where are we, amongst the haze?


this is the most intense i have felt,
looking into the realms of his eyes,
to see everything.

everything my life could be.
everything my life was.

he blinks, and i am now;
we look out the window at a dawning sky
and fall asleep together, the first of many more nights
of his touch tracing the map of my skin,
and a kiss on the curve of my back.

he is there, in that moment of golden dust,
all-encompassing, in full embrace
of all life gives to him,
because he understands that with the worst
you will find the best you can ever achieve,
like how i’d fallen through the cracks and stayed down there for a while
with splinter thoughts and memory minefields 
until nature called for me to seek light,
a photosynthesis of consciousness that has long been 
left in the shadows;
i passed through the cracks once more
and found him, hunched over, 
scraping out his last splinter
and our eyes meet.

falling in love is entirely natural and totally uncompromising.


it is the darkest point,
he tells me. darker than the blackest night,
he tells me, strangled
in the knots of bedsheets, lost in the scent of stale 
he is trying so hard to become part of;
in the turn of nocturnal hours
he is as wide-eyed as the owls patterned across the covers.

he coils,
into the threads of his thoughts
until he becomes the bane of his own

the curtains are closed.
there is no dawn to rise with.

i look at my bare hands that have learnt
the contours of his face and i look into my own eyes,
in search of his pain.

he is not here, in this moment,
stray and mind askew, searching for 
comprehension even he cannot master.

i am here, 
waiting for happiness to find me in the centre of its palm again,
and what more can bring me closer
besides patience
and compassion?


the winds have blown
and the leaves touch ground
in delicate search for gravity,
the way i search for calm
at the end of heavy rain,
where the air is static and my emotions are weary.

he wakes to a brighter day
and looks into my eyes for comfort,
and the voices under my pillow and
hanging off the doorknobs tell me
it will save him if i learn to look away,
because he must learn
that his truest comfort can only come
from himself, and love must come from within
before he can connect with it 

but i cannot look away,
because i fear the worst,
and want the best,
so i look deep into his eyes
until i begin to stare and touch his all
with the purest of honesty,
until i find a nerve and prick it without notice.

the storms return,
torrential and unforgiving,
but i have faith in the sun
for i was born under its light.


i do not want to listen 
to the echoes of empty walls
and empty embodiment. 

these hands

there are changes in the weather
that lives in your eyes; we will experience 
a high chance of storm
but still,
the sun will shine.

the sun will shine where you soul has hidden away from.

these hands were your shelter
delicate, but firm
the lines told you stories of all you could live for,
and you’d grown to learn them like the map of our universe.
now you have gone astray, 
like a leaf amidst the wind, spiralling out of reach,
and i only hope you will not forget the contours of these fingers,
these cuticles that don’t quite fit around the nails
from bad habits that cannot be broken.

i forgave the hurricane,
when i learnt its ways and learnt to appreciate
the beauty of destruction;
i looked in, i sat in the centre of the hurricane
and heard its hum,
calm and peaceful amongst the forces that churned and unwound.

these hands are still your shelter
no matter which way you wish to run
and the paths will hopefully
lead you to where you wish to be held again.

these hands are shaking, but they will still carry you
and still do their best

to catch rain.

of patience, of urge

courage, take me where the deepest fears linger,
teach me to swim to shore.
there are eyes that glisten with the yearn
for hope,
and there are those that look 
away from where the light refracts.

my days are towed,
heavy and testing on the pull of my shoulders,
bearing the weight of expired minds behind heavy duty locks.

there are tears flowing from a broken pipe
behind the wallpaper, 
rust and pressure wearing it down;
it will not be long now
until the damp grows through the walls 
forcing the corners to curl and
so the strong and sturdy, too,
begin to tire.

but all it takes,
is a fitting hand and the right tools
to straighten things out
and stop the tears from flowing.

notes for the beaten

the dust settles,
in the stagnant veins of your soul
and soon the spiders will
leave their webs
to find new home - then what will be left of you?

