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Lim Peh Sep 2018
"They make a dollar.
While I make a dime.
That's why I always ****,
On company time."

Why do you waste your life
Making dimes and quarters
When you can spend your mind and time
To go make some dollars
Lim Peh Sep 2018
But deep down, I already know that I don't apply myself enough. The actions I prioritize and choose to make of my own volition are not in alignment what I think is ideal for me.

Choosing to play a victim battling against his demons, with countless ups and downs. The story never hitting the ******, in fear and anxiety of what unknown variables comes after.

As I know to be true whenever I am down, I will go up. But when I am up, I do not take the actions to progress upwards even further because I don't want to increase the expectations of myself. So I am happy with these hollow meaningless victories against the "torments" of my mind.
It is not poem. It is prose. Yeah I guess.
Lim Peh Sep 2018
Somehow I get a feel of what Da Vinci means by "The sadness will last forever."

The good thing is, I won't.
Lim Peh Sep 2018
it will all be over in an instant.
Firers watch your front.
just put it in.
Magazine of 4 rounds loaded.
lift it upwards is all you have to do.
Hold your breath and fire when you see the lights.
point it up and pull the trigger.
Gently squeeze the trigger, don't snap your finger.
- - - -
All rounds expended.
Good job, 4 targets.
Lim Peh Aug 2018
They're saying starve the ego.
They're saying feed the soul.
But for some reason nobody's mentioned,
they are two sides of the same whole.
Lim Peh Jun 2018
With regards to the phrase,
"I'd rather cry in a ferrari than on a bicycle."
Seldom do people ask why they cry to begin.
And it's saddening.
Lim Peh Jan 2018
I'm afraid of reflecting on myself.

The pressure of expectations of the selves over the years leaves a bitter emotion.
I want to stop writing.
I feel cold.
The fingers want to retract into balled fists.
The instinct is to curl into fetal position.
The voice lets out a primal moan of agony, of what the self has been through yet knows it hasn't gone through utter despair so the moan fades into a whimper.
The eyes want to close, the eyelids squint, the eyebrows scrunches, the forehead raised.
Irregular breathing.
The back of the hand smashes into the wall behind him.
The fingers loosen.
Silent screaming.
The soul cries out.


I need a glass of water.
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