the moths are fluttering in the pits of my body
and i try to decipher the flap of every
crushed, grey wing
but i comprehend nothing of this
bland emotion.

i see the pain in her eyes
reflecting mine
for i am unable to make her heal
and i feel insignificant in a life
too full to hold
an overflow like me.

the time is ticking
and i can sense an overwhelming air of
an end i try to run from but-
i try to run but i cannot seem
to set myself free.

the cold water fills my lungs
i try to drown away all i feel
and all of me
but i gasp for breath
because i am not meant to leave this way.

i am full of regrets
and hold in my hands
a clench i never let loose
because i am a burden stuffed sore
written halfway and crumpled
into piles of torn paragraphs of an
incomplete tale.

lost prescriptions

i find myself staring at
sharp corners and razor blades again
wishing on a dead sky
and crying out to nothing.

i feel bruised inside, sore and aching
heavy from thoughts that paint
fake smiles on my lips
a block of dark that
damages the shine of my laugh
the mass of clogged up memories that
linger behind my eyes,
burnt red and swollen
from choking restraint.

i am shivering again
with incomprehensible chills
at the back of my head
and it takes the voice
of those who have seen
the ruins of my heart
to bring the burning pain
pouring out from my skin

i repeat to myself
before a stale mirror
that i am strong
and i can find my freedom
but i am forever caged
within myself
and my loss of sanity

blank spots

gestures spark pitch black
and screech
incoherent words
into the blank of my
rusted soul

i feel.

i feel.

i feel nothing.

saluting the darkness

the devils whisper nightmares
into the strands of my hair
and the white of my eyes
rolled shut and blind

and i awake from a nightmare
falling into another
like a wave that meets no shore
one more twist of
sweat stained
torn sheets
soaked with pain and
aching restraint

i converse with a world of
bane, pierced and crushed
deflated of all crisp and cornered memories

devils, they whisper
they scrape into the beads of my minds
stretching me awake
with a scream that etches a
in the light of the world


the trickles of heavy sighs escape
and i am pounding my fists on the
of my thigh
searching for an emotion to latch on
and finding none.

the silhouettes of desperate fingers
i don't know what the fuck i am doing
but i don't feel lost
because confusion
is where my home is -
a warm feeling that clogs my breath
and taints the unsteady beating
of an old heart exhausted

rusted and misused.

welcome to a night of clarity
where all is murky
and my mind is stale.

chemicals & sharp objects

i pick on a tender part of inner skin
flush it with a wash of ink
hearing voices i do not recognize
yet feel at an odd sense of clarity

i have been to this phase of
self enclosure many times before
yet i have never felt this real;
stagnant and disguised
a face you remember only
for tunnel eyes and bitten lips

i play games with my mind and
fool myself a million times
by saying
i am feeling alright, just alright
even when i am
cringing at my own voice and
fuming at the multiple fuses i light
within the center of my heart
where veins are black
and joy is short-lived.

i would love to seal my lips
and never utter another
and never hear the sounds of things i despise
cracking a million mirrors along the way
to hide my crumbling features

shards of a broken soul

i have toxic running through my body
my mind is clear
and i smile a genuine smile
after a thousand broken eyes
and charred lips.

i am no longer the one
with a soul that reaches out
and cures the wounds under my skin
nothing more than a
tangled reel of broken cassettes
and tainted plastic bags
in the corner of the street
unnoticed and torn.

intoxication is sweet when
you don't wake up
and face a life the sun has turned
away from
since the day the moon collapsed
and burned down the
thousand stars upon my fingers

tasting iron

when i spend hours doing nothing but
write and ache and write and ache and write and ache and write and ache and write and ache and write and ache and write and ache and write and ache and write and ache and write and ache and andwritendachewriteandwrahehchewith -

i take on a role possessed by
self-aroused demons
calling out familiar sounds that
pick on my nerves and distort my reflections
like a memory once washed away
creeping over me just to watch me
curl up
in attempt to sleep
because i feel

lost and hopeless and empty
and dark and dirty and
in pain.

... and i honestly cannot be fucked to stay awake

the other side of

the midnights of clumped thoughts
revisit with sharp grips
like iron fire and salted wounds.

i am left with a finger pressing down on scorched throats and screaming pain, my heart pounding to no rhythm for me to live on and i reminisce on serenity but drift on states of daggers that cut through me like awkward atmosphere every time i turn around expecting a smiling memory but find only nothing

staring back.


i take two turns around death
like it had never left the line on my skin
screeching to explode and
reignite that thirst for
blank spots
i once possessed and drowned

with it, i left the part of me
that never learnt to float

i try my best to fit in the background
where all is still
and all is vast
but there is no space for a
mind this jagged and
out of place

i do try to make it
i do try

i do try to make it better
but things still hurt
and there's nothing i can do about
the fucking pain


i try to control the way i speak
i try to remain
significant to where i stand
in my life

but the midnights return and swallow me whole into a twisted hole of empty air except this time the black of it is a dense collective of strangled voices choking and cold and i am not ready for this anymore.


