And so I've decided to come back to this same old place
For words to play.

The living world with its senseless debates
Brings me down for I have no say.
But in this same old place
My words gets a chance to be said (or read)

I wonder at times in the day
Why humans are so naive
To believe in everything that they've heard or seen
But not what that could be.

In the darkness of void
My mind tends to stray
The words that I kept and did not say
Comes tumbling out before day.

I wish people realized
That Words despite inanimate
Does have its weight.

Not the quiet girl that everyone thinks
My mind has been stormy with endless debate
Ever since I could think.

Basic voicing out of pain
My kind of verbiage,
Written words
I'm not confident of,
Judgement's my greatest fear.

All words conceived
Are perceived
In the very same place.
My words reverberate
But yet unable to reflect to other beings.

Speeches that no one hears
Rough drafts that no one reads.

*It's actually quite loud in my head.

As this year inches closer to the end,
I figured it was moving to the starting line instead.
The end marks the start;
Moving backwards enables one to see a larger view hence finding the direction of the final destination.

Indeed 'twas a year full of worry,
Haunting nights and lonely days.
But through it all with my Saviour's grace,
I've made it all the way.

When time has finally reached the destination that humans have marked out — 1/1/2014,
I want to say goodbye to me.
I'll start anew,
AWAKENED by the love of Christ.

I am only but human
Enclosed by 4 walls.

Once, these walls were miles away
Akin the earth from the Milky Way.
I had no restrains;
like a bird in the vast blue sky,
Like a fish in the water body of earth.

As years passed
The walls closed in,
Restraining and constricting
But never impeding tasked errands.

Recently however,
No matter where I turn,
My head hits solid walls and bruises.
But that's still fine I guess,
For the sky I still can see.

Now though,
A new wall seems to be spiraling down from above
Passing down from one hand to another.
Air that's coming in is thinning,
I'm suffocating.

I wonder which last pair of hands this wall would feel
For I am only but human.

After 12 midnight when everyone's asleep
That's your most conscious moment.

Morning:
Drunk on insecurities,
Busy putting up strong fronts and fake smiles.
Answering with slight twists whenever a personal question that might potentially break down your wall is asked.

Afternoon:
Weary from pretense but yet desperately holding on.
Having slight slip ups whenever no one is looking.

Night:
Walls crumple and demons are set free.
The mind is free from all restrains.


You begin to see things more clearly despite being in the dark.
But yet the demons which were also let loose continues to blind you each time you realize the stupidity of yourself.

Vicious cycle that can't be broken,
You broke yourself into pieces instead.

I'm desperately trying to push those currents of history
And kick down monsters
Because I want to stay afloat.

Kids learning swimming at the age of 7
Would all tell you treading water is the easiest
And most basic skill for swimming.
It keeps you alive.

But their swimming teachers didn't tell them this:
When swimming in the vast life ocean,
Not knowing where shore is or having anyone near you,
Treading water becomes an immensely tough thing to do.
Your legs get tired, Your arms sore,
Yet not reaching shore
Hence unable to stop.

The easiest thing to do is never treading water,
But letting water fill your system.
Let it reunite with the water which consists 70% of your own body;
Let go.

But it's suicide.

(c.c)

Poetically uninspired
With no means of inspiration
Leaves one exasperated.

No way to perform
To let loose those words
Tightly sealed within the deeps of one's own hell – the mind.

Without inspiration
Comes no exhalation
Of the bubbling fumes that was bound to ruin
All frames of sort that one could ever find.

Wait...
was that the last breath?

(c.c)

Sleeping in;
Waking up when the sun nestles itself comfortably in the middle of its trajectory.
Sipping coffee with a *******,
Book in tow.
This is what life's meant to be like.

Staying up;
Awfully sober when the moon reflects light from the sun in attempt to cover up it's imperfections.
Laying in bed with a finished book,
Voices in head.
"What's the meaning of life?" I question.

Vicious cycle;
Riding up and down the tracks of high and lows,
No breaks in-between to inhale life-sustaining oxygen.
Stuck in a rut,
Indecisive if life's great or life *****.

(C.C)

It's 3.56a.m. and I've got something to confess.
You've once asked me if anything's wrong and if I'm alright. I replied with a "yeah, I'm fine."
I lied.

You see,
0000h marks the start of my torture
As 0100h sees my tears.
0200h hears my secrets while
0300h watches me bleed.
0400h tries to comfort me, and get me to sleep before 0500h.
0600h I wake, questioning my existence all over again.
It's a vicious cycle,
One that I can never step out of.

My smiles in daylight are lies,
Deceiving enough to let people think I'm alright.
But truth is I never was, and perhaps never will be.
I love too much and fall too hard.
Words that pierced my heart resonates in me as I lashed myself with pain and anguish.
Taking pills akin to M&Ms; while downing coffee like water to substantiate my status as a human – I need water, air and love to survive.

