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?


I did everything in every miniscule, microscopic way,
because you didn't give a shit if I lived or died,
one point of my life,
and I was dying - just so you know, I'll tell you now -
but you didn't care and stopped chasing me when I
scraped inwards, so I 
promised you my life that didn't seem worth living,
at the time,
not that it would've even mattered to you
for you were too busy knowing you had won,
and that was all you cared about.

Get back at me for
telling you what is right,
by telling me what is wrong - "You are wrong."
wrong, dirty, sinner, I am a sinner, and that is 
why I find many ways to 
believe my falling in love with you is

because you are not willing to.

You make it hard for me to believe it 
when - after you leave me to rot - you 
say you care

because you want some loving (?)
because you couldn't find another reason to
create a scene (?)

and it's vivid, one point in my life where I can
remember your foot on my body, saying
"I don't care if you're sorry." 
because you didn't give a shit if I lived or died

because you cared about your hurt, your pain, your self.

So I just stop feeling sorry and I'd rather take a dive


When he asked me if I loved him,
I should've said "Not anymore."
But I keep saying "Yes, I do."
Because fuck yes, I do.

When he said there's no hope for us,
I should've nodded,
But I kept begging him to change his mind.

When he told me not to -,
I should've said, "Fine."
But I kept going, "I want to because you
want it that way."

When he asked me if I was trying to ruin us,
I should've said "Yes I am."
But I kept crying "No I didn't mean any harm."

& "I won't do what you don't like anymore."

When he did not message,
I should've done the same,
But I kept saying "I miss you"
because I did.

When he wanted to know what I was doing,
I should've said "It's not your business."
But I kept telling him everything.

When they told me "He's not worth the fight."
I should've said, "Yes, you're right."
But I kept crying nights over the things he did.

When he made mistakes,
I should've walked away,
But I kept believing in him
But I kept promising him

& I am still here.

When he asked me to promise him millions,
I should've crossed my fingers,
But I gave him my word and all my heart.

When his friends said I was wasting his time,
I should've said "They are right."
But I kept proving them wrong.

When he wondered why I couldn't say I love him,
I should've said, "Because I don't."
But instead I said, "I need time."

When he asked me to be his,
I should've said "No."
But I said, "Yes."

When they told me he could make me happy,
I should've said "I don't think so."
But I smiled and agreed.

I should've lied from the start.

Do I?

I cannot say specific words because they are
To you, I suppose, therefore I obey, for it pleases me
to please you.

You lock me away from going certain distances and I am
forever confined within spaces that stretch only
to where you are;
But it doesn't seem so hard because seeing you is
all I want to live with.

I am to
the way you want me to;
They say "Why does he do this?"
And I say, "Because he cares." as if I am
sure, but do you?

I am pretty much alright with your
infinite requests to make me yours, your
until you become the hypocrite and spit
forbidden words
in my face,
treat me like nothing but hate,

do I make you feel good?

my knight in shining armor

I am doing my best
remembering fairytales and placing them
into broken slits self inflicted by my stories,
mistakes - I am using make-believe like glue to fix what
reality ruined; reality is ugly like
spit and broken veins.

I sit in the center of silence
wrapping up sleepless nights, sweat, heavy breaths,
choked up eyes, clogged lungs, filth,
with bloody fingers and the thing they call
a heart,
into a silver box to beautify what is dying;
a million things to one.

I am building my world to give him
because I want to be the hero in
fairytales and love stories that
end up dying but at least,
always loved;
So I gulp down acidity from his
words like "There's nothing left to us."
and try to picture faceless princes that saves Snow White
from choking on poison; I find it easier to believe
things are worth it, this way, and I never stop trusting that
one day if I trash away the delusional tales,
he'll still be standing with the
silver box in hand,

smiling the smiles that will save me from
what I am bracing myself for.

Chasing Suns

I tap on the glass with my
my fingertips
cold from morning breeze that
cling onto me like

I whisper to myself a series of
strung together lines from 
favourite songs;
tuneless - because I aim to hear
only the words;

just the words.

I close my eyes and feel 
grazing against my eyelids with
a hundred rays of
waking gold;
i feel 
but my fingertips are still 
from sticking my hand out the window
when I tried to 
taste purity upon my skin.

These are songs he wrote for me;

just for me.

you were my world Part II


I bought my first packet of cigarettes today. It feels good.

I went back home and threw away the things that added to the substance of
who I was, like,
photographs, my favourite movies, and my favourite clothes.

I'm going to get miniskirts and G-strings.


I met a friend while I wandered down the streets 
I used to spend twilight sessions in; he looked at my
cigarette and stared at my miniskirt and asked me why.

I answered "It makes me real."


I had sex with D. He told me he found me an appeal,
and that was a good enough start for me.

After sex, I cried and told him I was using him, and I repeated to him what 

A had said.

He kissed my forehead and said "I understand what you're going through."
and took me down another escape.

So I let him explore the planes of my body,
because having him under my skin makes me feel safe;
it was moments like those when I didn't have to care what
he thought of me.


I don't talk to B anymore, because I realized he wouldn't recognize me


I met E today. He was a nice boy.

He was great sex.


I have become the person A had believed me to be,
so why do I still feel unaccomplished?

