There's so much that you could say
to back up an irrational behavior
to cover for it.
A confession or
An excuse—
about a faltered mental state,
amid illusions, sights, incantations
of hearing a voice—
of exorcery
and of being possessed.

The only one thing that you weren't allowed to speak of,
was of you being you
willing the act.
Willing it
out of volition.

To be savage, and unhinged,
is a sin,
is blasphemy.
But why?

The Devil is obscene and real,
so is the savagery within
unleashed where you have wandered
out of reach from the realms of sense and conscience.
into Dionysian.

Dwell with me.
“ Come unto the dark.”
“ Let there be no fear. ”

Sipping
on my cup of tea.
Down it travels.
Clear and smooth it
slips as I swallow.
Chilling
coolness strokes
like beads of diamonds
down my throat.
Flavour blossoming.
Morphing hollow.
Unlike water with such
lucid simplicity.
Light shaded fragrance
of flattered flowery.
A twinge of texture
silky and sleek,
coaxes your mind.
Distinct yet tasted
so gentle and meek.
Unlike coffee it
does not choke.
Nor fattening like
lattes, sodas and cokes.
Now here comes the part
I loved most.
Its aftertaste that lingers
bleak, bitter and cold.

Just like my soul.

Always the first,*
to try
to learn
to see
to touch
to feel
to taste
to smile
to believe
to hope
to dream
to listen
to help
to fall
to win
to lose
to love
.

At the End of the Day,
There is no Right and Wrong.
Good and Evil.
Black and White.
Like the Wind and Dust
Are all but spectrum of
where we stand.
They never exist.
And never will.
In the midst of sawdust
Meteors and stars.
Ashes and ember.
Burning borders in
a deafening screech.
The one and only truth
lies in haunting finality.
Only gaining and losing.
Culprits made accomplice.
And in evil they resurrect.
Only winning and losing.
The winner takes all.
At the end of the day.

You could stray
in the dark.
And not feel a thing.
Wander on lonely sideways.
Slowly.
No demons' following you.
No boogyman.
No hooded guys.
They have melted away
till your veins went dry.

You could play
with fire.
And not feel the heat.
The burn.
The plumes of flame.
The sparkling ember
And still touch it.
"It was fun"

You wouldn't feel the rush.
that comes after.
The high.
Excitement fades
in your eyes.
Into pale pale
numbness.

Oh but without fear.
you could
walk on
rooftops.
on building-edges
on the highways.
And got run over.
Take bottles of pills.
With bloodied eyes and shaky fingers.
You could end the pain.
You wouldn't know it.
You could do it all.
But no one ever tells you.
And it seems that
no one
knows.

"How much is bravery?"
You ask.
"80 something years ahead, "
A life time
in exchange
It will **** ya'
Without fear,
no feelings.
no pain.
you could die.

She locked her thoughts
in a box.
Along with her feelings.
But she didn't know.
They are creeping
out, eating her
from the inside out.
.
And there was no key.
No code.
Nor passwords.
To unlock the box
She locked herself.

Everything is sad
if you want it to be.
Life is sad.
Living is sad.
Feeling is sad.
Hearing,
hoping,
all that you seek.
Deep down you know
is already dead.
People are sad.
Our fate is sad.
But it is not set.
It's only true
if you believe in that.

I love the taste of fire and ashes,
even the pungent sting of burnt charcoal.
Decaying in gasoline.
Because they were remnants once,
of who I was.