on a night like this,
i stand with my feet buried in the moist brown of the earth
and embrace the logic
that quicksand is merely an aid for the people who have given up

to disappear is a very easy achievement.

i take a step forward
and break the hold binding me to the grasp of the ground,

to disappear is a very easy achievement,
but what do i really achieve,
if i cease to exist?

the dust settles,
in the tire of your mind,
and i appreciate how fear has matted your eyes,
singing its lifeless songs as they were once my own to sing
and i stare into a rendition i know so well
listen to a masterpiece that once sounded its discordance within me.

hello again, dear friend
i remember you, and what you made me feel. 
why are you back, and residing so comfortably 
in the home of my love?

the scars differ, yours and mine, his and hers, theirs and ours.
but every dent has its purpose,
etched by similar thoughts, similar reasoning - or lack of.

our energies rise and fall in phase,
like how your negatives will never stray far from mine,
but it is our perceptions that enhance us.
we prolong each emotion as we age,
losing the ability to restore balance,
the way a child would when she cries over scraped knees 
then proceeds to fill her lungs with laughter
when her sister pulls a funny face.

so just as easily, your positivity will not stray from my own,
and i give you
through every kiss, every thought,
every touch,
every sleeping and waking moment,
the positive energy burning and birthing on the pinnacle of my entire being
and i will in turn,
caress and cradle the negatives surging out from you,
catching them as they plummet,
to restore whatever balance the world is missing from me and from you.

it is alright to embrace 
and take what life has to offer,
in all its entirety,
because choice can be such a selfish thing sometimes,
in such an open field of everything and nothing, don’t you think?

take a leap
with arms wide open;
somebody, somewhere

will always reach out.

the rain won't touch you

it is tender,
the traces of you that live in
the sheets, the door knobs, 
the curve of my neck and
the sprinkle of sugar spilt
on the kitchen top
as you rushed to make a brew
because you have no time to waste
in your clockwork life.

some days i will find traces of you,
in the dent of our couch,
when all is still,
and you are in the moment, 
with me,
caressing each second with 
pure, aching gentleness.

on days when the sky is
a tad bit too grey, my heart will sink
with your mood,
and i find myself framing the small part of a world
unfair to you on the corner walls
where the sun won’t ever touch upon.

you live in the soft of my mind,
where the glitches of my most haunting thoughts
are kept at bay
for the shine of your being.

the wonder of eternity’s rise and fall
is how easy it is to dismiss the
pessimism of a lover’s curse that everybody 
fears so much,
they fuel its presence.
but i, i dismiss it wholly every time i wake up to you,
smiling in its everlasting familiarity;
i dismiss it in the way my toes still tingle when our fingers touch,
when i still pluck out the stars that have collided in our love from the skies
for you.

they are milestones of an eternal love,
glowing from every intangible emotions we experience,
together, every film ending we criticise, 
every cookie crumble on our bedsheets
and every state of being we will ever feel.

i travelled the landscape of you
and found the site of flamboyant, frayed flags on bent poles
of those who had conquered,
so i sit in the chaos of what was once,
and hold in my hand the gentle breeze of a white flag
not to conquer you,
but to surrender to the colossal beauty
of all that is you
and all that is love.

you live in the soft of my mind
as i do yours,
and we unravel in unison,
becoming beautifully, succulently
and joyously


to a rock; you are diamond.

you used to be my hero.

maybe you still are,
when the days are violet and
i laugh at the way you used to dance
around the living room to Estrellida
and talk to the fishes; when the tears i drop
are not for you.

that is when you are still my hero.

it is appalling,
the way i have stopped
plucking out your grey hairs,
instead i cannot bear to look at them.
the way i have stopped getting your crude jokes
because the crude words have
sunken in and etched themselves
onto my skin when i was many times
their victim on the days your eyes are
black as coal and earth-less.

i remember embracing the tuck of your frown
and humming to your rants like they
are things to love,
and maybe then, my love was truest
because you didn’t need to be happy
and fit in my wants for me to love you this much.

