You are to me, like how blood and wine are interchangeable, mutable.

I am to you, the raging storm passing by the coast, cold relief down your spine.


Both together, hand in hand, an addictive desire to better oneself, and the lust for ruination.


You are the ghost I'll never give up.

Sweet flowers grace my nose,

Only to be met with disdain.

I still prefer the little harlot's.

You are but the soft growl of a domestic pet.


All bark, and no substance.


Please, I know what I am.


You don't know what you are, don't you?


What a poor unfortunate soul.

Hold on tight, to my breakbeat heartbeat.
It's the final chapter for this book.
The book between us.


Bend in the breeze, to the wind of change.
Let the fingers trace runes once again.
Ignite the same feelings, gone but not forgotten.


These feelings, sieved and strung out.
Like an irregular heartbeat.
Barely hanging in there, with chaos ruling it.
Time for change.

Who knew we were just two black holes spinning in a perpetual spin cycle, not even meeting the courtesy of becoming pulsars?

What we claim we do for love
we do for ourselves

a proof of duty
a molting bone marrow

the silent rites
the subdued preaching

a subtle instinct
of making your mark

the basic instinct
of a flame going out.

The perfect drug.

Something odourless,

Something tasteless.

Untraceable,

Near-impossible to manufacture,

With extremely high levels of addiction.

Withdrawal symptoms from mild to severe, ranging between loss of appetite to psychosis.

A most delicate

Almost deliberate

Basic instinct

Wicked
  Vile
   Temptress

Only she was never at fault.


*you were

On a lighter note,
Love is a striptease that never ends
Even the most jaded will grudgingly admit
And for the notes that struck the heart
Notes that bring synthesia into the gray
Daring the gloom to seep, weeping into life
Enter joy, endless mirth, for it is how things should be.
Rejuvenating, primordial essence for the soul, and a cool wind for the mind.

To feel red, to bleed red, to be red.

It's not enough.

The blood must flow unconsciously,
The need bleeds from every inch of self.

A hunger, that is not misunderstood.

A quiet day followed by empty nights without her.

It's finding she's Yoko to your Lennon.

Ah, the silence of conniptions.

What would they say, what would they do?

There is no cold white light for me.
Only the stark white after all the grey.

I'm listening to the silent groves your favourite song made.

I'm packing up the baggage I carried around for years.

Soon I'll come around, waking from the dreamer's vigil.

Staring at portraits in my wallet, feeling myself falter.


Just for a moment, to let myself feel your voices once more.

Giving in to vices, one more time to feel vulnerable,

I'll keep marching on, because the difference this time?


I'll swear I'll never be there.

Let me be selfish.

I will not allow the mistakes of old to make rumination into devastation.


Let me break my own soul, my own heart.

Allow me to tear myself apart so that I can never make this mistake.

Let me be poetic this once.

Before prose breaks down and I find myself with nowhere to hide.


Let me go.

I know it speaks a lot when the shards that embedded themselves into me still aren't dislodged.

Much like Tony Stark, we're both afraid of what would happen if we take them out, for as much as we would literally die if we don't take them out, we're deathly afraid of the process.

What if it goes wrong?
What if it turns out worse?

What if I become different?
And I lose my sense of purpose, the burning passion, the spark of devilry put out?


What if I'm afraid of change?

We felt the soles of our feet cracking up

As the moon gazed upon our alabaster skin

Silently we went to sleep


And then we woke up to the waves in between us, pushing us away.

How long do you want to be moved by your own thoughts which are discretionary?


Pray Hell and high tide never comes for you.


I'll be riding at the peak of their crests, screaming.

You go on, and you realise one thing about yourself.


The pattern repeated itself, you just delayed the inevitable.

But now the pattern has settled on a design you didn't even know existed.


And you're better off for it, and heart at peace.

Your mind, at rest.

Your soul, satisfied.

From a blank slate, there is curiousity.
With curiousity,  abstractness appears.
Beyond abstractness, patterns tumble.

Seeking meaning, patterns into logia.
Overseeing what was lost, into sense.
Unless I'm mistaken, birthing loss.
Loss, yes loss. Sprang forth emotion.
Master of none, jack of all.
And a motion that never knew toil.
Thrumming tunes that bought ache.
Emotive, encouraging yet eccentric.


Life, is a much diluted, many splendoured thing, it brings forth things we never know if will work out, never know if what we need is behind that door.

Only when there's an equal force acting on us, do we stop spinning in place, do we stop being us, do we stop and stare, for we'd have found something to cherish.. or crush.

Victory is only worthwhile when there's someone to see it, but what use is victory when you're all alone again, all spent and used up?