Disclaimer: I did this as a creative rewrite for one of my university lit courses, and all the inspiration and quotes belong to Robert Browning the original writer of "My Last Duchess"

HIS LAST DUCHESS
ARRIVEDERCI
“That’s my last Duchess painted on the wall,
Looking as if she were alive.” (I’m not)
Alas! Me, “a wonder.” He calls.
Now wretchedly refined and pasteurized.
To be consumed, now, for genteel eyes.
Pity! Should you ever see me roll mine.
Behind those curtains, you might have been surprised
To see my countenance whimpering
At you Sir; and seething, at Him.
Must you not be fooled by that sickly decorum
Upon which his manly pride resides.
The Duke—what rich talent in envy he has,
And of pithy idiosyncrasies! Pardon me now
As I speak of his infamies: Is it not,
Too preposterous of a Duke, to sulk
And take offense, over a blush?
(As if the blush was his to wield and shun.)
Am I not allowed to flush at all?
And must I be ashamed of being swooned
By the casual offers of life’s grandiosities?
Each and every, dropping of the daylight,
Ripen cherries in May and chivalrous gentlemen,
my dear white mule; must I then weep
at them all, only to prove my fancy for him.
And when does gracious gratitude itself
become in vain: a finite honour—
deemed excessive elsewhere?
Never had he plucked me out, for censure,
Before he gave commands, I knew he did
To pluck the smile out of my face.
Utterly clueless—he thought I was
To find myself throttled, for immodesty.
A wife, an appendage to a Duke,
Loosely felled, to stroke a green-eyed ego.
My fault it seems, is a mere generosity
Of affection: falsely opined, if not
Misread, to fare a defect of temperament,
A chronic malady, doth be cured by death.
To cement the farce he will, soon, bring you
Downstairs to meet a friend. (a fiend)
A prized possession: Neptune, taming a sea-horse.
His hubris incarnate, cast in bronze.
But you must know the truth, for the sea-horse
Did not perish for naught, she is freed from him
At last.

It's hard.
I know.
It's a struggle,
with no end.
It's getting messier,
day by day.
But never forget
Our nationalities.
Our identities.
Who we are.
Who are we.
Because this is
Our place.
Our land.
Our home.
And we defend it.

My mom sleeps early.
She isn't a night owl.
She lives in the day.
And everything around when
the sky is bright.
the streets are loud.
She leaves the house at 9pm. sharp
And went off in her snores.

My dad stays up late.
Until twelve.
And when the last 60 seconds
ended the day.
He'd turn off the TV
"Has been a long day"
he'd say.
Yawn.
And he'd go to bed.

And me.
I'm no bubbly girl.
or pretty.
cheesy blondy.
Maybe just a good nerd.
But I know the night.
And I love it.
1a.m. is free.
My private afternoon.
with cookies and tea.
And I'd turn on the lights.
Walk with my ankles light
off the ground.

Turtle hasn't sleep.
no he's like me!
He'd wiggle his tail and
swim
towards my face.
As if to say,
"heya buddie"
he should have eaten but
he knows.
he knows.
I feed my Turtle at
one
in the morning.
And he never says no.

If only there are Angels and Demons, Heaven and Hell.
Life and Death; Light and Dark,
Good and Evil ; War and Peace,
Prey and the Predator,
Lion and the Lamb
And Alas!
They exist not
as enemies but
to fall in love
with no one else but
Each Other.

Good will tames us
from beasts to sheeps.
A check to balance,
to lull and please.
The mind the instincts
long instilled.
Easily coaxed,
compelled, confused.

Singing folklores,
lovely tunes.
Humming mockery
alluring runes.
Days and years gone
past in fire. Burnt
bodies alive
Killed? No.
Sacrificed.

Six thousand years we've stood in bliss.
Molded by wisdom,
civilized hypocrites.
Ignorance trance masks
blood-ridden terrors.
What's leftover you see
they say humanity.
To me however,
A hollow excuse.

I wish I wish he'd
stop with the hitting'.
Whenever he's
present new
bruises start burning'.

I wish I wish she'd
know of my burden.
With monsters their
presence I
locked in a cavern.

I wish I wish they'd
hear me sighing.
Judgmental minds
present that
keeps me from trying.

And
I wish I wish you'd
see through this poem.
Acknowledge my
presence and
tell me I'm mistaken.