mother, it is too soon
stay stay stay stay stay
there are spaces in my heart i sacrifice
for you
and you have not kissed me goodnight
since the day i tried to
kill myself


my nails are a funny shape and colour
but it does not make me laugh
because my habit
of biting nails when i feel without
is now a daily hourly minutely routine

and there are still days
when i want to rip my wrist out
and count the layers of skin
that saved my life

just to spite myself


there are those who
teach you how to sew your heart shut
by attempting first
to break it

the first who does it
will always succeed and
the manipulation smashes you through
you believe it'll never repeat
and it never does
but the pain is constant
because it is after the second
when you begin to lose
and gain a cold flicker
on the shine of your glance

and you take on a different smile
and a different laugh
and a different mask


i can not dare
to stand for peace
the wars raging in my mind
is where it all begins
without freedom inside
i will never be free


these midnights
are the nightmares i skipped
from twitching my fingers and
learning to hold my breath
out of water

and it was my second take around death
when i realized the midnights
never leave
because the dreams you forget
take detours and come back as reality.



we look up to the same skies
and the distance fades with every
lightning bolt
crashing into empty spaces of our thoughts
as we slither into each other's dreams
praying for a miracle
we can't find in our own
because we have run out of hope

there is a thin line that separates
a touch of the hand
and fluctuating heartbeats that hold
a million messages that we
every so often might stumble upon
and decipher
past the border with a taste
of a sweet sort
on the tip of our tongues

we look up to the same
shade of sunset
listening to our hearts rise
as we fall in love again
with the broken little pieces
we hold in our hands
of a world so easy to get lost in
yet so easy to find our way back
to the place above
a line that taught us to reach out
when we run out of hope
and there is somebody there

heavings of a screaming heart

three lines down the page expressing
certain miniscule actions
that replace colossal pieces of my life
and scare me to think of choices

i blink away the blurred visions of dandelions
flying askew, crashing hard onto the surface of my cheek
burning me with a thousand unanswered thoughts
because chances are,
i never notice the way i move
in my sleep compared to a time
when i lay still and curved
eyes blank wide distant.

and the burden of different lives i could've lived
stand tiptoed on my shoulder blades
piercing through my physicality and
pulling down my mind

an orchestral mass of confusion and
creating the notes to a suicide song

vanishing act

there are cracks we look through
for a better view
the window too easy, too clear
a way,
we search time and time
for simplicity but
always prefer the complications.

there are cracks we place our lips on
to intake a whiff of the
fresh air beyond
because things on our side
always seem too choked
too full of
our own creations
and we try to
always running
and never stopping
as if there is nowhere
in the million spaces
for us to hide

there are cracks inside us
some bigger than others
from where we never seem to heal
to heal from pain
like a drug
it feeds on our life
like a drug
and we accept it

there are cracks we look through
and smell the fresh air
from time to time
we break ourselves into a million
just to find a crack big enough to
swallow us hole and
watch us disappear


we tipped our glasses of
red hope and clarity
chugging down what was once
turned sour
like life on speed; on
drugs that paint mirages in our minds
and feign a reality

i write short poems nowadays
because some things are too precious
to elaborate on.


My lips have held a million unspoken words
and a taste of pain
slithering through my throat
teaching me how to control my breathing.

I have suffered a sunrise that burnt through my eyelids
and surged to my heart like a
runaway train with nowhere to crash,
a gaping hole

i denied the way my hands felt like
dry leaves
how the veins on my neck ached from screaming
and attempting to swallow light
to make myself believe i can be
fluorescent like swimming
pools and happiness
when all this while
i was nothing but

a forgotten street lamp
on the brink of life,
too bright to look at
but burnt black inside.

my sky

it takes a while for life to settle back
into ripples of calm and visions
of beauty
after the shatters of a personal hurricane

my shatters of personal hurricanes.

there was a person who inspired my pain
who taught me to love
and taught me to die
and the inspirations were hell to obtain
the point where my expressions
turned dark blue
lurid and choked.

i stand now
with two fingers on my lips
my mind at wander
searching for the miniscules of reason i can
latch on to and have myself feel like
i can once more open my heart to hope
and light, and unfold the pages of my thoughts
to stop myself from crumpling.

but i am still afraid of stars
and the meaning they once held
that i will fall again for their
blinding light and find myself
under lightning.

the scariest part is when i begin to smile at thunder
screeching in my ear
because it is therapeutic
to my own demise.

cigarette hearts

i've got life between my fingers
and breath clogged with
chained frustration
thoughts staining every scar darker on my skin

the only thing between me and the world
are two cigarettes and an ashtray
self lit in the dark, sparks
crashing into ground.

i set myself free with twenty
a day, sometimes overdosing on
rushestomyhead to stop
myself feeling sane because
sane is another meaning of pain

- and i am through with that.

the day i ignited life
between my lips
and embraced death with past inflictions.


thoughts that linger on pillowcases
clogged and tried
of days when things were blurred
the nights that never gave me chance
to breath

it is relief that washes over me
when i no longer find
descriptions that fit
and your name tastes
to my tongue a language
your memories unrehearsed

the playbacks in my mind are stagnant
but no longer haunting

and for the first in a while
i learn to embrace reality
because it pulls away all the
i endured for you
replacing instead
a new mind;
less dangerous less
less choked.


