shooting star because
i wish for a while
i had pushed myself deeper into sleep
so i never had to wake
to another day of figuring out
who i am

but reality
is always about what's too late and
out of reach

and so it is

sitting on windowpanes becoming
an addict before addiction
found me, i am strung onto words of
a song i love
and imageries of cigarettes in hand
but where do i find them, where
do they find me?

i own a sky full of stars and no one
but internal disasters
to share it with;
am i what they see, am i
the reality i had learnt to
are they what i see, are they

Who draws the line?

the choice is there but I can't reach,
stuck behind a revolving wall of
mirrors refraining, restraining,
I watch myself running out
of control a million times, rushing
into holes; I pick & I drop,
like feathers from torn pillows,
the ones I suffocate within, the ones I cannot sleep on,
there are stories I start but
can't complete because they are
too much of me.

I will one day, in a room full of no one
stand up and make a speech about
all the things I could've been yet
did not find it inside myself
to actually be because
the shoes didn't fit and I
lived in sleepless nights
for too long.

lucifer is my best

one of those cages that
opens from the top bursting like
whispering 'come on, come on'
just to kill you because you can't fly;
the beasts dressed in red
singing 'hallelujah' because they
rebel like a punk anthem
and spit gold into my ears
because i have poor hearing;
like one of those nightmares
that leaves you laughing
because you are
what made it evil

bitter is not sweet

there are certain things that rile me up
like people who stare
and early hours though i
cannot sleep nights
because i stay up awake thinking of things that
rile me up there are certain things
that pin me down and squeeze away my breath
like men who steal me away and
and words

they are not just fucking words to mess
around with and they are not meant to be taken
away from me
my words

there are certain things that
make me sick
like wet socks and people who
play music without understanding music
and then there is


i want to hold you just like
sound, i blend like black nail varnish
in dark rooms. Pink bands on my arm
I am now not your cause but
an effect
I want to skip days and find months, ticking away hours
like years gone by,
I see her waiting for me to
reach out because she
needs me like a vice versa.
I want to tear pages because he
was too young to die. I want to hold you
like rain and
sunlight so the terrible thoughts
go away.

i name this poem 'unfinished' because I really damn well wish i could just finish the pretty moments off. :) But, I suppose some things are just meant to come and go, leaving you breathless and smiling.
And some leave you with a pink wrist band around your arm saying 'remember me'.
Well, I won't forget you, and thank you for appearing for a day in my life.

stained cloth

when the dark stains grow from a
flow that won't cease, i'll shut my eyes and
count to three
giving each number a significant ring
one life
two chances
three slip-and-
one foot in the grave and
the other on fire.

the same shadows tinted
with my lack of sleep, i can keep
minds dreaming while mine
runs free
but i can never, never
escape the four walls
i can never, never
escape the four walls.

i can hear rhyme in my head
but none escapes my lips but i
try to fake a smile and
sing in different keys
still wishing i could breathe

when the dark stains grow
and the flow won't cease, i'll
shut my eyes and make believe

that none of this is real.

natural disasters

it was a hurricane,
it was.

crushing down hard on me
pulling me out of control
spinning me in circles
tearing me apart
stealing my breath.

taking with it,
everything of me.

that love was a fucking
because it lasted
like nothingseconds
but had taken with it
my everything.

the last tear I shed for you

There are reasons I
cannot see; maybe, I never will
and it's alright that I'm on
black lists and gun-point dreams, being
stared at like
I am wrong,
because I remember the first day I
gave you my heart, under an eve night-sky
like Sarsi velvet, I was stared at
like I was right, and the hurt
seems worth it, now; yours
and mine.

My tears
now cost a lot less than
where we had started,
so my new resolution is to
cry less, because we don't have to wait until a
New Year to make things

You were a thousand bedtime stories
and thriller movies, romantic
comedies that made me cry and yet,
laugh, haunting scenes that left me
screaming inside.

I can write two, threeforever pages about
what I feel and
who I am but
who am I?