my heart sags at a certain angle
for the stones of your heavy regrets
i inherit, yet these are not the kind of stones
we can surgically remove
or throw down a hill, because these are
the stepping stones i have acquired
in growing to understand the woman
who used to brave the world for me
and now sits in the dent of her pains
hoping for the world to ask her forgiveness.

you used to be my hero
and i feel like i am betraying you,
each day as they pass
when you make plans for a summer
you and i will not share,
but you make these plans anyway because deep down
you know they will never happen
yet you do it because it moves me
and gives you more to lose
when i too, become the tales of your suffering 
you will tell your sisters on the way to dinner.

today he said the way i licked my teeth after the meal
reminded him of you
and i was angry for the negative tone
but was i angry
because it was negative,
or because i didn’t want to be like you anymore?

i once wrote about my biggest inspiration,
and it was you,
because i loved every inch of you
and woke up to your words like gospel.

you will forever, still be the hero,
the inspiration. for you are
everything i loved
but everything i never want to be,

because growing into you has never looked so heartbreaking.

through the walls

it is a new kind of sadness
i carry with me,
like the overused plastic bags that have seen 
enough runs to the shops i so adamantly try to keep;
it is not heavyweight or bulky
but crunched up and sharp, slowly expanding with 
the weight i stretch it into each day.

it is a new kind of sadness
that finds me in bed, wide-eyed and struggling
with cold toes and incorrigible energies
sifting into the spaces of my centre,
catching me off guard.

it finds me calculating the meaning of happiness,
wondering where the equation went wrong in her mind,
where calculations are plenty but with illogical 
relative solutions.
it finds me listening through the cold plaster walls
to hear her yawn and remember
every distinct note and effort it takes
to be as tired as she is now.

it is a new kind of sadness
that finds me praying into the night sky,
for peace to fill her soul in a world too big for her
where some things cannot be possible.
it is the sadness that my tears can 
never truly explain and words become meaningless 
at the presence of knowing
a mother’s soul at peace
is hard to achieve as long as she is alive
and breathing into her cup of sorrows 
in the late of the night, clutching onto a demise 
that no chinese films or homemade meals
can distract her from.

i seek some rest 
in the soft of his shoulders,
in the reassurance of their words,
in the utmost reality where i am taught
to reach my happiness,
but there are too many hours in a day i have spent
thinking of her happiness
until it is mine,
therefore her sadness,
becomes mine,
but i do not have the strength to 
hold her life as mine to bear.

it is a new kind of sadness
i bring into a room full of comfort
in the walls with a sturdy door confining my tears within them;
a purple couch with a purple cushion i hold onto for dear life,
and a man who tells me
the sadness is not something i can
leave behind every Thursday afternoons, 
but it is something i make a part of me
and come to terms with.

to let go is to understand.

it is a new kind of sadness
that finds me understanding
the lack of shine in her forever eyes,
the sighs she lets out when she wakes
because her wishes for an endless sleep remain unanswered.
i understand the look she gives as she loses herself 
to the thoughts that live in shadows and comes out 
in the turn of the evening
because i too, have gone to that place
many, many times.

to let go of this,

is to let go of her heavy, heavy pain.

her day.

today, i miss you
not for your significance worth celebrating
but the outcome of today filled with
where you are hiding in the dark
and i cannot reach you.

i did not reach you,
and though there is a deliberate motif 
in this new reluctance,
i refuse to feel guilty anymore
for being too exhausted to try
because no guilt or regret
can make the dim light surrounding you
shine any brighter.

but it does not stop the sadness from washing in.

it is a reality i have to learn
to come to terms with;
this light that surrounds you
is not ours to hold 
for we have long been cast from it,
and no matter how brightly
it shines on certain days of the week,
you will always find a way to 
hide yourself within its shadows
but i cannot walk you into the dark of it any longer.