glitter dreams
starlight on my skin
as i lay fluorescent
wide eyed
breathing underwater and
learning how to count on
stagnant stars
because you're only lucky enough
to ever see seven shooting stars
once in your life

that night
i was ethereal
with seven wishes to hope upon
yet stand today
knowing none came true

days when
i wake up to heavy sounds

like i am floating

because something inside me
is being sucked out

sucked in?

miniature objects
that stun me
like a secret smile
like a secret
yelling in my ear
teaching me to stay silent
even though my heart
is screaming for air

screaming for air
like stale suffocation

nineteen days

cracked lips.
a faint flicker of shine
leaking through the webs of my mind.

blatant and tempting
like frivolous passion under clouded
stars and puntured moons
where there is no space for me
to breath.

curved in.
warm and safe
a body, an artwork
eyes of daylight and
lips of a religion i conjured from my

they are strange words
but familiar to a dream long forgotten

a beautiful dejavu.

cracked in.
curved lips.


3 lines

I try to say things
but it is difficult when you are
colliding with emotions that confuse.

a dream that loved me

the waking dream that found the glitter
in my eyes and kissed the tangles of
alcohol staining the roots of my hair
the dream that planted a mark on my body
like a white flower in a garden of green.

fluttering above me like a halo
leaving tingles on my neck and
whispers on my ears, a hot breath that never fades
it was a dream that taught me passion
and grew on the tip of my lips
as it kissed me under the rain
and told me to stand for who i am.

fresh air;
an escape from the nightmares i lived,
a hand that found my sensitivity
and caressed my weakness, telling me
a biggest secret,
feeding me strength and leaving sweet
aftertastes in the center
of my body
warm and whole

a dream i will wake up from
and smile at the memories
when they revisit
every once in a while.

alone in a square box

my breathing is loud,
a condition one would relate to

i name it a condition because
it arrives unwanted
and i hate people i truly love;
uncalled for,
like accidents in the middle of the night.

i like to talk to myself, as if
i am
the rest of the world,
regretting my good intentions
that led to the loss
of control and fear
of tasting solitude

- though i spend many conscious nights
i sense myself
coming back to
.and the blindlights hitting me as i stand up too quickly
is beautiful.

there are those who make things better
yet they are them
that make things worse
all the same.

i forget the meaning
of letting myself feel

everything is around me
i feel heavy
standing by myself.

the first

raw skin underwater.

a pain that reflects
momentary scrapes of hurt that
paints my picture
spells my life
until it fades.

escaping my fingertips,
it is a second of
letting strength escape me
and the past foil me

but i am done with facing
the same page of my
clustered, depressed thoughts.

i am ready to take one step away
from carnage
and leave the burn that once
scarred decay on me.

will you trace my steps
and lead me through
my holocaust?

will i drown?

i speak to nobody
and somebody replies.


my first cold blink of bare truth
when everything fell into reality
took place in the air
where clouds beneath me
gave way
and sent me headfirst
towards gravity.

this is the part when
you lose your right to dream.

every wash of hard, icy life
drowned me in a pitfall of dull
colours that never seemed
to fade,
the hideous artwork of my mind.

i am like the sky
churning towards dark
swallowed in behind the grey
taints blanking out
the rainbows and
taste like afterlife.

the rain is singing
a beautiful pain i can understand.

one a day

it is only because
the whole world goes still
and i can hear my thoughts
slither into place and
feel at ease
just for a while,

watching my breath form
unspoken words
soaring into the sky
until the last of the ashes
explode on the surface of reality
and create heavy, uneasy sounds
of my mind

waking up.

alone in a smoking room.

there is life between my fingertips
and a hole in my heart
for a million seconds it is as if
i can hear beneath the silence
the trickle of light
with every swirl
of translucent

with every sigh i

i find myself standing in a field
where no one can watch me
as i learn how to take
self-taught lessons
step by step
in healing motion.

i open my eyes
and put out the momentary hiss of

i am still alone but
reeking in a box of smoke
and feeling

a journey to an end.

i wake up to bad dreams; i am trying to run away but i meet ten thousand obstacles in my ten thousand thoughts.

nightmares are like second nature to reality. i am driving towards a far away land and it is meant to be escape

mystical like secret windows and time warps but the smithereens of doubt tell me it is not -

this is stone cold reality swallowing me in.

i see an empty road filled with empty hopes and suddenly it is hard to breath, i am plunging forward with an

unpleasant speed. i leave a certain part of myself behind hoping that i can one day turn back and


i hope to breathe in a militude of life and perhaps capture the beauty of cherishing heartbeats beneath my chest. i

take flight with a blank shard in me and for a second, i forget my name, drunk with a depression of slurred thoughts

and twisted guts inside of me.

let me fly.
set me free.

alone at 2.42

i like the feeling of bedsheets on my naked skin
lying coiled in self protection
in nothing but my underwear

where no one is watching
and no one can hear me breath, where
no one can hear me scream

i feel free
yet i feel
like an abandonned house
filled with dangerous
unwanted spirits.

hand me a bucket of wet cement
before i crack again.

dead cells


i found ways to let things
flutter and sink into peepholes of
where thoughts barred away
can only glimpse at minds
they used to haunt.
but i forget how thoughts
can gnaw through the thickest skin
and knock me off balance as they
slither back in
as i try to heal.

i am left scraping for surface
as i drown with the piranhas
of my mind.