Because it's not.
_________________*
Alt­ernate ending: just for a laugh

I wish I wish you'd read through my poems.
Acknowledge my
presence and
perhaps,
leave me a comment.

People moving in
With their suitcases on board
Standing everywhere
Fumbling to their seats.
"MAY I SEE YOUR BOARDING PASS?"

Yes please.  

Plane flies on the runaway      
Diving into the clouds    
Into a puff of wind                            
and smoke.
We fly.      

I sat unmoved
For the rest of 16 hours.
I thought I had been fossilized.
Hardened.                      
But I saw it flying    
Us flying to mi casa
Time is rolling backwards
My lips tugging backwards  
No more jetlagging.          
I held on to a light of a hope    
with a lopsided grin.
Perhaps,                          
It's time to say hello
To the land long forgotten
The land with cozy saturday mornings
Where we have dinner at 7pm, not 9.
The land that I long to be in
Where I had been long gone
is 60 minutes apart.

Is this evolution we call—

Ppl becoming things
(so that)
things become of people;
Ppl becoming parts
(so that)
parts come tgt to
become people—?
Is that not what
all there is to life...
An act
(of)
parts masquerading as wholes
as hosts mastering over themselves
as us
at the center of this all
is the substance of reverie

;

at the core of this bawl
is the call of life.

Your eyes, your face, your
fingertips.
They were all my favourites.
Your lies, your gaze, your perfect
lips.
I love thee too.
And those words, you would
mumble
in my ears.
They make me shiver
with delight.

I like to trace along the
raised scars
on your back.
Where your wings were
brutally ripped.
They felt
rough and ugly.
But no
you're not.

Was it painful?
Was it not?
When you fell
from above
In that one place called
paradise.

Because I know it does.
When I did fall,
No not from Heaven love
it's Inferno and Hell.

Kiss me soundlessly.
Or **** me in your sleep.
I've drowned in your madness.    
And dived in too deep.          

Touch me lovingly.
Or thrill me with your lips.                
I've bathed in your venom.      
Darling',    
it no longer piques.

I only know
That if you failed to ascend
Into a position of power,
It could only be because of one reason and one reason alone—
Because you deliberately chose not to assert yourself
into the light,
and chaos.

To become a factor in the whirlwind,
A claw that stokes in the quicksand.
Struggling to live
as something that mattered.
To become more than you.

Once upon a time,
I was okay.
I was well.
I was happy.
I was hopeful.
I was full of life.
And a ball of fire.
Scorching in flames.
With eyes that burns.
A gaze that helds such
unyielding intensity.
Drilling holes into your soul,
like amber.
I used to talk
with sizzling wonder.
And I loved to listen
to your hearty confessions.
Often in the dark,
you cried and I cooed.
I was your shoulder to lean on.
I used to love it too.

Now I'm just breaking.
Pieces by pieces.
You may not know
how I wish you wouldn't.
I asked for oblivion.
I am
cloaked in the dark knowing
I have
sipped into the shadows.
I've succumbed to my fate.
Condemned and stuck
yet no longer scared.
Enclosed by the voices
in my bitter sweet prison.

Why o why, must you hate so endearingly?
Must you find reasons to hate, do you not find that futile?
Why is that that we must hate, when our time to love is finite.
Why mustn't we love, even when in hate
knowing, it is love amidst the loathing.

Potentials are nothing more
than dormant seeds lying
underground.
As good as dead.
Until you plough the soil
and sow the seeds waiting
patiently.
For years ahead
It’ll thrive and grow
and grow and thrive
flamboyant sashays
called
abilities.

We think so highly of them
And put em’ on pedestals.
Carrying them with us
like backpacks.
All our life.
pleading for help,
asking
“How does one get there?”
As if we don’t know,
They’re hanging on our shoulders.
Because we let them.

Pride is a must, essential to guard

The Soul Within you claim your own.

Vanity, a replacement, an alter ego

To depend and rely prior

The True Self is known.