today, i miss you,
and it is a reality i have to learn
to face,
where we do not live in parallel spaces anymore
so i have to learn to appreciate you more
you in your past, your pained present and whoever you may become.

today, i miss you,
and this will be a new permanence,
but i will forever hold this eternal bond with you
on a mindful pedestal
for though you are slowly
becoming one with the dark,
i will shine my brightest light strong and glorious,
forever in your honor.

in eternal embrace

this dent is the result.

it is the effect from endless churning and
unmindful chaos in dark spaces of my choices.
it whispers to me the weight of the thoughts i aimed so 
carelessly towards a particular point 
in the core of my being,
now shaped to carry and sag;
it whispered so painfully i stopped
and finally listened.

the dent is the result of my self-betrayal
and urges me to push it 
and release.


there are many ways
to conquer fearlessly,
and bring up a shield against
the waning days that loom over
and taunt; to conquer until their
contours eventually bow to your heavy demise
and let you flourish towards self-healing
in your own time.

courage is beautiful when it rests in the curve of your palm
and the shine of your eyes,
for the world will begin to grow under a brighter light.

i have learnt to understand the fine line
between the merge of everything and nothing,
to choose which side of the line
to ground myself.

i see the world in its entirety.

i caress the skin of each energy that surrounds me,
like a lover, like family, like a friend;
recognising the smooth marble textures of the dim and low that
makes me shiver, to the velvet warmth that glow and
fill me with gracious, all-encompassing joy.

i learn to be wakeful,
under the tired skies of a slumbering season,
embracing the patient, watchful steps i take
alongside time,
guarded at first, until i can find enough momentum
to hold its hand and run with it.

i believe in eternal life
and respect that i will not be able
to see the whole of it through my conscious being, 
in this skin i am wearing.

i let the rest remain a mystery
for the lives after mine to experience
what my innermost subconscious will carry on living
after my mind will have long
unlatched from my tangible state of being.

this is eternal,
but my body is not,
so i will nurture all i have
to grow to their full potential and learn to be wholesome;
to exist in the entirety of my life;
on the fine line between the merge of
everything and nothing
i choose to live with everything,
and exist amongst.

i kiss the light of love
thanking it for its presence
so constant,
in such ever-changing passages
and believe,
that there is a reason 
i have connected with threads i have learnt to tie eternal knots with,
the threads of life i have crossed over, entangled with, 
stretched on, laughed with, cried for,
felt intense emotions of both extremities towards…

what i own within my emotional depth,
is a gift,
so i cherish it dearly
and learn to use it to bring me light,
not shed darkness or
hurt to the subconscious path of my soul,
where all should be effervescent and 
passionately on fire.

for life should be effervescent and
passionately on fire.


the bleakest of courage is still courage.

so i learn again, to not shed tears in front of the world
for the poorest part of my soul
because i should appreciate the sun
and watch it glow even though
it hurts my eyes, strain my neck and
burn the forefront of my thoughts that are striving to be seen
under the overpowering glare of the big star of hope.

the world is blind to what i have to offer
with my nothing and everything.

it is the beginning of something that i 
spend days hiding under the covers from,
and now i watch it open slowly,
then rapidly, growing,
like the earthquakes they never expected 
until next month.

the days settle like flour,
thick and tasteless, like the texture
of my mind, like the depths of my eyes when i catch my reflection.

i believe you mean the best
and nothing less, when you push me off the cliff of my emotions,
so i can learn to claw at the rocks, to want,
to live,
to survive the abyss you have caught me looking down at
over and over,
but i wasn’t ready for the push
when i had leaned backwards
into your support.

i dangle, at the edge of the world,
and i cannot say i am scared anymore
for i do not dare for anyone to listen anymore
because well, it’s just a fucking scary situation isn’t it?
so deal with it.

learn to be happy, in your own ways,
in your old ways,
in the ways that killed you and brought you back to life,
learn it, breathe it, live it, cherish it.
this happiness,
spoken of like a myth, like
a powerful spell, is here
under my grip,
but if i clench any tighter,
i will watch it erupt and disintegrate,
so i have to learn to hold on loosely
and adapt.