it is a blurred vision
fogged by disregard and
several attempts succeeded in moving
forward. but blurred visions
still hurt my eyes and
much more
because they paint pictures
of a past when i knew
i would one day be
where i am today.

i didn't try to stop
because nothing scared me more
than this happening much sooner;
because back then
i stopped counting on hopes
and forgot how to breath.

it is an eternal burn that leaves a hole
in your soul
when you finally gasp for air
and realize you are
immune to life.


there is nothing worse than movie finales
that do not leave significance
and that is why i wish for
a horrible ending
to contradict everything before
because the storyline would've at least
been worth going through.

but wishes are only for the lucky ones
even if they wish for disasters.

our ending was miniscule
compared to the ten thousand aches
and mental ills that grew beneath
the unsteady skin of my mind
leaving trails on the smooth of my wrist.

we would've been the worst film ever made
because nothing but the 'making of'
was worth enough
to go through what i did.


regret is a harsh word.

i use it all the time
when i think of how much
i could've changed
to better situations.

i will ponder until the word
is no longer a word
and scrapes into me like
rust, like fucking tasteless emotions.


i am like the child
with down syndrome
the one everybody tries not to pity
yet are unable
to neglect the distortions
oozing from my body like gutter juice.

i learned from the best in lying
and now spend hours in front of the mirror
practising fake smiles
and enthusiastic expressions
just to bluff the world into believing
the mask is the truth.

i can travel alone to far away lands
and walk under lightning storms
without wincing
yet i shudder because of
certain, revisiting memories
and the ghost of what was once
watching the change i have inflicted
upon myself.


It is a fault I live with
for falling in love,
a fault I take to bed and
hold onto for dear life.

I still count the many time I
stayed up wishing on
dead stars and blank
I flew with wings
without repair
believing miracles could
still save me.

It is a fault I carry like heavy sighs and
anchors stuck in

and it doesn't matter because
we are now gone.
It doesn't matter now that
things have
like pieces of me
and pieces of you.

welcome to the apocalypse

Decay in my mind
I am searching for distance but
things that are
unreachable takes effort to
unwanted desires
that are unthinkable

I want to separate from this
but things attached
takes pain to tear apart
like skin and
bones like emotions like

I want to be gone
when the world collapses
so I will not be just
another segment of debris
clawing to be found.

Death is a bitter taste I can't spit out
nor swallow in
to the pit of my thoughts.


the pain recollects behind my eyes
and waste away;
frozen tears for somebody undeserving
of the extent
of intense emotions i puke out
for you.

i read poetry similar to mine
and feel the sharp of your memory
stick into places tender from
a heart i refused to touch
ever since you failed to fix
but succeeded in tearing it
into a project of your own;
lungs i have forgotten to care for
but merely fill with choked up
feelings clinging to smoke and

i intended to numb the bitter wounds
ripping apart with every breath
but the sickly cluster of your
shameless words and
everything else i swallowed
still burn me like
a rotten carcass.

there are still days when i ponder on
to this mess i built as
and figure out
no matter what i choose
i am still
already gone.

and so are you.

world records

there is a clamp in my head
tightening for what seemed like weeks
and will continue for remaining days
until i reach the second my heart and soul
turns one year old.

it feels like an egg cracking, these
unwanted, murky, irksome feelings
leaking through me
spilled and unable to fix
as the day edges closer
and closer
and closer
like reverse, a reverse effect back to
when i died and was reborn
as nothing; a blank paper, torn and crumpled.

one year ago.


feels like quite a while now,
many things i have forgotten beyond
that night
except the incidents that led me
to living this new, semi-unwanted life.


i partially enjoy it
the new lengths i push myself through
measuring how hard my cover is
and the lowest temperature of my heart;
the many times i can look at my arm
without crumbling.


i took a huge risk allowing the wounds
to be wiped clean
knowing from then on,
they will never heal, dirty as ever,
and will never heal
and i could no longer live the way i did
because i woke up the next morning
with no recognition of life
and its definitions.

i started from scratch
without a purpose or a scrape of hope
screaming for some incomprehensible need;
no one understands the language
of a newborn.

one year ago.


i am breaking my own world record by:

:testing my limits.

:raging multiple wars within myself.

it was always a war between peace of mind and pain,
but fighting for peace never really works, even in the news.

:lastly, having two birthdays to celebrate.

one for my life and
one for the loss of it.

the city is hollow

back to a coldness where
lights shine empty
and stars are replaced by the
clog of smoke
and empty air
where things remain choked
and there is no place for release

no wind to chill and
no trace of freedom
no space to breath
nowhere to claim eternity

i stare out at blocks of
man-made construction
material things
we can lose
scents that pass
and never linger
prodding like painful memories

it is a city of
no place for dreams and
no place for somebody
like me

Three Cigarettes

i get scared. my lungs
clog up
and i forget how to breath
for a second.

moments when i wake from
hiding the small of you
and your inflictions that taste
pretending i am finally

it all aches again
i forget to look at the time
because the date looks
and unexpected.
knowing everything is moving fast
whilst i am too slow
is no comfort,
reminding me again
of how i have forgotten
how to press play
after i had paused
at the scary part
to refrain from screaming.