You are compelled to construct

a man made core to revolt

Around to contain your thoughts,

your feelings or else—

your heart shall rust.

Then living will no longer be

possible for you, are blinded.

You can't see, you cannot seek

yourself in your fear.

Confined and so you had to pretend

to put up a facade, a mask a tent.

Untaught of the fickle you must believe

in the dark, the unknown, mysterious

*Shadow.

He's black and tiny.

Dull but shinny.

Disgusted with its presence.

People swap him off

the tables,

the wall.

Their eyes blazing with flare.

Raising fists about to strike,

their food becomes trash

in a moment,

the fly flies,

not anymore,

squashed and lifeless,

where it lies paralyzed

and dies.

That it doesn't matter.
That was her reply.
You help she does not
desires.
You may just resign.

For this is her story.
Her story in disguise

The girl who races.
Born in may.
Her paper faces
on display.
Behind a thousand
closed doors.
Just like her broken
racked dolls.
Where she lies
paralyzed.

If you'd look closer
And maybe you'd see.
The girl who paces.
Born in may.
Her paper faces.
She leads astray.
And there she
caresses
her lovely array
of paper faces.
Her only defenses.
Shielding her from
the shades of grey.

.
The more I think, and reflect about life, the more it strikes how little we need to survive.
.
But then the question of my life itself baffles me still.
In the name of
Cups and Wands
and Swords and Pentacles.
How does one figure out
how one wants to ease into the world—
in what manner
what face
what costume
what identity
shall we assume
in this theatrical muse of mass-scale rehabilitation.
Searching,
for the right attire
in a tolerable personality.
To eventualize, to officiate, to become
A masterpiece—
by the hands of time
and the wheels of fortune.
So that we may be made worthy
Maybe, if you were dealt with luck.

Fortune's Fool—
How do we know which
is the correct way to go
sᴉ ǝɥʇ ʇɔǝɹɹoɔ ʎɐʍ oʇ oɓ·
in hindsight.
To hunt for a halo in the robes of glee
while you dwindle in time
Abject, at sea.

Cut the chase.
Bleed. Heal.
Await the haemorhage and its evanescence.
And when you approach the Great Finale,
Be free.
.
At any moment of time, we have one foot in the abyss while the other lapses into ecstasy.
.

I don't know since when.
This diet has began
and gone extreme.
There was once
a reasonable aim.
But a new one comes up
whenever the old was
claimed.  
Crosses over the weekdays.
Tell me how far I have gone.
But the crosses goes on,
They linger far too long.  

I was counting on my calories.
Eating portions from my lunchbox.
No more than
a quarter
I couldn't stop.
I'm sorry.
But I'm not.

Led by starvation
my ultimate downfall.
I was saving all the calories.
For a binge at a time.
Keeping in my desires.
Till it's time to dine.
No my throat is on fire.
It's getting tire and tire.
So I kept eating and
release as
I violently *****.

This is all too
disgusting.
dreadful.
disgusted am I.
Nothing have I eaten for breakfast,
lunch, tea and dinner.
Spooning out from my
kiwifruit.
No one could save me.
From my one and only solitude.

There was this sound of
birds chirping
rain drizzling
children and flower petals
singing in the rain.

Jade green trees.
Blossoming like roses.
Booming lilies.
Nature into one.
Wet slippery road
made with gravel
leads into the
unknown meadow.

There was the sound of creatures
buzzling.
little eyes
blinking.
Awakened by the scent
of the brand new season.
Dancing like chubby
butterflies.
Like newborn babies.
With their little feets off the ground.

They all noticed.
And wore coats, hats, and boots.
Bringing multicolored
clumsy umbrellas.
Those finally come to use.
The air was still cold.
But its not like February
with a pump of warmth.

A crystal clear raindrop lay
above your palm.
It goes all the way
safe and
sound.
It was the same time
last year.
They say.
"It's Spring! "
in the air.