I tried a double effect, with D and E,
but the sex only hurt me more.

D wished he knew why. He asked me if A was worthy of
what I was putting myself through.
D told me he loved me,
but I could only pay attention to the movements of our bodies,
and I only replied,


I stopped today and slapped D
in the middle of the streets, but he merely
hugged me tight and said "I'll stop hurting you."

Then he searched the crowds and his eyes met A's.
I didn't know he was there, too, so I walked away with
tears in my eyes,
a weak projection of
what I had become.

I heard D telling A "This is what you made her."


I asked D if he ever thought I was a slut.
He said, yes, once, in the middle of our nymphomanic tendencies.

Then he apologized, but I merely shrugged.
I gave A so much of my heart I 
felt dead when he wasn't around.

I am back to thinking of A.

I have not made any progress, and all I am stuck with now is
cigarette-smoked vision and torn up skin.


B found me today. He looked at me,
and said I hurt him.

I said I couldn't care less.
That was when he took my hand and said
"Not because of what you are now, but because you didn't come to me."

I asked him what he meant by "What you are now" and he said
"Not yourself."

He said, "I would've been there for you."

I had taken my hand out of his, and told him I couldn't allow him to,
because I didn't want him to be just another escape.

He told me he would let himself be that if it could make me feel better.

He asked me if I wanted him.
I looked into his eyes, and all I saw was A, so 
I said yes.


Nothing's changed,
only the bodies beside mine.

you were my world Part I

Dear Diary,


He called me a slut again, and this time
I didn't even bother to ask why, because I am tired of
getting explanations that don't make sense to me. He 
grabbed my wrist and forced me to say I'm sorry 
and I did
because I knew there was no other way
because I knew I couldn't live without him
because I knew he could easily leave me for something
only he believed.

He makes his own assumptions a reality; maybe that is why I'm starting to feel like I am living a lie.


I spoke to B about my fights with A, and B said once more
"I am still here waiting for you, if anything happens."
and like every other day he says it, I merely nod and say
thank you, without giving much thought about the 'if's
because right now
I can't picture a life without A
because I know if anything happens, I will decay.

B also asked me why I wasted my time with A.
I said "Because when he isn't crushing me down, he's building his world around me."
"As a barrier to stop you escaping." Said B, and it was cruel how his words scraped open wounds in my heart.
"No. As a cushion I can fall back onto at moments like these."

I hung up and congratulated myself at how I managed to
make my words seem so real.


I went out with C and came home with a slap across my face, though I 
remember telling A about my plans, though I remember asking him if it 
was alright, though I remember him saying
"It's fine, go and have fun."

He called me a slut today and stopped replying my messages.


I am waiting for him, again. My credit is gone because I keep
ending up sobbing to his voicemail.


He told me we were impossible. I tried to understand his side
of the story but I merely kept going back to 
"He is wrong."

I try to prove it, but it's not working anymore.


I can't believe he left. 


He is now just like many of 
my previous chapters who had left without a 
good enough reason, so in a way, I 
morphed to become
who they imagined I had become, like,

when one said "You're too boring."
I became a girl who reflected zombies, who answered one-worded answers, who never listened to jokes and never responded to interesting topics, who blended with the background, the one who people never invited to parties.

I became the boring girl so I could believe his words; and that was when my life turned and I was led swiftly out of the shadows by a boy good at
stitching up broken hearts.

Then he said, "You're so childish."
I became a girl who was oversensitive and sulked, who could not take jokes, who wished to be loved, who wanted to be called beautiful, who wanted to be kissed, who wanted to be cared for.

I became the childish girl so I could believe his words; and that was when the mask was pulled off my face and my vision cleared and focused on A alone. Ever since then, I could not take 
my eyes off him.

Then he spat on my face with a "You're so cheap."

And I still can't put a finger to what he meant, for I can't believe his words and I still wake up checking my phone for his messages, my inbox is still full from his vows, and I still clutch to his T-shirt and look through our hundreds of photographs.

I was not ready to believe his words, but when it is time for me to,
where should I start?


I remind you of girls who scream good-for-nothings
because I silence myself and look away
every time you don't make sense;
.                                                  to me.

You say you'll listen but 
I don't speak,
for my language contradicts your
beliefs on what is right.
.             I know this much.

I speak a foreign language;
.                              I am an alien
.                                                   to you.

You are confused by my midnight solaces,
you wish me to live daylights and die with the skies,
trying to drain out the ways I look up to 
blackened heavens and cigarette smoke
surging out of mouths that
speak my thoughts; that
do not judge me by my oddities;

they are aliens, too;
.                              yours.

You say I am blind for
blind people plunge themselves in rainbows -

but I,
see the bitter grayness of it all, too, like
holed pockets, like tears, like the crisp edge of the world

- I only like rainbows because they numb me.

I could run for hours back into
arms that protect
and you'd still not know the reasons why
for they don't make sense;
.                                                   to you.

Because you believe I am running wrong directions.

I am no longer life's virgin for life broke me
the day I laughed more than I ever had in my 
sixteen years; beneath the
blackened heavens and cigarette clouds 
with mouths that say "Stay alive.";
.                                        aliens to you.

But reality to me.