it hurts to see new faces
replace what was once-
it hurts to see everything
but i.
me and my forever memories.

it was like somebody else
tried to move on for me,
branching out a whole new world
before my eyes
when i still had them shut,
to hide
to protect myself from
the accidental babies of my mind
that will never grow me
a new life.

big giants

it is a brittle and deep ache
injected in me, a feeling i
involuntarily succumb to
because of the many times i look up
towards the eternal and find
a blank stare returning my gaze.

nobody but i will comprehend
how much i have tried to perfect
the circle of all the hope i had in me;
they said circles are better shapes
because they are harder to break
but nobody ever told me
how hard it was to mend one
already cracked.

it is as if the whole world is
crumbling at my fingertips
and the disaster is too beautiful to fix
so i resolve to sitting back
and learning how to let it eat me up
without feeling the blow
when i hit rock bottom.

new and familiar

the feelings are unreal.

they taste like the past
and ache like a thousand years

i am trying to stay strong
but there is no strength in
tearing up at every glance
and every precious breath.

i hear time fleeing.


please stay.


there are things i wished i could've done
at a time when i was much stronger
than this
like hug you
and say you are the most
i have ever been given

and the fights were only lessons
to learn from.

but i am now at the peak of falling
and i
do not have the guts, i stutter
trying to say i care
and i really, really, really
myself for all the moments you spend alone
aching over my words
because i know how it feels
aching over yours.

i was, in your eyes,
as precious as my favourite home-made soup
you'd make when you had enough strength
but you are, in my eyes,
- though i may never dare
to tell you this -

like every breath you take
when you are sleeping soundly
because i am safe beside you


there are no more poems that make them
smile, no more words that
flow from my mind to exert
some sort of sweetness that show people
how happy i am
because i am not happy
as simple as that.

i am now at that stance where i
result to
drawing squares on my deodorant bottle
and making beautiful faces on brochures
with permanent markers
because the thoughts crowd in
until i have to find a way


i am frightened by those who
talk to their reflections
or the palm of their hands
certain scars they try to scare
because it reminds me too much
of a person living inside me.

i predict a death by lightning
because i am used to having things i find
most precious
kill me.

i try to push in the cutthroat
emotions that haunt the
messages my mother forgot to erase from her phone
sent between those who were
at a time
fighting to protect and
keep intact a girl who crumbled at the sides.

you do not need to believe in
timewarps and
magic machines to see a picture perfect
vision as clear as stark light
of what used to be.

one nightmare is all it takes
for the deepest memories to resurface.

like a tear


i was once told i have a thousand faces
so i try to have a million personalities
in order to distract them
from noticing
the one permanent feeling i can never change;
the one lump of frozen emotion at the pit of my heart
weighing me down and
digging open a hole i once
managed to heal with
ice and solidity.

it is an uncanny feeling
at the tip of my stare
as they walk past me hand in hand
like a monochromatic thought. Without
a care in the world, their happiness
drowned me
with questions as to
i never could keep the life of such smiles
in between our hands,
before, when i had all the care
in the universe
to try.


i am aware of a self-wounded tangle
i dwell between
but it is a comfortably
numbing realization
that no one else but i
can create such an extent of pain
to myself, now.

i am my own freedom
i am my own cage

there are sleepless nights
etched beneath my eyelids and
torture streaked across the way i
stare at spots for too long
every other ten seconds.


i conjure with every blink of my eye
an artwork of pain
and it becomes more vivid
and much more tasteless
with every exhausted breath:

faded memories of a face familiar
who once stuffed so much into her heart
she forgot how to exert
the glow on her cheeks and sparkles from
her pupils that would
trickle down from
the deepest feeling within her
like a tear.

photographic smiles

i stop in the center of catastrophe
breathing in the stench of failure
capturing in the palm of my hand
the halt of a future
i once saw so clearly
but now cannot find.

there are a million shards of glass
reflecting my torn
rippedandslashed state of
and i cannot hold on to the passing of time

the passing of life

a proportion of stashed away
shouts for my recognition but
i cannot hear what can perfect
a long ruined situation
i call myself

it is not easy picking up the pieces
that taste like smithereens and look like

my mind is dead
and it is not for long
before i blind myself with
a colourless truth
that perhaps i am not as great
as i hoped to be
because greatness became
non-existent ever since the day i
picked up a razor blade
and smiled at it.

it is a cruel world
with no place for me.

welcome home

i cannot deal with the numerous repetitions
of me breaking down and
always having somebody
pull me out before i could
taste the full plunge into depression.

i could find a thousand adjectives to
suit me.

it is a sick mind i own
one of black paint and
gruesome stories of
a dying soul named after me.

crashing through a world of coincidences and
i found a world where everything i do
affects more than just pain
and ruin;
a direction i cannot stray from.

i miss touching the bottom -
at least i was certain of my situation, then
a comfortable relief of
tasting the dirt of the dark on every
internal scab i owned.

the repeated nights of
wishing for the moment when i was
sprawled across the floor
tasting the end
but i prefer keeping the routine to myself
because pity is not the best gift
they give
and i hate those eyes that watch me
knowing me more
than i know myself.

there are many ways i can
escape all this
but none are possible without me
knowing where i stand;
without the certainty of place
how will i know where to move from?

the seventeens

There is the hollow taste at the back of my tongue
centered with bitterness
the taste of cigarettes and a long gone pain
revisiting like the after-
taste of pepsi
minus the sweetness/add the tendency to
dry up the length of your throat like
a gasp of fresh anger.