It's not
like the movies, or shows
the books and the novels.
hollywood's way of
cheesy gimmicks.
It's not
like the Hunger Games!
Where people are injected
with sweet venom of
credulous lies.
Where 2 tributes disappears.
Every year.
Because,
right now, right here,
we have more.

It is 2053.
Promises long gone.
Contracts expired and
conspiracy failed.
Betrayed.
Lied to.
Indoctrinated.
Abandoned.
Hands over heads.
We, at the mercy of
the Red Dragon.
His highness roams.
We, losing our grasps,
collapsing.

I dreamed a home of peace,
safe, with freedom.
But it crumpled into
a million pieces.
No more teases.
When they had won.

Some people fled.
Unbearable of
the roads, tainted red.
They got lucky.
But I'm just a fuming middle aged
worthless powerless whatshername.
Talk about pity.

"I'm young!"
But you'll grow old.
And I tell you of this.
I warn you of this!
Because I see it
so clearly,
so vividly,
in your eyes.
I see no future of us.
Just our minds twisted.
Blood and gore mixed
with all that we witnessed.
Just healthy looking robots.
Patriotic robots.
Who has forgotten
everything.

I've grown speechless,
secretive, deaf.
Running and hurling,
running and hurling
for what—?
There are only tides that beacon and retreat,
never one that lingers.
For how could love be blended
into such frivolous motion.

Tomorrow is a new day.
But six hours ago,
she was crying her eyes out.
Counting the seconds.
Like there was no tomorrow.    
And those memories
never strayed.

She wiped away
the tears and
breathed herself to sleep
it wasn't peaceful no
I saw her frown.

It was late,
dark.
and there was no one.
She has no one
but the horned faceless shadows
Devils.
under her bed.
With names
in her head.

Oh but darling,
it isn't real,
it was.
Because tomorrow is
a few hours apart.
Until the clock ticked six.
It is
a new day.

I want you to know that
no matter how
                irrational
                                  ­illogical
             dissociated
                                 disconnected
                 sporadic
                                 scattered
                    erratic
                           ­      brusque
          anticlimatic
                                 abrupt
        idiosyncratic
                                 volatile
   temperamental
                            and
                   ­               fickle
are your emotions.
To me,
they are valid;
they are whole;
they suffice.
Because,
you are only as absurd as you believe you are.

And absurdity's boundaries stretches linearly,
into immemorial time.

Paperworks and all the lessons
Sharpened my mind to behold
more and more of that useless knowledge
We would probably never use.

Tests are bad enough.
Marks at the corner teach
us nothing but jealousy.
The adults compare and
judge as much as they want to
And screamed and shouted
cried and muttered.

Exams are anything but better.
You got stuck in a room
Imprisoned
by the tension.
Suffocated
by the
hot headed determination
to strive for the stars.
Inhumanly high.
This isn't hollywood movies
Nothing like the literature essays
'how do we create tension'
the subjects
hold your fate
but you did once told yourself
'I have no life'

So what are we doing here?
Wasting our days
on something so terribly useless.
Insignificant lectures when we know
Accountants hated maths.
Doctors hated biology.
but they are who they are because of
good results.
They will realize
no teachers like marking
stupid homework.
They hate the red crosses
And so do we.
Exams doesn't teach us
how to be a good person.
how to cope with beasty bullies..
how to survive
on our own.
It doesn't show any real talents
nor your low (high) IQ
It's just a pain in the ****
You have to deal with before
you became wrinkled, grey
fuzzy and old.

You cannot break down.
When everyone else is expecting you.
You cannot break down,
When someone else is relying on you.
You cannot break down,
When there are those dependent on your
thoughts.
You cannot break down.
When you're a role model
to someone so young.
You cannot break down or you will break
his future.
No selfishness can explain what
atrocity it is.
But I cannot hold back any
more any
longer.
Time shall bleed me out I can tell
where I burn bridges
along
with all your pleas
demanding more.