mentalnotestoself

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2:30

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It's just a typical one-on-one;

we get over these things, right?

I didn't have the chance to say

sweetdreams and I love you,

& tomorrow things will be back to how

We

kiss each other senselessly and laugh at our flaws,

right?

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9:15

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Maybe it's too early,

maybe you're busy,

maybe you're still sleeping in

sweet dreams.

Maybe you need time,

I'm just being irrational, here.

But maybe, you're gone.

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15:23

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I feel like I am slowly getting life in control,

I look through all the work I managed to complete

today, and just for a second, I am

feeling accomplished,

So I decide to test my luck

a hundredth time today,

but regret the moments I, again,

switch on my phone

prayinghopingwishing

your name would be etched on the screen

like it is on my heart

like it is on my hand

like it is on my table

like it is on pages of my books

like it is on everything I have to face

because your name is a meaningless 

waste of ink

if you have

disappeared, you know?

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18:03

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White noise, white noise, 

I put my ear to my dying radio,

my only comfort today, and try to deafen out

the beating of my heart, because every beat is

every whisper of your name

because if it wasn't for you,

it would be a deadbeat today

and I don't need your memories right now.

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23:41

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I tell them I am fine

but my plates are left untouched because 

I eat when I am happy,

but I am not, quite obviously.

I laugh at how pathetic I look;

it is a bitter laugh, and I momentarily wonder

if I have successfully

locked my emotions into a place that is cold,

a place where my heart does not beat.

It is only a momentary thought, for you are

suddenly there again, in my mind,

laughing bitterly at me, too,

and it all comes back to me when I stare down at my hands

clutching the sides of the sink for support

like how I would used to hold your hands;

I am a very good liar, sometimes, 

even to myself.

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3:22

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I fall in and out of sleep,

trying to see if you will be here

in my dreams or in my reality,

but when you are in neither,

where can I go to?

I count down minutes to nothingness, and

the ring on my finger burns.

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9:34

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Clutching to his clothes,

I spend dead mornings breathing his scent,

whispering 'come back to me' - not really waiting 

for a reply, because none had surfaced so far.

Desperate. They say it's not good

to be desperate, -it's a turn off;

but I desperately need 

someone to realize my heart is not a punchbag

and needs stitching up from the misconception -

again.

Maybe it's a turn off, but it shouldn't be

to him, for he once fell in love with my vulnerability 

when he had put together pieces of my heart

& resurrected me.

Perhaps he lied, when doing so; perhaps he was just 

one of those who enjoyed 

putting jigsaw puzzles together

without framing up the final work,

and just crush up the pieces once

done with it.

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11:26

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I hate waking up,

not that I was even asleep -

let me rephrase.

I hate opening my eyes because reality hurts too fucking much.

Has something happened to him, it's impossible he can

stay away this long

We're inseparable, remember?

Come back to me and help me breath, please.

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11:54

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Time is like a Mini Cooper

racing a Ferrari.

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12:10

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It hurts less when you forget things around you matter.

Earplugs, sunglasses and

scotchtape-on-lips help,

and maybe when I wrap myself in layers and layers of 

things,

I can become part of things that don't matter

and just,

stop existing.

Zenith and I

we are frozen constant 

at moments where

i leave as he enters and

he sleeps when i wake, chasing a nonstop;

we never flip the pages at equal pace for he is 

forever verso when i am

recto; but oddity works sometimes like when

he reminds me of our

pasttimes and i 

whisper tales of our future.

i have multiple conversations

with the sky, i like to lie down

bare like sacrifice

with a wont to wait on lightning bolts

while he would grasp tight on umbrella handles, 

busy averting his eyes to

counting the number of grass he might have trodden on.

zenith & i.

nadir & him. - he is always staring down

and we can't help but see

things differently for i always

face the back of his

head as he runs forward searching for

me; a vagary 

i sometimes wished he never knew.

dancing in circles

I love running to him drenched with rain

grinning at his

disapproving look,

ignoring his remarks that I will 

one day die from fever;

I just say "You're boring." and

push a piece of chocolate

into his mouth as I kiss him.

He makes a face and

tells me he doesn't

like chocolates so I say I am 

teaching him to be sweet

and the best place to start was 

with his words; he didn't

take the hint but takes off his shirt

for me to wear;

"Keep yourself warm." he shrugged, as if that was

the best he could come up with.

I would rather he hug me, but 

I guess I always ask for too much.

He looks in me 

for I am silent a minute too long

and whispers painfully

"I can't be like you."

I block out the negativity and reply that 

it doesn't hurt to try

but he repeats over and over

"It does."

because it's hard - so I walk away

disconnected 

and had no chance to look back at how he now 

spends his nights under the rain

sucking on chocolate bars because one day 

I died from fever and 

his words tastes fucking bitter to him.

my terrorist

i feel a hundred and one degrees 

searing through the capillaries within my body

and it is the proof that i am once again

locking myself behind cages and

wearing beautiful masks 

i become something i am not

i wonder how he is capable of

noticing it when i 

slip away from him

the moments when my fingers

trickle out of his and he seems to hold on

and squeeze

a little tighter to reassure me 

i don't have to be alone in this

but i am not

for there are always those haunting thoughts

screaming and mocking

i am turning into those people

everyone hates and

jeers at for having no life

for i have no life in me

i agree

so why do i still feel like i am about to 

explode?

but i will not be as pretty a sight as

fireworks in the sky but more of a plane

crashing through buildings and

killing lives.

forcing onto gravity

i stab myself with a blunt knife
a million times until i am
numb to pain,
and the loss of blood makes me feel lighter
free.