It is a song I can't erase from
because the lines are punched in like
memories of a story I tried to end
but ran out of strength to
along the way so I
let it be with a trail of ink and
torn out pages of a once favourite chapter,
things I pray will fade
things I know will never
fade, eventually.

And I taste the chill of
a restrained tear on the
graze of my cheek
like the finality of what I have once again become.


no blankets

the plaster on her index finger
is a clasp of smoke
a familiar scent of
settling calmness;
an aftermath of an aftermath
when pain no longer feels like pain
but a habitual routine
of sleeping without blankets
because they no longer hold protection.

there are pieces of leftover thread
from attempts to
sew herself whole
a 1000 bruises beneath her spine
the cause and effect of
straightening herself out.

the flamboyant scars etched like artwork
but she feels bland like paper
but bland is better
for one night of nothing is heaven
considering the other 364 waking nightmares
she now knows by heart
and can tell you how many times
she will scream the following night
an explosive mind.

there are pieces of leftover thread
from attempts to
sew herself whole
but the neat lines of
her self-perfection
are nowhere insight.

a slit in the mask

there are days when i want to
eat my guts;
days when i need to regurgitate
but the words take too much
to push through my throat
so they stop midway and
ruin my appetite.

it is terrifying when the feelings
remain frozen at the
wrench of my heart
despite the number of times
i change my hairstyle
or scene
or friends
or way of living
like a permanence i try to rub off
until it becomes an obvious scar
i try to hide
with bracelets
and layers
and layers
of cover.

an end

the unhealthy hollowness under my throat
absorbs every dry breath I take
searching for a taste that is not there;
I have run out of substance

and ink-

every intake is stale
the aftermath of yesterdreams
that leave me swallowing
and biting hard on nothing.

like a fingernail ripped apart
too close to the skin
raw like an ugly, unholy, filthy truth

I miss writing about nothing
and everything
forgetting how it started
making up how it ends
as I tumble along
because things that don't exist
are the best to alter,
like life before it went
terribly wrong.

like a beginning.

tearing the nightsky down

she used to stand beneath gray skies
with glitter in her eyes and stars in her smile,
a round locket of happiness tight
to her chest, where no one could touch
which no one could falter,
she was the glow in the dark,
an everlasting surge of
pure joy.

there were miniscule things, yes,
that would loosen her smile, but never did she
lose her appetite for laughter
and laughter was forever in reach,
until he came plunging through her heart
with a chainsaw of rage and his
inhuman darkness broke her into
pieces of
self destruction and distrust.

there were many things that led her to
a depression that tasted like knives and
ripped like dark red wounds
but only one tipped her
too far. Until now,
she cannot recall reasons to why
she had woken up one day
with scars on her arms and the taste
of nothing
at the back of her throat.

precise images of him playing about
in the hemorrhages of her mind.

it was a desperate attempt, there after,
of searching for laughter and forcing glitter
into her eyes until she went blind
to reality,
and all the while he loomed above,
chainsaw in hand, ready
to ruin every hole in her heart
he pretentiously tried to show
he could heal.

and then he was gone.
but she was here, still,
searching, ploughing through memories
of a long gone euphoria,
when she used to wake up to a small piece of heaven.

and she is still here,
no more glitters in her eyes
newfound chills in her smile,
trying to find perfect excuses to fit
a shattered locket of what was once -
to reason out why she is now this way.

because he is the one memory
she wants to forget, but the one memory
and she denies, how one memory is sometimes
all you need, enough to burn
brighter than the sun

and make her as gray as the skies
that once bowed to her shine.


hail storms in my mind
a thousand stones of frozen thoughts
never melting
stagnant in the ice-box of
a forever perturbance

i collect broken liquid of
what was once a whole reflection
of me
trying to hold on
trying to hold on
but they aways seem to slip away
a simple science i cannot face

the air tastes different now
warm and moist on the graze of my cheek
a touch of something worse
much worse than before
when all was rain
and thunder
drenching me until i was too weak
to break
and my lungs gave in
and i succumbed to my state of humanity

clean air

my ribs ache with a certain pseudo
an unseen pain that engulfs me
and blinds me from every other
pounding.slicing.tightening pain
i feel
when i am physically fine -

but i am never physically fine, really,
my mental state
a solid block of weight

i clench my fists and hold my breath
wondering what has happened.
these minutes, precious minutes
when i wake up and see a life
i no longer recognize -
yet live it anyway

for there are no other reasons
for me to
fall back to.

it is this realization
as clear, as stark as
an afternoon sky burning me dry
that pulls me back to the rest of the hours
when i am consumed in a self-created
slumber where everything just...


broken promises to self

it has now been 225 days
of remembering the numbers
the alphabets, the full name,
his full name,
the dates, the places, the moments
when everything felt right
when everything was, in fact,
since the start.