So many things like silent glances
and knowing some things just
won't change no matter
how many alphabets I switch and new languages I create
and how many jeans I wear per day I still
will never erase the scars
across every line of my body
because you etch on me like
constant reminders of who I
have become.

I still cannot shut my eyes because nightmares
are not my favourite dreams, so I take the nights
to wish on rainbows that might land
on my eyelashes
when the tears
have dried.

brown couches

I close the lid of your escape box
to keep your memories
to keep them safe

I hide away your ring and paint my
nails black because
it is a depression I cannot
fail to acknowledge
this time
tying together fallen hair into
knots of stress, I
cover spots where I buried
myself in tears, once
I don't like sleeping in beds anymore,
in fact, I don't like sleeping
at all because you remind me
of nightmares, like always it
terrifies me because your favourite song
is me, right now, mumbling lines like

i count empty pages at the back of
our diary, my diary of you and
wonder, ponder, imagine what that could have been filled with, the stories the tears
the laughter the (false) hopes
knowing, hurting, falling because
I know now that I'll never find out.

answer me

Why don't I shut my eyes
Why do I lose my breath
Why does everybody else make sense
but me but you
Why am I alone
Why do I feel that way
Why is my necklace breaking
like little pieces of me
Why do I wear different clothes
Why do I do different things
Why does your ring feel heavy
Why don't I listen to your songs
Why am I singing your songs
Why do I feel lost
Why do I miss myself
Why can't I see myself
Why do I feel guilty
Why am I scared
Why don't I dare
Why do I lie
Why doesn't the pieces fit anymore
Why don't you fit anymore?

like seasons, we change

I read poems that I wrote about you

and realize I still believe

half of all the things I said

most of them about how you make me fear

and how you also make me


made me smile.

I am glancing through broken bottles

and empty cigarette paper trying

to find clues of

who and where I am

while singing songs by the verve

because I start to feel I am

no longer

with you

i look at cut up papers i once tore

to stick on birthday presents for


and realize i would lose a lot

more than just you if i


but i am now so lost and asking myself if

i am ever ready to be

found again

maybe by you or

someone else?

The Wedding

A poem I dedicated and recited to my sister, and her new husband on the day of their marriage.

I tried to write a poem
Of candlelight and flowers
But all I ended up with were
A few scruffy sessions of blank words that showed nothing
Real, and everything material,
Which did not make
Marlene & Jonathan.

I come up with this poem
Listening to songs about loss
Because from loss is where they were
Where two hands entwined
For a sealing kiss because
They could not bear to lose what they have

From east and west, they were walking through
Mountains, alone; but if two people
Are on the same path, is that not
One 'together'?

And so they meet under a pour of light
Like midday shine
Hand in hand strolling from lonely mountains
To stormy seas, to bright purple fields of
Making every kitchen and couch argument
A lot less like fights and a lot more
Worth it.

& when everything else turns to gray,
They are forever in each other's eyes,
Alive with colours.

Beautiful Shapes

I look at you through
the blinds of a fork, unaware,
always, of the reasons
why you look left
when I look right,
I spend hours awake missing your voice
thinking of moments when I kissed your
forehead as you cried
my tears and sobbed
my pain,
yet I clamp shut and
withdraw from the world you
beautify me in like
the way I want you to,
because I remember moments when you
clasped me in your
and did not let me go until I was

I look at you, upside down,
through the eye of a spoon
seeing all of me
because you are nothing
like me,
I miss your fingers,
the laughter you hurl
from my stomach,
the cigarette aftertaste
on your tongue
I miss the way you'd tickle me until I was
breathless, to breathe into me when we kiss,
the heart shapes you'd draw on my face before trying to stick your
finger up my nose,
I miss the way we'd switch gender
in the middle of a shopping mall,
your lips on my eyelids,
your hand in mine,
I miss the way you make me feel

Words, just words
Words I couldn't say when you'd
told me you missed me.

being with

Like the way you always flatten your hair to one side.
I would tell you a million times not to, because I like it messy but you like it flat, I would getso annoyed because you keep doing it.
I sometimes wish you'd never stop, so I can keeptalking to you in ways I am used to
as if there is nothing wrong with us except
flattened hair and I wish it could always be like this
so I won't have to start looking at our
huge, uglier problems that tear us apart
and rip away our routine and end us up like
hair on your bathroom floor
unwanted and ready to be trashed.