i wish you could understand that
behind my moulding, decaying walls that everybody claim is made of steel
i also protect this parcel of pain weighing me down on my other hand
for i cannot leave something that is made of glass
purely to gravity.

so i learn again to build the walls
and not say a word.
i sing silly songs to drown the discord of my heart breaking,
and despite the ache of knowing everybody would rather 
fix the fixable and
shy away from the one that truly need it,
i forgive them, and turn to silence too,
like them, 
for i understand why they’d rather listen to the easier answers
to their accidentally profound questions.
How are you?
i am ephemeral, impermanent, transcendental
and alive.

everybody are strangers
so i decide to connect with the
effervescence of the moon and step in its craters,
for the strangers point and gaze from all of the world, in togetherness,
with the knowledge that they will
never be able to touch it.

but you touched me.

you are my astronaut, my spaceman,
but maybe it is time you yearned to
take flight from this lonely orbit?

i can make things right,
but it is time and nothing else,
that is so precious to me,
but keeps being pulled away from under my stand when i 
find some balance again.

i freefall,
fast and wild,
into the gush of self-repairment,

because i have to,
for who?
because i have to,
for who?
because i have to,
for who?
for you?
for me?
for her?
for him?

when i just really want to, 
find time,
to want to,
for myself.

what is this world for
and what is my excuse for being alive?
what is yours?
and yours?

and yours?

all i ask for is time
but the world keeps turning
but they all keep turning
but you keep turning

all i ask for is time,
in an impatient world.

i remember the beautiful days
when the sun kissed your hair
and lived in your eyes,
the way you looked at me.

i remember the beautiful days
when you promised me
all of what i now only
occasionally see,
when you rested your mind on the curve of my thigh.

i remember the beautiful days
when i listened to our heartbeats
come together under your skin
as i fell asleep on your chest,
bare, just for me.

i remember the beautiful days
when i could shed my skin and bones
and still feel like the queen of your heart.

i remember it all,
and want so much for you to find the trust you
and the world have lost in me,
because my excuse to be alive,
is that things that are broken

can always find pieces that fit.

alone with a blanket

nights like these,
thick and deserted, live eyes that are
wide, manic, desperate, 
with hands in the pupils, clawing out for a salvation that is
sorely out of sight.

nights like these, 
cold and disgraceful, live lips now parched,
lined with dried blood. nights like
where skin off my face reside
dead beneath my frantically bitten nails.

nights like these,
impulsive and raw, lives I,
who lie on floors to etch closer to gravity’s
pull, yearning, pleading for its grasp, 
to plunge me down through these
layers and layers of life,
of cement, of plaster, until i hit the ground
and shatter,
along with the wreckage i caused along the way,
until i feel nothing.


then nothing can shake me.

it is nights like these,
sad and heavy,
when even the moon cannot shed light
on a soul like mine,
blackened with fear,
contaminated with madness.

the curtains are closed.

i am mad, i think? i think i am mad.

nights like these,
when i contemplate on the unforgivable,
and wonder if that son of a bitch
really wasn’t a son of a bitch,
and if i were in his skin, behind his eyes, inside his head,
i would’ve abused me, too,

i would hit myself, too, i would kick myself, too,
i would spit at myself, too,
i would throw myself to the floor and knee myself in places that cannot heal, too
because aren’t i just one colossal show reel of the best nightmares?

and who’d want nightmares
when they can choose between good dreams or sleeping pills or drugs or death or anything else that 
stops you
from having nightmares?

nights like these,
deaf and blind,
when it becomes clear to me
that the happiness i seek
is always inside me,
but i have just chosen to look the other way and

blame the world for what i am doing to myself.


these times are hard.

i lose grip of my thoughts
shaking in viral, contagious despair
in a locked room where white walls and crumpled clothes leer at me
because i have so much more to prove, yet there i stay
in the mockery, in the humiliation until i can
find a sane expression to sew onto my face
for i cannot afford to shed anymore tears
in a world full of rain.