225 days of midnight consciousness
where i crawl back in to hide
from you, the pain and the unwanted thoughts of -

it is now 225 days from the day i realized i will
have to learn to live with
broken pieces of a strength
once mine, now tattered
and briskly patched together.

i still spend every pending day retrieving
shards of a broken heart i shattered and
threw to the world like ashes of
a loved one

because it was a precious loss
i couldn't stand to keep inside me

it has now been 225 days
of avoiding certain places, people
lyrics of a song

because things are just different now,
simply said.


my hands are cold.

it is an ephemeral feeling
of turning to stone.

emotionless. empty.
a weird sort of free.

i clench my fists,
embracing the cold on my fingertips
and thank god for plunging me into darkness.

i accept this side of me
though no one else does.

the hurt will fade, they say
but healing is no longer my attempt.

i legalize this pain
as cold as the palm of my hands
that never receive enough bloodflow.

i am a new me
unsure of who i am
but sure of a situation
i know i will never escape from.

waking up from suicide

the wound becomes a part of you
you sting and hurt
a cut open and drying into ugly, infected scabs.

nobody will know because they will tell you
to hide them scars away
so you hide yourself away.

the world is red
and you open your eyes to
a different life;
months hence
you will look back and
wonder where the old you went
now replaced without a soul
that once lit you from within
and taught you to live.

because being saved against your will
is a torturing way to take in
another breath.

the only explanation to who i have become.


it is not easy to fake a smile
like before,
and everyone can see this now.

i ask for isolation, but
i hate it.

it is like the darkness in the middle of a street
when you can't see anything
but around you is

i forget reasons to make myself
believe it is easy
to forgive the things i have done.

i accept that life went wrong.

and just like every candle flame,
it will burn out and run dry
sooner or later.

un coeur a paris

it is strange when that song plays again,
when i'm there again, in the place i escaped to for a
badly needed solitude away from him.
strange how it brings back reminiscents of me
trying to remember how i was like
before him,
so i didn't have to cope with how i was like
after him,
the one who slips continuously in and out of
reminiscents of what happened when i was
with him.

some people say listening to heartbreak songs
make you cry,

but i don't find the need to cry over
a heart already broken
for i've cried enough over
a heart breaking
and the songs only remind me of how much
time i wasted
trying to mend myself -

i was never good at stitching.

when you have no other choice but
to step into an unwanted time warp
all you've got to do is hold on to the
remembering, unlike back then,
that you always have another place
to fall back into
if things get horrid.


my emotions are unreal
you never see me cry with a cigarette in hand
i always have a cigarette in hand.
controlled desire
controlled pain.

it is an agony that hits me like
nicotine rush.

many things meet my eye
from within me like catharsis
i am afraid of many things

the strong face i master is an ugly disguise
and afraid of many things

it is an agony that pulls me -
wakes me from the false visage
of life people dream about.

my dreams are the only reminders
that i am still human enough

but my emotions are unreal.

midnight, again

the world evolves around
of seconds where we don't know
what we're looking for.

the steady eyes, they falter me.

i feel bare
like a single star exposed
on the expansion of a neverendingsky.

this is the passing of time
that determines my distraught
state of mind.keep me calm. keep mecalm. keep me. keepcalm.

i fall in
i crawl back to my self contructed
walls. fucking walls.
i feel blind i feel empty
walls that leave me with nothing to hold onto.

i do not want to live this but i do not want to leave this.

valentine thoughts

i feel safe and i can breath
for i don't have to pretend my head
is not pounding
for it is another moment
when i peek at the clock
and realize i was feeling special
this exact moment -
365 days ago

and the specific playbacks
flash inside me like
horror flicks.

now things are just empty and i feel safe
because i don't have to spend this year's today
trying to put effort in making someone feel special
when i am not special enough to do that.

i maintain my stand-still
believing this is
the best choice for me
because any other decision will hurt me
and nothing can hurt if you're emotionless.

but it is hard to be emotionless.

i look at a photo now in the place
of the one we had 365 days ago
with the sickening nostalgia
filling my head and i ask myself
if you bought her a rose
like you did me
365 days ago.

and i ask myself if
months from now you'll still be drawing hearts
on her face
without breaking the one inside her
because you know it is for you only
i ask myself if
months from now you would love her
for who she was
because you know what you did
and perhaps -
you are conscious of the girl you once broke and
left to waste

and realize how much you need to fix
to become a better person

cutting pages

The days are timeless again.

It is no longer only midnights that
hit me with a cold stab,
every second prolonged
like phlegm spit out.

I cannot stand reliving this
I cannot stand
reliving nightmares I tried to bury
with reality
but this is reality
it always was.

I fall back into the lack
of self consciousness
where I forget it is weird when a girl
usually all smiles
dashes away to break down
because breaking down isn't her thing, really.

There are those who are willing to
keep me strong and
those who keep me sane;
I wish I could allow myself to
get so weak I could lose
all my thought or sanity
so I didn't need to make sense of
the torture chamber proclaiming the place of
what I once called life.

Welcome to suicidal thoughts
and choked up tears. I cannot make life
so it is a life I have to learn
to grow immune to so it wouldn't
hurt as much when it eats me up.

I am building stronger walls again
this time 'round, it feels
a lot thicker and much more
unbreakable, strong enough
to hurl back and crush me
if I lose control of this.