I remember the day when we sat in the upper floor of
McDonald's and all we did was laugh.
You were laughing because I was laughing, and I think you still don't know why, up until today.

well, I was laughing because I was so happy
to be with you.

There was another time we were at the same place
and we were laughing, too
but did you realize the hardness behind
my laughter?

I did, because it hurt me when I tried to smile
and pretend everything was alright.

The next day, you ate up my heart and threw it away
like all the tears that fell from my eyes into the toilet bowl of a shopping centre
that day along with throat-blood
and a broken shard from my heart.

It was my first physical injury
and my millionth mental pain.

I like it when we watch movies because we either
pay very close attention
or none at all.

I like kissing your jawline because it is
your finest feature.

I like trying to explain things to you
that are impossible for guys to understand
because it makes me feel like you are

My very own.

I like thinking of all the things I like about you
because it makes me forget what you made me hate.

Like how your closest companion comes in pills
and powderand you use it against me because you know
I hate it when you lose yourself in the smoke
and jittery mistakes.

I think about how I could run a thousand miles to
bring you back, but I might lose myself, too,
along the way.

But what if I was the only one
to realize that the air grazing an empty palm
is the most frightening thing
one can go looking for,

what if you were never as scared as I to be

There was this one time
I woke up from three nightmares in a row
and they were all about you.

My mother once told me two theories of dreams:
one. they are the opposite of reality
two. if you told the person in your dream about the dream
it would come true.

I never listened to her and told you everything
because you had promised to calm me down
when I was afraid
and I was afraid.

But if I'd known dreams could come true
like my mother said,
if I had listened, shit, if I had listened,
I would never ever tell you about the nightmares that
make me wake up screaming your name
because you left.


If you stared wide-eyed at a
death black hole gaping
like the end
can you pretend you are
asleep and at peace because
shutting your eyes make you feel
insomniac and takes you places
you don't want to be in?

If you strolled around the plans
of a house when nothing's breathing
but the sound of your
kaftan brushing skin
can you piece together a dream
like the one you're waiting
for but just
won't come?

If you turned on the lights
and watched a window
looking out become
a reflection looking in
to you
can you believe reality is
far, far away and
you're your own
land, here and there and
maybe near a cliff drop?

If you stared at a
computer screen, daring
it to spark out a welcome
sign though the plug's not
in the socket
can you for one second, imagine
you have to power to ignite
just about anything
in your life?

bedroom windows

It is not just sex
but what I gave with it
a body of everything I gutted out for you
as perfect as I tried
but somehow you tasted me wrong and
perhaps I am now just a piece of
torn meat on you?

It is not just rotten clenches
in me when I wake up knowing
I now have to learn to trust
that you trust me, too It is not just the fact that
I'm delusional, buying sizes
too small and eating
too little It is not
just because I hold onto
your T-shirt every
night as if you are here looking at me the
way I want you to, the way you
Do you?

It is not just rings
and dreams that make me scream
'let me go!' It is not just
the distances apart like gazillion
fingers and half held breaths
I just can't put a finger to
what's making me my own
catastrophe, can I get back
to you later,

your box

This is another box
of memories I trip upon
swept under the rugs
with a neatly folded T-shirt 
you once wore
ten times a week
with a neatly folded T-shirt
I once clutched to
every night I sleep

Then I had put it away when
you first stepped on my heart
and balanced your toe on it

with pages and chapters of
our moments together
I touch upon, also, to
movie tickets and
it is not only pain
nor only happiness I feel 
being under the lid
it is more like
a closure of my thoughts
because I still do not know
what to feel
when I think of you

There are days when I still 
laugh and cry
at all the wrong moments
and all the wrong places

With the box on my lap and
us inside me
I am packing my bags to
yet I'm bringing the box with me
wherever I go
like a part of you
like a part of me

Because I live in your box of
memories now
and it might
one day
help me come back home
to where I belong
when I can feel the electricity
when you hold my hand


I hold you out at an arm's length
trying to ignore your
clenching my fingers to pull me
while I am trying to pull away
breaking touch.

