Did you ever hear about ******* Lil?
She lived in ******* town on ******* hill,
She had a ******* dog and a ******* cat,
They fought all night with a ******* rat.

She had ******* hair on her ******* head.
She had a ******* dress that was poppy red:
She wore a snowbird hat and sleigh-riding clothes,
On her coat she wore a crimson, ******* rose.

Big gold chariots on the Milky Way,
Snakes and elephants silver and gray.
Oh the ******* blues they make me sad,
Oh the ******* blues make me feel bad.

Lil went to a snow party one cold night,
And the way she sniffed was sure a fright.
There was Hophead Mag with ***** Slim,
Kankakee Liz and Yen Shee Jim.

There was Morphine Sue and the Poppy Face Kid,
Climbed up snow ladders and down they skid;
There was the Stepladder Kit, a good six feet,
And the Sleigh-riding Sister who were hard to beat.

Along in the morning about half past three
They were all lit up like a Christmas tree;
Lil got home and started for bed,
Took another sniff and it knocked her dead.

They laid her out in her ******* clothes:
She wore a snowbird hat with a crimson rose;
On her headstone you’ll find this refrain:
She died as she lived, sniffing *******

The ****** Devotee
tries to answer himself.
His mind is confronted
by all of its absolutes
of which the sunrise
and the sunset have no use.
He sits on a stone and mutters,

First, the gods win.
Then, the demons win.

and,

I am alone when I walk
at night, because the unborn
won't come from their hiding place
behind the new moon.

and,

Even more than the living
or the dead,
the unborn burden me
with countless good intentions.

You see, all his thoughts are fragments
because they accelerate themselves
through history to arrive
at the total ruin before the end.

If I dream about love
just a little bit longer
and a little bit better,
then creation will buckle
under all my conceptions and
I'll offend the guardians of fertility.

Again, these thoughts are so great
they are not even human, but that's
the result of dialogue with the unborn
when you try to resolve the unanswerable.

I need the music, I need a way.
I understand so little that I am crushed
        by time's passing.
Your basic elements, your distances, your beginnings
        and ends all so cruel to me.
I need the music for a time to be.
I need the lodge for a place to be.
I need the people, your loving so electric
        between us.
That music, trying to crack open
        my dumb heart.

                            All things long to know you,
                            my love of dark light.

I feel terrible. I am unsure if it is because of my recently failed relationship. But I'm sure it is a contributing factor. And for the fact that I get extremely affected by what affects my loved ones.

She suffers from bipolar disorder. Before I knew her, I never thought much about the illness. Like many others, I shrugged it off as 'mood swings'. As if its name alone explains the entirety of its severity.

Bipolar disorder is a monster. A thief.
And potentially a killer.

It tramples on your bed when you try to sleep.
It takes when you have nothing left to give.
It convinces you that your struggles are futile
and therefore your fate to be ***** by it.

Growing up, we had oppressive childhoods and felt caged by our country's culture of - study, career, ****, die.
We needed to feed our minds with more.
We needed select experiences that gave us euphoria and stopped
only when we could no longer
describe our emotions with words.

She was a creative mind. A spiritual poet whose aspirations lie in understanding the human condition. I remembered I was an aspiring musician turned designer, hoping to create works that could stir another's inner being. We had similar beginnings (It was as thus we were attracted to one another in the first place. We were creative people who did not fit into this realm of being a cog in the wheel).

But while she fully embraced her anguish and fought the circumstances,
I fully embraced the circumstances and fought the anguish.

Unlike her, I did not suffer largely because I have managed to disconnect myself from my emotions. I suppressed them all in a box and would never check its contents. And it has dulled me.

I was just another creature before I knew it.
I shelved my dreams to conform to the norm.
I lost my individuality and became
less disappointed by the system.
I hardly felt joy as a result,
but at the very least,
I could function.

And hence when we first met, while we believed we were two peas of a pod, we were starkly different people.

Our principles differed.
Our beliefs collided.
Our outlook on life were polar.
And these only became apparent
after all the sweetness withered.

We were toxic to one another.

As our differences and the environment were sapping her vitality,
she had to leave the relationship in order to retain her sanity;
while I smiled and wished her all the best
in denial.

I could not bring myself to embrace the pain openly. Partly because I loved her dearly and did not want to hurt her any further. And partly because I was afraid of what demons would surface from my box if I were to lift its lid.

But the box was no longer big enough to house them. With my ex-girlfriend's own fight as a catalyst, I started recounting the steps to how I became what I was today. Slowly, they were seeping through the cracks.

I began questioning why I was working
a job that I had no passion for.
Why I was willing to fall into debt so that I can pay
for an apartment in a country I had no love for.
Why I indulge in activities that further dull my mind;
The pain of my girlfriend leaving me did not make me wish to take my life.
But this did.

These long unattended sentiments began dusting themselves off and started becoming clearer.

They began tearing at my adopted self.
The two sides are scraping and stealing as I speak.
I was lost.
What then is existence now?

I have no idea who I am.
I have to find myself before death
finds me.

after three wildest hours
and forty four raging minutes
sitting up alone
with no witness

how can I quietly sleep
and evade to dream
any thorn-apples, foxholes
mulberry trees

in oddly detailed scenes
and the like sequence of visions
that chase me at will
shredding my precision

I better go somewhere else
but treat me well
when eyes need to rest
electric lights cannot help

so I've burn the cane
tonight on a boggy shore
and pallid fire came
and high above owl roared

And so the sheep did follow
                     and fall to there knees
not knowing the truth of there
future folly.
For those before clothed the Shepard
and Fed his many needs.

While they were tossed aside
              empty vessels of false followings..
And when the knew were born
                          the shepherd smiled.

Not for the birth of new life,
            but to fed upon there insecurities
   knowing when they could walk,
they would follow his words that were
               just leading them to there inevitable ending....

I collect crayons,
              that I coloured eyes upon.
All where closed but I painted them
                                 open...
Death can only have you when you
    shut those lids of sight  open to life.
But when there vacant it comes instead.

I coloured there lids that were
                                  closed tightly shut,
Why should I give it the fulfilment
                    when I have so much fun left.


I use blue, green & brown,
such pretty colours, I use hues of both.
       Remember eyes are mirages
                       of not one but three.
But I don't want it to take you,
                      that treats for me.
I colour you in, ill open your eyes.


But death will never have you,
          as only I can colour in your eyes.
Only I can paint those baubles of the soul,
          only I can colour in what's left behind.
l'll colour you in, ill keep your eyes open wide.
         even though your gone
                   ill keep your memory vividly alive.