The sky gifts the ocean raindrop kisses, embraces it with shimmering sunlight upon its ripples.
The ocean returns its love
with affectionate reflections
assuring the sky of where its heart is.

The body's still breathing, but I'm not quite alive,
A soul in standby, simply trying to survive.

There's an itch in my brain,
            That comes time and time again.
It's like an inner plague in my mind,
     It only seems to get worse with time.
Emotions flare uncontrollably,
         I cannot keep them in me.
  There they are flaring,
        Always glaring.
  I can never be happy,
I go into a sadness or get angry.
       Sometimes it's big, sometimes it's small,
   Yet it's the same reaction to all.
I wish I can fix it and be happy,
           I wish I didn't get so angry.
Sometimes I don't think,
    Sometimes I can't see.
Sometimes I want to cry and ask for help,
         But then I'm reminded that I can't help myself.
Where is my mind?
  Why are people so blind?
Sometimes I want to die and leave,
             But no one sees.
  All the pressure always surrounds me,
          Pressure from everyone including my family.
I wish I can be free from this unending cycle,
                 Such a lonely cycle.
However I can't,
        No one sees who I am.
No one sees,
              No one sees me.

And she became one with the dust specks swirling in the Janaury mornings chilly breeze
Drifting along as if she had no other care in the world, smiling to and fro
Always in the front row trying to help others find warmth in her soft kind words of glow
When in fact she carried the weight of the complicated on her two shoulders alone
But she'd always be too shy to ask others for help
for fear of them thinking she was unthinkablely selfish indeed, although,

Although she was, far more complex to be understood at first glimpse truth be told
and when she fell
it sometimes took most time to see
It was most probably because they all believed
She had become nothing more than just a swirling dust speck
Swirling in the early mornings of January chilly breeze

Falling invisibly only visibly seen
when was she back on her feet
because what good was she if she couldn't be of use to those in need?
And who could ever be sure she was anything more?
Than just pretty tricks of the light
A play on your eyes only alive to mesmerise and not really existing for a purpose
Other than to please the people
But she was the realest thing you ever knew
And one day....

She'll be the one you'll wish you spent more time noticing too.