i swallow shards of
lies and dishonesty that cut through my
oesophagus until i choke off shattered
dreams, i suffer from amnesia because i once tried
so hard to
forget everything about my life
every second;
seconds like these

i throw myself into fires and plunge
off building tops
without pretending i am superwoman
because i know by now
i am not

never was
never will be

i am just
a distorted lump of crisis and
public disharmony

i can tell by the precise ways i
stutter in tempo to the
malfuntional jerks under my lungs that
my life is
slowly slowly
decaptating itself

i realize how much i hurt
myself and others for i am
mute to exposure
and blind to colours

i sustain suffocation
as easily as i
let slip breaths meant to
keep me awake
i like the idea of
dying in my sleep because
i feel so

alone

and i know it is just
me and
my faults
when every night i hear the
frantic thumping of people
trying to claw in, reach in, break in
to me

but i have long stopped laughing and
i don't cry either therefore i just
drift mid-air with chains binding me shut

therefore i just

grow immune to life and its many
cruelties
beauties
therefore i just
fly without destination
and
sink without end

waiting for the moment where i start to

crumble.

seclude

i suffocate so easily these days

it is no longer a challenge to

fight it

i am defeated, beat, crushed, trashed, fucked.

it seems like every thing i say is never heard and i am desperately trying to 

get people to understand the aches in my heart in my body that i can't seem 

to figure out

but so far everyone failed me

like i failed myself

i want to be able to smile without feeling like it will hit back with a tear 

at the end of the day but somehow my instincts towards bad things are always 

right and i end up screaming at myself every single fucking night i am 

clawing out but so far

nothing breaks except for me

i repeat over and over things that i am sure of but somehow the uncertain 

responses make me so frustrated i am unsure anymore of the one thing i 

thought i could believe in

there, i don't even know what the fuck i was talking about

it is like a million 365 worries a day a year crushed in my head and someone 

turned on a switch that dropped the weight onto my heart without any 

resistance without any reason for me to cling on to when i burst into tears 

and cannot give explanations for them

and so far it just gets worse

subconsciousbreaths

you fit me into every category synonymous to

perfection

though i sometimes don't feel that way like

the way i sometimes feel you deserve more the way you look at me differently 

to how i scoff at myself the way i have done things that makes me sick and 

makes you fake a smile but i know you 

hurt.

i don't want to believe in sunsets anymore

because they just loom over you until

you are gulped down by the dark and

dragged through shards of

solitary thoughts

i don't know why i do this to myself

but you tell me not to because

i am everything you want

you force me not to worry 

for you have promised me the strings of

your pulpating heart which you

slipped upon my palm when i was

never watching

the way you whisper in my ear and i forget tomorrows the way you shower me 

with kisses that hold many forevers the way you shudder me with a trace of 

your fingertip on my hip

but i fret not over reasons you see

but the fretting merely 

emerges when i 

figure out moments when you

look at me like i am

Venus

when i feel as ugly as

the gargoyles of Notredame.

wishing on stars

there was a time when i believed in

horrible stepmothers and

wicked witches; i forgot about

fairy godmothers forgot the rainbows 

forgot the shooting stars forgot the magic carpets

forgot magic itself

.forgot prince charmings

i believed everything i did would be

chaotic from the moment my

heart had

dismantled

and every minute was

midnight when

carriages turned into

stupidfuckingpumpkins and

dreams were destroyed

i spent too long stuffing myself with

poison apples and pressing my finger on

spinning wheels

finding reasons better than his to why

i was insignificant

there was a time when i forgot my name and

spent hours in front of mirrors

wondering what went wrong;

there was a time i thought all was lost

.then you found me

and i believe in magic

i,

see your lips when i lick my own,

i taste you in our 

favourite drink. i miss your smile.

i see your name written in clouds and i like to

say things that you usually say

to me,

it is like you are here. i try not to

talk about you too much, but everything i seem to say is

"oh, and he likes to -"

i miss your voice so i sometimes

call you before i take a shower, though i

sometimes don't know what to say and

love it when you call me even though

i am busy because you

remind me that you are

thinking of me too.

i press my two hands together, imagining

one of them is

yours, it is like

you are here.

i listen to our songs and sing like

you would. for a while i feel your kiss on my neck,

for a while i hear your boyish laughter, and i 

giggle along with you.

i get uncomfortable when i 

miss your hugs and

try to hug myself to sleep

but just end up wishing i could

crash your dreams at 3am in the morning

just so i can see your face.

how to move little fingers

three chocolate muffins lined up

in front of me, I feel extremely

famished but

cannot take a bite for my mouth is

already stuffed with

sweet, sickening secrets.

i see scattered cut marks

and i don't know how

they got there

i see my mind locked in like

an insect in a flytrap

slowly, i stiffen

i cannot write poems anymore without

having to

pause and think of which word is more

appropriate?

accurate?

or was it

actual?

my mind is distracted as

i watch people who don't 

know my life

scribble blurry letters upon the

sheets of paper i once

spilt brains upon

i do not deserve what i am served

they steal away my

counting sheep

and sell them to people thought

worthier than i am 

until i have nothing to

keep me asleep

instead i am fed with

images of sharp knives cutting through my eyes

actually, i don't dare to shut them anymore

so no, counting sheep is off my list

for a reason, i suppose

;after all.

i don't tend to make sense, i don't even know

the point in me saying

i can't afford to lose another minute

to

fake promises - those you see when you

drift

away.

i say life sucks in

a different language so others

can't

point fingers at me and call me

insignificant

can't

laugh because foreign words always

sound better

i'll sell you a piece of reality

for a penny

a penny a piece - maybe two;

i have way too much stuffed in my

pockets

and i don't know what to do with it

except

stare at the things i keep in my hands that i

don't necessarily want.