You are covering up
broken words 
with a handful of keys
that might or might not
reopen a heart battered
I am staring at the key that
will unlock what I feel
but you keep missing it and choosing ones 
too big to fit

Look up,
I am staring right at you.

Because you feel I am as colossal as the world
when all I am is a small part of
messed up thoughts; when
all I need is
a little bit of scooters and
intertwined fingers
to make it better.

The worse emotions come out from
wrapped up parcels of
unspoken pain and wanting somebody you
just can't have.

At least we're now on a similar page.


I stare down at the papercuts
Across my fingers
Subtle, tiny, and barely visible
Insignificant slashes that are an odd
Crucial pain

They remind me of you and the moments
I clutch tight to your shirt
When you say you have to go
Because you agreed that we were no longer
You agreed with no one else, but
Yourself because somehow
I’ve hidden behind papercuts and
You can’t see me

I suck on one papercut until it
Because I want to feel how it is to
Break something that was
Healing, healed, whole
Another was a rich red
Ready to gush, so I let it

I wanted to be like you

But what I do only covers nothing
And I slowly trace my finger across
The thin sheet of paper
Where I see my blood tinted across the borders
Already turning brown
And unreal

I stare down at my papercuts
Like a new discovery, and suddenly
Hate myself because I am

I realize nothing will change what I feel
Because papercuts heal but

Hearts never will

nothing like razor blades & dettol

Perhaps I cannot give you enough
and maybe the lady in a trance
who ratted on my life
was wrong about my fate
and I am not really the type to 
give you everything.

I believed I was really that
great and
able to give you my all
because I tried to be who you want me to be
until I realized
I was no longer myself.

Then I stopped and figured I was
about to fail.

I was not willing to give you
my handphone to keep for a week
because I didn't find it neccessary.

I was not willing to give up my passion
because some things are a part of who I am
and honestly, because the moshpit was 
where I first met you.

I was not willing to give up affections for
close friends because they were once
my life
and everything to me
and things like that leave a scar on my heart
however much you were able to 
heal it; some things
even a lover cannot erase.

Like if you leave;
except it will not be a mere scar but complete

Perhaps I am not as wonderful of a person
I thought I was because I was not willing 
to surrender my life to you
so instead
I tried to die
because you made me believe you no longer cared.

I am not that great of a person if
all I do is keep doing things you don't want me to do
and knowing that's about as much as I can do
for you,
I'm just so sorry it isn't everything.

and see what you find

I wake up today in a body
too big to fit,
and things adjust differently
to my sight now,
there are clothes that are no longer
familiar to taste
and the lines on my hand are glowing.

I wake up to a clock
spun 24 hours for what
feels like ten years
already, and I am drained;
my eyes are hidden from
nights of pain 
and one night running from it.

I wake up today and am I
who I was before - ?

I wake up today to 
a house of secrets, a chest
of silence with my legs
cold and
numb from clenching my toes tight as I
scream awake from nightmares
conjured by myself
and the lines on my hand are showing.

I wake up today to pretense
and uncertainty, I can only
figure out why I am
weak; my hair is torn from
my wrenching fingers and my heart
is drowned with the
overflowing tears that spill like
words I cannot utter.

I feel like the sheets are of
a hue unlike yesterday's,
wrapping me now in
a darker shade of 
I wake up today in a 
world I have ruined
because the lines on my hand are real.

To know who I am

And in moments where
I am a whirlwind crashing 
down on mistakes,
where you are the air,
you held your breath to
slow me down
until I am no longer
my nightmare.