They watch me, trying to keep me
safe, telling me
things will change and I hope the day
doesn't come, when I won't be able
to see them anymore,
when the walls get higher around me
and swallow me whole.


i am back to the beginning
the dark rooms and me
scraping for air.

i live in reverse
i am back to
curling up
without purpose for anything
and i ponder death again.

i am back to hating my guts
for making decisions that
broke me
trashed me
killed me.

nothing would be as it is
if i never chose to hold onto
someone who
ruined me
because i was naive enough
to believe in love.

there is a reason why i hid it all away.

i hate the taste of my tears
i hate the sound of my mind
breaking me up into miniscule
hopeless pieces.

i hated being this way
and fuck, i am back to living
like this.

the sound of engines

it kills with each smile
to realise it will
ruin a lot to
heal everything.

i can taste depression on the
tip of my ears where he last
left whispers of
reassurance that try to work
but i gulp them down like
the drop of my heart
i can feel the sallow stabs return.

he is amazing too amazing
for me and my endless
migraines and seconds when i can't
accept that he's there because
i am too busy with things that
but haunt me.

i don't want to feel this way
but what if it takes me
needing to destroy myself and
break through shards of glass
like the super woman i once thought
i was
to see the happiness
i am starting to feel
but too weak to catch

because my ribs hurt and i curl up
trying to cry
and trying to
hold back tears.


These are all my familiar moments
peeling at my skin beside and
under my nails
biting it off
the spacing out every
other minute until it feels like my
eyesight has a world of its own
listening to music but
not really responding
an intake without
leaning against the wall
i have to have walls
walls to hide in
and walls to break

the familiar moments like when
i choke back cutting thoughts
because i think about him
just when i trust that i am

familiar moments when i
prefer my own company
to others
so i don't have to pretend it is easy
to laugh


Ash fluttering
to the sound of
fan whirring
i am myself
by twisting out of myself

an empty plate
filled with contemporaries
one minute i'm there
one minute i'm not

a car alarm cuts through
the 3.43am silence
with a vicious slash
and the weak, flickering light
on the thirteenth floor of
a distant building call out to me like
warning like

i exhale
smoke whispering to
the night
a flick of my finger
i feel like i am falling
ash fluttering
exploding to the ground


my body is tired
a thousand years of insomnia plaguing my eyes
my spine is on fire.

i curl up, my mind is in tangles
i curl up
but cannot shut off
uncleansed thoughts pursuing
my every blink

my nails are jagged and
scabs keep layering over
wounds i keep renewing
my body is tired
my body is tight
my body is old
and my mind is exhausted.

i float
i sink
will i never taste euphoria
on the brim of my lips again?

my muscles are straining
i cannot move
and my skin is tearing apart
at least, feels like it.

my body is tired
so tired
and my mind wants to die.


there are no expressions to express
no descriptions to describe
to despise to resent to hate
the way you stuff silence down my throat
and regurgitate out false acclaims
of obedience.

you scrutinize me under
microscopic perspective
but you miss out the fundamental
because i have become accustomed
to hiding them well
so you scrutinize a blank sheet of
human remains
without ever understanding
who i am.

i find satisfaction now
in tearing up things that mean a lot to you
and mean a lot to me - supposedly
but i don't feel as easily now
used to slapping concrete on my heart
and i am less prone to getting hurt the way
i can make you hurt

you've forgotten what
i've seen what
i've been and how long
i have dwelled in the dark

i am used to immorality
so what you feed me is nothing short of

you are trying to pull me back
to sanity
but doing it all wrong

one day you will crack and
go insane
and i will be free

bitter tunes

your double vision is clear and
your breath is heavy
with trying not to tear apart
i am trying not to tear apart.

it is not just a song that
threatens my heartbeat
but the thousand memories scraping at me
until i bleed inside and i can
taste the iron on my lips from when i
licked my self-inflicted wounds
to escape that night.

your eyes are burning and
your lips are dry
from keeping in desperate chokes
i am trying not to choke on
my tears
the tears that no longer show but
they are always there
on the tip of my eyelashes and
in a place where my heart cannot find.

it is not just a song that reminds me of you
it is not just a song that reminds me of
how much i hurt
there was a time when my mind died and
the song was playing like the soundtrack of
last seconds

i am the reminder of all that haunts me


the city is exploding with
crashes and
colour bombs
the view from where i stand,
where my cigarette smoke
can paint the sky
for special effects.

it is time for superwoman to
rescue the world
i play the game to feel sure of my make believe
for the city isn't really exploding
merely fireworks to celebrate the
irony of me
my cigarette smoke is just
cigarette smoke
i am no superwoman
no one to save but myself

but i just want to make my
jump from a torturous dream
sound a little better than
an end
and trying to claw for reasons
much more believable.

thoughts of a nocturnal

sometimes when you don't sleep
you spend the day up in a
wandering through hours of
reveries in waking
your mind is asleep and
your body's on auto-mode
it helps you through days
you don't want to be aware of
like everydays and
moments you live in.

you spend the day counting sheep
like lost causes because when it
is time to sleep
the sheep have run out
and you are back to wishing
you are asleep from the world
when the sun is shining
too bright to make me feel at home.

i don't belong in my dreams
but there is no place in reality
to fix myself within so i swallow myself in
and live timeless days

because things heal sometimes without