i am the tension of guitar strings,
the sharp edge of broken glass.
i bite back works so carefully strung
until i unravel and say the words i meant to keep in the middle, unheard, unnoticed.
these times are hard,
and the days grow old and increasingly intense.

my conscience could be clear,
but can anybody really live with such transparency?

it is dark, where my mind lingers,
and i fear that i have grown weaker 
in the ability to find the light that is pitifully
flickering out from the centre of me.

i have so much yearn for happiness,
so much yearn that it aches, that it cuts me in places even you, my love,
cannot reach.
i have so much yearn
for the person i used to greet in the mirror,
for the person you fell in love with,
for the person that carried a different voice,
a different spirit, a different skin,
for the person i was proud to be, for just a while.

now i only try, and keep trying, and keep trying so hard 
- at what?

i disappear into a box
when i hate everything about myself and
i hate everything about the pain i feel
and i hate everything about the tears i shed and how i look and how i sound and how i think and fucking breathe.
in this box lives my passion, my sorrows, and my strengths. 
it is here where i am most free, because i don’t need to prove any fucking thing
to any fucking one.

these are hard times.

there was another hard time when i was
fragile to their eyes,
kept in a box of my mother’s regrets,
dangling in the forefront of my father’s worries,
clawing out from within the ache of my sister’s
long buried pain.

now i am fragile and fraying
to my own eyes,
and i feel it.
it throttles me, hard and strong like the waves of an angry
vengeful ocean,
my denial runs dry like cold earth, 
my strengths - or faux-strengths -beaten down,
reminding me that there is somebody
that craves the attention of a better world.

“these are dark days, Jarrod”
i say to an old friend who had played witness to
once upon a time,
when a poor attempt of a man painted sadness into my eyes
and froze it in place.
now the thawing begins, and oh,
it hurts.

i wonder when i last shrugged at the world,
scorned at the disasters it served me on a platter, and cannot remember
when i had last gambled my guilt for freedom,
because it is hard to gamble your guilt when you hurt
the ones you love in this process of self-centring. 

so i choose to stop centring myself,
putting myself off like the least likeable chore of the day,
a with this begins the disintegration of my entire being.

the night grew,
expanding and showing me a glimpse of infinity.
i am scared, my love.

i fear for the skies,
i fear for the earth,
i fear for the hours i am losing in the
bundle of my teardrops and the pull of my thoughts,
so wretched
so testing.
i am scared of forgetting what it is like to live.
but i cannot burden anybody with these fears of mine
except a man on a couch who tries to look into my soul,
or whatever is left of it.

i am scared, my love.

i am sad like the hole in our wall,
grey like the city we roam,
too heavy to move,
too stubborn to let go yet
too fragile to fix but
too eager to merely fade away -
so i drift.

oh, it hurts,
to hold so much pain, to handle so much energies that is beyond this body cradling me.

oh, it hurts,

to search for the happiness i know so well.

come forth, from the dark.

i watch the line of collected dust
dance to Sigur Ros, shy
in the corner of my walls,
and i weep for the subtle grace of the world
that are left unnoticed and swept away.

my tears fall for all the saints and
deities who cannot help her,
for the truths that lie at her feet
like candy wrappers.

my tears fall for the many miles
that fail to take her pain away to spread
across the wind.

our words have run dry,
peeling off like cheap wallpaper
in the den of her mind.

i see her blurred figure,
from 5 years ago shaking me,
holding onto a child she is losing
and i wonder if she was as angry as she was
because she saw herself reflected in my eyes.

my tears fall for the world she orbits around,
for its colourless fields of horrors she doesn't
deserve to trust.

the candles have gone out,
the winds are high,
but i will leave the door open
to the dangers of the world beyond 
where she has lost her way,

and hope with all the tears i have gathered,
that she will come in
with full embrace,
because here is where her mind is safe.

here is where we are all safe.