And I can feel your hand 
once more;
A reality.

i write because it hurts

moments we had
kissing under streetlights and
drawing hearts on 
each other's faces
until we led ourselves 
into furious passion
that crumpled sheets and
had you clutching me
against your body
until it hurt so deeply 
yet I still found the breath
to gasp "I love you"

because I do

nights of fearing
and reassuring you 
i am only yours
and you are only mine
singing songs that reminded me of
and writing poems to
push away hurtful things
you say
over and over
i say i believe you when
you tell me you love me

because i do

yet after it all
i can't believe
i have to once again
put in place
uneven heartbeats
because you decided to forget
me and my words
decided to make yourself
not understand 
that I still say
"I love you"

because i do.


there was a short pause
in seconds and minutes and eternity
where I forgot to fend for myself
and let you eat me up
I left a part of me lost in
nightmares and
froze in an unpleasant stance
every day I woke up from
sleepless nights

I attempted a self-assessment
experimented with padlocks and
passwords I could use when I
felt it was time to
put myself away from
the motions of life

I attempted to take control
of the little I had
left in me
that I saved for myself
but somehow
I lost it all
lost it all to you.


I continued searching for different
to kill a man
or save one
I decided to go with 
the latter
because killing you isn't 
much of a satisfaction to me
because I remember telling
you once
"If you leave, I'm better off dead,"


you are now finding ways to
scrape back to my heart
I forgot to mention my experiment
was completed
just last night
with the final addition
painful words
from you.


it is almost
to see someone else trying
other than me
for once to
make things work
I am running out of catalysts to
pull me further inside
and I 
slowly start to
 feel your hand on mine
and your apology
actually sounds
real again.

I attempted to ruin myself
after you
but I am failing
because of you.


I let myself believe that
another escape will
stop myself from
once again falling for
the candy you place in my mouth
with each kiss
candies with a 
bitter end
but each escape is
a door leading me back to
because I realize now
the trickle I get
when you melt my 
freezing process
is not a fraud
what you are
because you are
what kills me and 
what makes me feel
strength and
what makes me weak
my destroyer
yet also my builder
my hurt and
the one who heals it
because you are the reasons
i am whole and I am empty

and also everything 
in between.

things better left untouched

you give me keyholes that I 
somehow always had keys for fit
and I find inside the boxes,
chests, rooms,
a million half-answered,
half-completed questions
mine or yours?

I realize I fear what I have
stumbled upon, I am 
to be just another 
along the line
to not be special enough
to stand out
to remind you of
the numerous 
stringless before-me's.

What if you look upon me
as our hearts entwine; as you grip
my hands so tight you don't 
want to let go
but forget the reasons why and
merely see
what used to satisfy you;
which isn't me.

to be just a satisfaction.

life on hold

I sometimes wonder
little things like why
I don't sleep under my blankets
anymore, why don't I sleep?

Little questions like what
do all these nightmares mean;
why do I dream, why
am I afraid to see; what am I
afraid of?

am I afraid?

I sometimes spend nights
counting sheep and seconds
in a song, wondering 
what life is meant to bring 
to me

to us?

I thought about
minutes and windows,
and asked myself why you
showed up, why we fell,
why I am still holding on.

I thought about
reasons that made
sense of your words that
sometimes are quite
unexpected, I wonder why
surprises can't all be
why do I fear?

I thought about
unmoving seconds
asking if I had the power to
move the motion of time
to my own delights;
why is time so

Why are there never
answers satisfying


i no longer sleep under
blankets and cuddle in
tight tangles
i do not yearn the feeling
of protection
perhaps i am now
immune to the cold 
prickles of solitude
and self confinement
that hits me in constant
i do not let myself
melt with the warmth
i have many reasons
to give me hope that
perhaps if i could
stand the chill i 
can then learn to freeze
with it
for eternity


maybe i'm built for no good
like buildings that give way to
and the rain that
paths way for rainbows
maybe i'm made to do grave things
be the soil for coffins and
the ends of a broomstick
i feel sick to the throat but
it feels good
the nasty gutting feelings
vanish vanish vanish
i like to watch them disappear into
brain damage
sudden laughter
it feels good to dream again
it feels good to laugh
maybe i'm built for no good