Every personal question people ever threw to me,
I answered them all
despite them not getting any answers from me.
The answers and thoughts in my head
doesn't leave their sanctuary that easily;
They murdered me with their constant bickering.

Perhaps, at the next 4.07a.m. when you're awake,
try asking me those questions again.
i might spill it all out to you

(c.c)

At 2 a.m. In the morning
Demons come out to play.
Cannibals clawing at your door,
What last words do you have to say?

At 2 a.m. in the morning,
Only lonely souls are awake.
Fighting those stupid demons
With nothing but a blade.

At 2 a.m. In the morning
Have you ever needed somebody to talk to?
Have you ever scrolled through your contacts,
Finding no one you can tell things to?

2 a.m. In the morning
Insomniacs are wide awake.
For the pain that leave us "sober"
Is what that's making us stay.

At 2.01 a.m.
I bid my final goodbye
As I flung myself to those cannibals
Who are lonely freaks like me.

(C.C)

This silence is too eerie, this emptiness is too vast. I thought I've finally escaped this "hellhole". I thought that I've escaped into the embracing arms of Camelot. But little did I know, Camelot is an evil place brimming with demons from over the world. Shush, they're coming for me. Don't make a sound now, or else I'll flip.

I hear them breathing noisily thought their nostrils, congested with slimy mucus. I see them now! Blood overflowing from their mouths, unable to satiate their undying wants for human minds. Help! I'm gripped tightly around the fingertips of fear, "they'll never let me go" I thought to myself.

As quietly as I could, I tiptoed into the most outstanding room of this beautiful castle. I locked the door, double bolt, and triple bolted it. Oh, foolish me. What have I just done? This room has no windows at all. Those cannibals are scraping the door. They've smelt my scent, they've smelt my sweat. They've realized my presence and now I can never outrun them anymore.

I dug my hands into my pocket, hoping to find something that I can use to fight them off. I thought my pockets were empty, but thank God for hope. I felt something metal, I felt something sharp. I pulled it out. Guess what I've found! Upon sight of that metal blade, I chuckled to myself. I am elated. "There's a way out of this after all." I really couldn't have asked for more.
With this blade I'd win, I'd be triumphant.

So as the wooden door slowly split into two upon the clawing of those disgusting creatures, I've dug the metal blade DEEP. DEEP into my ulnar first, then my jugular. "HA HA HA HA", I cried out loud as I breathed my final breathe to show that I'VE WON, YOU CAN NEVER GET ME NOW.

(C.C)

She doesn't know why
She's the sort of person
Who converse with inanimate objects.
She can't (help) but call for the razor
Whenever she's in deep confusion.

She's not the sort of person
Who is able to use verbiages at her fingertips.
The tune her fingers play
Doesn't portray
Phantoms in (her) head.

(She)'s the sort of person
Who loves coffee and the morning sun.
But she's also the sort of person
Who hates her own existence
And find that she's no good for life.

She's the sort of person
Who doesn't believe that people care
For everyone who said that
either left
Or (wants to leave).

(She) didn't meant to be annoying
Nor did she wanted to be so disgusting.
She hated putting that cold metal
Against her skin which was warm with life.
She hated sticking *******
Down her only throat.
She merely (need)ed something
To take the pain away.
Her only wish was (salvation);
She's been held captive by her mind.

(C.C)

The rain splatters against the window
Calling out for you by making a scene.
It has been raining everyday
Ever since you left.
rain rain go away

My face is wet
But my eyes are dry
For the everlasting rain,
Drained it (my eyes, my heart, my mind) empty.
rain rain go away

It's cold here;
The wind is howling.
It's telling me, it misses you.
rain rain go away

When you left,
The sun no longer shine.
You splattered ominous dark clouds
Painting the canvas – the sky.
It'd be nice if someone cared,
It'd be nice if there's someone by my side
To plant daisies,
While calling Mr Sun to report for work.

But we all know:
no one likes traveling through the rain;
Everyone fears slipping.
rain rain go away

(C.C)

This is not a poem.
It's more of a lashing of words
To remind myself that I'm alive.
Let the pain paint my flesh
A vibrant pink,
Filled with vitality.

This is not a poem,
But it's written for the sole purpose to remind everyone,
I'm human.
I make mistakes; I'm not perfect.
I'm not a robot,
I need my rests.

I just HAVE to reiterate:
This is not a poem.
I just had to bring out feelings and words
I can never let out
Because I have to "save my face"
And I am "strong".
But I'm truly sick and tired
Of living this life without having any reason
Or anything to hold dear to.
Self destruction isn't bad,
When it keeps you alive.

This is not a poem.
But just so to let you know,
The blanket that's wrapped around me
Is so thick and heavy
My shoulders can't bear it's weight anymore.
Even the bed, creaked due to the immense pressure.

No, this is not a poem.
I don't quite know what I'm feeling.
But I know something:
I can't live like this forever,
And I need someone to realize that.

(C.C)

The ticking of the clock
One that's unheard of
Blares loudly in my head.