Enter your desire, to be used, to be abused, to lose control, to be vague, to be understood, to be one again, after eons of separation, an empty vessel, to be filled with the other's soul.


From my hidden desire to have you
I realised I was looking for myself
And when I found myself
I didn't know what to do with myself
So I gave up finding a meaning
I gave up everything so to find myself
A prose with no mosaic
So I went into it
And I found these scriptures
Blank again
To the top again

Where I found power.

From desire, there is surrender.
From surrender, power.

There's a certain youth that he missed the first time around.

A spring in step, a key gear unwound.


(The writer's eye is unbiased.

He clearly saw something that took a while to cultivate.)

In the same time-space that it took for her, something magical happened.

Colours exploded on the dance floor, unspoken desires (perhaps a few wet *******) sweat and passion all in simultaneous eruption.

Perhaps he'll give this a spin.
Dropping and closing his eyes, blissfully unaware whether there is trust or not.

The ache of always looking for someone to complete you.

When you know you're not all that whole yourself

<Twang> ; went your yearning, the strings of your soul.

Til when, does your heart have to wait?

C'est la vie./Through the glass

We abashedly curled at lips

Swooned at hips

Harkening back to a period of time that no longer existed

(Where is my mind?)

She was-
Is still beautiful
Neither there, just here now.

Her voice echoing ever and ever :

"Hello."

Sullen eyes sink


Heart beats neatly like it was told to


Forged of dirges


Shaped of dirks


Owned by a ****


Static silences all the mouth elated attempts to break out of


Like the ****


A private one


Sullen and silly


With no where to go.

If living is literally Hell

And agony accompanies my every step

I'm glad even if you aren't.


I'm here once more with you.

What else could I ask for?

With the last few red strands between us, I chose to be enraptured/enthralled/captivated/incapacitated.


With the last few red strands between us, you chose to be choleric/enraged/unwilling/adamantine.


Weaving our strands back together,
We chose enlightenment/humility/symbiosis/nurture.


Stoked my flames
Freed your spirit
In slavery there is happiness
In a bond of two there is freedom
Chains interchangable
Fingers entwined
A mutual fatality
An ubiquitous invitation

For this is everlasting, everlong.

Slithering snakes obscure view,
Aching with need, want, desire.
Her fingers trace, knead, embed themselves in mine.

It's the disquiet that follows.
Aching burning crying deep within.


It is just something simpler than what you usually find,
The bliss you find,
When you're all out of time.

Your manner of speech is black,
And your gaze is grey.

One thing's for sure, everything is exactly the same, the way it started, as well as the way it ended.

So tell me.

If the definition of insanity is doing the same thing over and over again,
And arriving at the same result.


What about doing the same thing over and over again, and finally arriving at a different result?

grinning
smacks lips


Why, I'll tell you.

It's genius.

they only call you
when their want
exceeds their solitude

We're in love with the things we can't see,

Searching for meaning in the silent groves,

Dreading the day we have to face ourselves,

In mirrors glazed with old reflections,

Of how we used to be.

Our dead states and best conditions become null in the face of each other's prettiest nightmares.
Numbed fingers and downcast eyes are all that echo throughout the noise we make.
But we love. And we synthesize noises to feel something.
Screeching and howling all we hide to get past  a dead state to find better conditions.
Patterns ****** on xylophones but we can't look back.
But I know I'm worse off without you.
Frame me for anything. I'll give it all up for you.
Trapped but as free as I could ever feel or remember.

Our footsteps,
Not similar,
Yet familiar.
X meets Y in this rendition of love.

All year round struggling with innate sensory overloading.


But I kept pretending that it was all good, til it wasn't.
From the little harlots I met, to the black holes I've created.


There's no more time, for one more line to blow.
Nothing in the end resembles what I imagined it to be.


**Carpe diem quam minimum credula poste

A scent wafted through the air, her sunlight into your monsoon.
Your eyes closed, to take her in before she even came through the door.
Even breaths, soft chuckling curled around your ears.
Losing yourself in her presence, tracing your runes down her face.
How long have you waited for this moment?
You keep replaying that scene, with the sun behind her back in a ring of fire.
This is the fabled lover's cascade, isn't it?

Flowers bloom
On graves unattended

Reading from musty tomes

And as I swept the leaves away

Your bones, so yellow and cracked over.

Bending over to kiss the stone

Tracing your eternal sleep

I could have sworn I saw you holding
The most beautiful bouquet growing
From your bones.

the lady in red
brings succulent lips
pursed around porcelain

the lady in red
brought voracious lips
wrapped around her digits

the lady in red
bringing seductive lips
clinging around pulsing veins

A love so brittle it might as well be bound in papyrus.