it's again time for me to
strip myself naked of all
emotions and believe that
i am
so i can
die for
a while just to pause
my heart from
no matter how long 
it takes

i am used to
dying for
lengths of
where all i do is
listen to the 
hollow of my 
heart twisting me outside
until i am all but alive
and locked in
mind boxes
except the one speck
in me flying
free that feels 
about the whole process
knowing i am still capable of
doing things to myself
however bad
the things can be
and i can still 
i am doing this 
because i want to and
because of you


you say the words 
words but
you tell no one else
no one else
but me
so i die
crumpled like
unwanted paper
yet everybody sees me
torturing you
with the nothingness i give;
the aftermath of my
because all i want is to
yet everybody sees me
giving up on you
because you have
tears in your eyes
it is all
my fault
my fault

but they were
your words
in the first place

nobody heard 
nobody got hurt
but me
because nobody knows
what you say
when you
killing me


i used to be pure
snow and 
cloudless days;
times when i could sleep through a fire
and knew no pain
i used to be pure from
horrors of
i used to defeat nightmares
and conquer dreams
i knew no pain
but scars are all that are
left of me
etched on my body

i ruin myself because -.

i used to be pure
innocent eyes and
genuine laughter;
i was
somebody i now
cannot find
lost behind in
times when i knew no pain
and i
am now filled
nothing but -

i used to be pure like
but even they have betraying
truths behind the
happy endings; now
i have learnt and tasted
everything about
and digging my heart out
for you to stitch back
because you promised me so
was a pure mistake
listening to promises you were
bound to
and believing them, nonetheless;
you stitched me up
in ways for you to
reopen the wounds
that held
stale memories of
past heart breaks
whenever you
feel like it
just so you can watch me

and i bleed 
only for you

because you sweeten my life

and i bleed only for 
because the blood
so much


and just when I dare to think
we are finally 
mellowing down to a silence that merely 
meant our hearts resurrecting,
you inject
the final poison; 
"are we even going to last?"

for the first time in my life sunsets
scared the daylights out of me
and all I could see was the
darkness ahead
all of it
all of it

and I say we won't if you keep 
believing the negativity in your
thoughts to which you reply with
yet another length of silence
which I interrupt when
the repeated visions of you on
come back to me
those scarring images of you
walking away from me
saying 'we are over' like as if they were
just words but
they are not, not
not just fucking words

thoughts of you putting a stop to my heartbeat
like as if what you held in your hand is
not alive
but just
an object
dead and replaceable like it is
not alive
like it is

but they are not
just fucking words
because words don't signify you 
throwing my life away

they are explanations to questions asked
about pieces of a dead heart splattered
across bedroom floors and roadsides
a heart that once belonged to me

because you threw me away

so shut up, please,
because I cannot breath.

no escape

you plead for me to meet your eyes but I can't
because I am trying to look strong
by keeping my pain away from you,
the one vulnerability left in me
and I couldn't let you crush
that, too,
I cannot look in
to your eyes because of your words
that stabbed me gutless and
I didn't want to believe they were real
I couldn't look in
to your eyes because I want the
moment the feelings 
to be fake fake fake
fucking fake
the way you walk away, the way you were so
to shred my heart down
everything to the way you
asked me "can we even last
- like this?"

these moments that haunt my sleep and darken the skin 
beneath my eyes
how do i breath, please?


I can never get used to it each time you throw another line of sentences strung together like knives cutting all the way from my ear drums to my heart until I am unintentionally letting out gasps for air because your words words words I have heard a hundred times before still kill me and I just cannot bear to hear them because I simply cannot bear to imagine you walking away losing you leaving everything we built behind like how you threaten to throw away my heart each time there is a flaw in our bonds as if my heart is dirt and nothing much of a big deal as if it is just a piece of necklace as if they are just words i can never get used to it your repetetitve drive to break me into pieces like 'it's over' and 'i'm leaving you' i can never never oh god never because I can never bear to imagine you leaving me and I get nightmares now I can't close my eyes I can't dare to let my mind wander because I remember things I can never get used to because I can never never live without you never never it will kill me, I swear.

opium sticks

- You don't sound okay.