The hands of the minute
Seem to be running
Such that minutes become seconds
And time as a concept
Becomes nothing.

I feel as though I'm flying
On an expressway through time
Waiting for "past time"
To catch up with me.

(c.c)

Twenty six letters
When jumbled and played with
Forms words
With a myriad of meanings.

It's amazing how twenty six letters
Can cause such extensive impact
Giving life
And snatching breaths.

These twenty six letters
Satisfy, satiate.
They depict feelings
And tell "tales".

Twenty six letters I wrote
But none could ever express
The desolate and helplessness
I feel every single day.

Twenty six letters
I once hated
Became something
Indispensable.

Once, I hated you.
Once, I thought that I was happier without you.
But those letters turned tables
And now I write for you.

(c.c)

"You can no longer roam these streets, or hide at the stairway."

Where am I?

"You have no one to send those stupid messages infused with your devilish thoughts anymore."

Who am I texting?

"No more enduring long lessons which meant nothing compared to wars fought in your mind."

Wait what? Weight = M x g?

You'll begin to gibber to yourself
Curse yourself
Question yourself
Once you realize
The concept of time that humans created
Limits your happiness.
For you are human
Stuck in a world with a timed concept.

Vacant spaces
Filled with unsaid words
In between strings
Of Broken promises.

Memories never fade
It replays,
Catalyzed
By your name.

No more visible signs
To express your care
Nor audible words
Such as a
"I'm here."

Everything fades
And become (no)n-existent.
Not even (more) than a vapor
Of your vanishing love.

I would have told you
"I miss you" from the very start.
*But what if you gave me no more than an end from the very beginning?

“A rapid, persistent chemical reaction that releases heat and light, especially the exothermic combination of a combustible substance with oxygen.”

Like fire we burn
Combusting with love
Releasing heat and light
To guide someone to you.

Like fire we are
Both a bane and boon
Destructing
And
Constructing.

We build things up
To burn it back down
For from ashes we rise
And from ashes we return.

(c.c)

Daisies**
                On a field
                                 D a n c I n g happily
Bathing in the SUN
                          Soaking in joyful atmosphere.

Then humans came
And P L U
                    C
                         K
                             E
                                D them out
took them a w a                          y
                     From the HEART of theirs.

The daisies they shed
Tears of helplessness
With each drop
Bringing them closertotheground.

(C.C)

"Psst" I whispered
To the man walking by
My fingers curled
To bade him here.

"What's the meaning of happiness"
I questioned him.
"It's the sun that shines,
The clouds, the grass, the flowers and words. Yes, words."
He said with a convincing look
And so I thought
I'd have a look.

'The sun that shines'
– How the hell do I reach the sun?
Skip.
"The clouds"
–can't reach it either.
Skip.
"The Grass"
– they never seem to reply me
Next.
"The flowers"
– They're all wilting already.
Next.
"Words"
– What are words?

And so I waited
At the same spot the next day
To question that very same man.

*but he never came

Life is akin to a train ride:
A trip to nowhere
With no viewable stops for rest
No given time
To answer nature's call.

Food served on the ride
Are oftentimes bland.
Sweet, bitter, sour
undeniably included
Though only given
On certain occasions.
Nevertheless,
Everything given
Was edible.

With each a cabin our own
We hear A scream or a cry
A laugh or a snort
As Noises transcends up and down
The confines of this boundless train.
The pleasures or woes  
Of other passengers
Not ours to share
But ours to listen.

Fuel being finite
Depletes
Kicking some poor passengers
Off this ride.
Other passengers take suit
Leaving on their own accord.
but the train still moves on
Towards an intangible destination

Things occur on the train:
Diseases, celebrations, fights.
There may be obstacles, obstructing the track
The train swirls a large turn,
goes over a bump
And Into a cave.

But nonetheless
We're all together
On this ride.
*If we don't help each other
We're all doomed together.

A walking tragedy
Along the street
With lines on her wrists
And a smile on her face.

Her interior beauty
No naked eyes see
Her destroyed exterior
Judged by plenty.

She learnt
To put on masks
As though parading
A life long masquerade.

A passion for the arts:
Her body the canvas
The blade her pen
Crimson red
Staining sheets.

Finally one day
She has had enough
Of leading a life
Akin to drama.

She threw away all masks
And showed her frown
Took the rope
And left the ground.

This beautiful tragedy
Remembered for
Her love & kindness
She didn't knew she possessed.

That's how the world is
A huge tragedy
Of unappreciated beings
Leaving without living.

Neither a word
Nor a feeling.
It's intangible
But
It's alive

Indescribable yet,
Able to cause sufficient damage
Equivalent to a single life.

Just a single day
Hundreds and thousands
Die
From the wrath
Of Pain.
In the mercy
Of its insatiable desire.

At times
Strength from it
Though mostly
destructive

No amount of mitigation
Or medication
Will cease its existence
For pain is real
And so are you.

(C.C)