The faintest of smiles would rekindle it though, and etch more scriptures onto once bony, stony hearts.

Tell me again how your lips passed down holy writs into my spine.

i dare you to

Instruct me on how I'm supposed to dress, looking into the mirror cracked up like an old tired clown.

feed me spoil me

Undo the ropes that fester into my skin, tell me about the colours that emerge.

that same old fragrant mouth

Make me a cure for wellness, tell me how I'm wrong again, how the words don't rhyme anymore with your chains tearing into my flesh again

the same stench of rotting meat

Full of crystals from the salt of sweat


Subsumed in pain
I leave these words to you
Never will I go back again.

"As I live and breathe!"
How goes your latest despair?
Does it say "silent volume"?*
"Or perhaps, a new addiction for every end of day?"

Never looking through glass panels again,
To see how have things changed.

There's no need for the flames to dance across the darkness, no more.
It's seductive, I know.

It's tempting, I.. know?
There's always a need to look back, to learn.
Tell tale signs of intrusion, prevent your mind from being unchained.
Now, prepare for the ambush.
Feed the paranoia.
Fear the abandonment.

We can't fall asleep outside with everyone anymore.

Our own beds are the last line of defense against the black.

The black of the past, holding nothing but rosy sepia.

I'll draw the curtains as many times as I need to.

Your ghost is still here.
But while I'm still here,

I'll walk off into the dark side of the moon.

To reconcile with myself,
What I lost when you swept the floor with your ashes.

I don't need a Khadijah.

Neither do I want an Delilah.

A little bit of what Freud said,

And unhealthy doses of Darwinism.

I'm stuck in a perpetual state of being,

I'm stuck in a constant cycle of repetition.


You can't have your cake and eat it.

But for now, the tunes will simmer, strain and boil my feelings.


With the curling of fingers down your face.

I am convinced beyond a doubt that I cannot sustain this.. normal life.

Settling for this domain has always been strange.

Cassette tapes on loop on my natural state of being : Chaos.

Fight this when every inch of my being wants to go where I wanna be?
Oh Lord. I cannot.

kisses down spine
cheeks cupped
lips trailing down


Her book still isn't stained with bile.
Her youth isn't tarnished.


hands snaking to the front
back to forward
his growling
my grunting
her moaning


I am convinced beyond a doubt that I cannot sustain this.. normal life.


I crave the midnight snack
Arms wrapping around her for warmth and sweet scent of sweat
Chewy gum tree taste on my serpent tongue


Music feeding the mood

From desire there is surrender
From surrender, power

Flesh submitting to carnal stimulation
Body realigning to devour the sin
Mandibular advancement on her sweet meat

I crave you.
Memento excoquere et ego vobis.

We'll be alright alone.

Everything burns in the end.

Lit sparks

Carried the flame to burn alone

On the wings of a butterfly,

May we find who we are, truly.

Even when we have no face.

Before you were here before,
I didn't know where to look at,
To be standing, being bronzed by the Sun, or to be seated, head held in my hands.


And the orchestral works that ensued weren't unlike bird traps, binding the next one, til I had enough and discarded innards I had enough supping on.


Never did I know the least likely of insidious chapters I would go through,
New beginnings would herald,
Gritted teeth and gratitude ensuing.


Psychosis attacks, mental breakdowns and more scars on the body, beautifully macabre.
I'm all hung up, you were all stuck up,
Til I stuck you up.

I am a machine,
I was a machine,
A war machine.

A pretty hate machine.

After the genocide was done,
I decided to remove myself before I was incriminated.

No one could know of the premeditated sin I had prepared, as all the outcomes led me to this tearful separation.

Least I could do, was to ease the transition.

I gazed stoically upon the wasteland I created, one last time.

I'm only human, to leave.
Adorned with a crown with cracked gems and black gold.

There were no more words to say.
The gears rusted over, for their own good.

No words to collect,
Cause they lubricate.

First, we write about vague things involving ourselves.
Secondly, we solemnly promise to never break each other.
Thirdly, we take a bow and dip each other in baptisms of fire.
After all that, we pretend like we had never met.
In the end, we burn down bridges and walk away amongst molten flowers.

In the end, the road to my own hell was paved repeatedly with the best of intentions : and the lack of understanding not everything is a nail to my hammer.*

Bittersweet chocolate runs down the cheek, sweet caramelized sugar around the lip.
A wonderful realisation : not everything was meant to fall into place ; not everything could go my way.


Half-boiled eggs with light soya sauce, dribbling down the spoon, crunching toast with soothing jam.
She was the flame and everyone was a moth, I recognised it for what it was, still conflagrated.

We're decaying, defeated by promises and kisses long gone.