- I went through barbed wires. But I got through and I've now reached the lake.

- I hope the view is worth it.

- Well, it ain't a mirage.

- :D

- :)

repair works

times when you do
pull me out of nightmares where I 
rely on your rescue
and plunge me down a new trail of
unperturbing dreams

times when you do
listen and 
remember what strength is
everything in between

times when you do
pick me up from tatters and
rags and
stitch me up from
the same open wounds

times when you do
seem like mountains and a
forever open sky
millions of colours, millions of bright, bright
lights that I love

times when you do
wish to hold on to
what we built and all that we've created
each other

times when you do
say you love me and
say it because you want me to
stop hurting

times when you do
keep me alive

broken lines

They talk on phones with broken lines,
and none of them can hear
the other end; it is
good when I-Hate-You's are buried mute and
let slip but nothing gets better because
every "I love you" she repeated between the
gasps and the sobs
remain unheard.

They talk on phones with broken lines,
with the words never getting through,
words that should and should not be kept
and hanging up
leads to no change but 
pain because he hung up
when she said "I'm sorry."

And he never heard her cut her heart up for him
to mend, so she is now left broken
like the phone lines in the middle of the

happiness is a warm gun

You don't - 
because of the way I still have to repeatedly
turn my pillows and quilt inside 
to hide the proof of me never
getting the chance, of me rotting;
stench, taste, my patheticness.

You don't -
because of the constant 
misjudgements and words that
should not be said, words that
leave me drenched in self-exhaustion
because you say them anyway.

You don't - 
because I feel my fingers shaking
I can't even read what I write, but I write to 
stop my heart exploding like
kitchen gas

yes, everything is tasteless again.

You don't -
like ugly sarcasm where you
tower above me, hiding your hurt by
laughing at mine, you don't because
you leave - always.

You don't - 
because I ignore them when they
speak to me; I only hear
your voice, words, everything

and they are not real.

You don't -
too many questions in a list
I have already answered since the
day you took my broken heart 
from me to 
sew together,
and you did, then,

trust me.

Alternate title: Honesty is a lonely word

Burying Hell

when we pour ourselves into each other
clutching and
scratching upon every surface trying to leave a mark
so as to not forget
how irresistible it is
and the after 'I Love You's that
wrap everything up into
a perfect memory
of moments where you could cling to me
and never let go if
you had a choice

we are trying so hard to
be part of one another
in every way
emotional and physical
that every slit that divides us

we fight so hard to be where we are
and it all seems worth all the 
tears and

when you lay your hands on my body
and trace the lines on my face in a continuous
shape of a heart
you are saying the words
you don't know how to utter
and i swear, i understand

it is like when i
cut up my heart like
your piece of cake
for you 
for you
i do it all for you
and the smile on your face when you

is so beautiful.

blunt knives

I crash and deteriorate into whirlpools 
where I am hoisted up like
feast and
trashed relentless by
my own gushing thoughts that
drown me with pain after
after pain

I do not breathe slow and controlled 
like I used to and it feels like
my oesophagus is twisted into tight knots and
slitting apart with every pull of my lungs
sore and scathed
from the hundred times I slam into
to hold myself back from
and breaking and
breaking apart

I am failing so deeply trying to
place together pieces of my own
puzzles because somehow
the lines have become
and I realize now
there are final pieces that will
never fit
and never
be perfect

I am looking under mattresses and
sniffing at clothes trying to figure out
why I can never shut my eyes and
why I feel invisible
but all I end up with are piles of memories that
shoot smiles to my mouth but 
bullets to my heart
because my questions are still unanswered and still
nothing seems real
except the god damn tears that
continue to scorch my face 
every night

And I have scrutinized every line on my body
in front of a mirror that no longer tries to
please me and I 
swallow in truths that cut the knots 
pleated down my throat 
and react with gut acid until I am
crawling under blankets
trying to die
because the hurt is

Would I be good enough if I turned inside out?

Will it make me beautiful?