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?

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.

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)

In your presence I feel edified  and loved
Something that I've never experienced when I'm with others.

Your love so great
You died for me.
But yet who am I?  
A lowly worthless servant who can't seem to hear your call,
Left aimless treading on this earth.

Blaming you is easy
Scolding you ensures nothing.
Yet,
When I ask of anything
You gladly give.

It's funny how things ended up like this
And hell am I afraid
Of what's about to happen.

I trust in you, knowing you'll guide.
You've never failed me.
You won't.

Prison is
A four walled place,
With people scruntinizing
Your every move.
It's a place filled
With foul smells
And
Broken
People.

Prison is
A cage,
Encapsulating
Your very heart.
It prevents it
From falling apart.

Prison is
You
In your very body ,
Controlled by
your own mind.
You can't do anything
Or say a thing,
When it decides
To shut you up.

(c.c)

I walk round
And round
And round
Hoping to hit my ten
Thousand steps.
How many calories does that
burn?

I end up eating
And eating
And eating
All 3 meals they serve
Me. Do I deserve
This?
How many calories do they
Have?

I lay and think
And think
And think
Why am I still
Alive?
Why did I not ****
Myself
Right
This
Time?

Everyone heard the rain.
Everyone felt it.
Everyone ran,
seeking shelter.

I hear the rain.
I don’t feel it.
I feel my own teardrops.
It trickled down on my face,
like raindrops falling on the pavements.
I ran
seeking solace,
but found none.

(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)

I'm  back to where I've started:

Stained Sheets
Scarred Wrists
Silent Breaks
Subtle Hints
Screaming Mind
Shattering Heart
Shoulders Drooping,
                                     from the bar.

Hot hard heartless tarmac
How do you feel?
I hear the sound of screeching tires and footsteps
Does it hurt you?
I'm envious, you
Get to stare at the blue cloudy skies all day and
see little black birds
flaunt their free will.
How is the view?
You are so constant,
Always black and
sometimes grey but
never white.
You never seem to let
anything determine your
worth.
Could you just please
teach me how too?

I'm so sick and tired of all these.
Medication in the morning
Medication in the evening
As though it even helps.

I still feel the same pang of sadness
Stealing my breath
As my body collides into solid wall.
Bone breaking,
Heart shattering,
I might as well be dead.

I still feel the fat
Hanging off my body
Akin to ornaments
On a Christmas tree.
But,
Ornaments unlike fats
Is a pretty sight.

Funny how I feel more alone
With more people knowing
Who "I" really am.
(But who knows if this is even real)
This is like another hell altogether,
Probably a deeper hell than before.

How to I get out of this labyrinth?
This **** puzzle is unsolvable.

SOMEONE, TAKE ME OUT PLEASE!

An empty train,
A clouded mind.

Vacant spaces transpire
Havoc caused by thee
Running in circles
Back to square one.

Water vapors reminisce
Your presence
As dotted lines
Started to fade

Parallel;
Our lives now
Strangers we once were
Strangers we are 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)

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)

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.

And we return back to square one:
where windows are grilled and
hierarchy is based on what you wear.
where movements are restricted but
thoughts run wild without restrains.
A square is not a circle.
But yet,
Acts like one.

Things come in full circle. 

Life is humorously ironic.

Say hello to your new friend
That is called
Anorexia Nervosa.
Rigid are her ways,
Viscious her thoughts,
Endless commitment.

The number on the scale
Becomes very real.
When food becomes kilojoules
And
Cravings become nil.

The number on the scale
Shouldn't be like a rusty nail.
Causing a wound
that never seems to heal,
that spreads till you're ill.

The number on the scale
is now fear.
For somehow worth is
Equals to
The number on the scale.

The number on the scale
Haunts till
The number on the scale
Decreases to
The (smaller) Number on the scale.

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)

This is the first
Ordinary good
One
Thing that has
Happened.
Please, don’t
Attribute it to fate but
Seize
The moment before
Everything fades.

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.

Stuck in a dark box
With nowhere and
Nothing
To do.
My hands and legs
Are restrained,
But my mind runs
Free.

What is there
To do anymore?
What is there
But an escape from
Reality
As the only option?

I’m tired and exhausted,
Sobs stifled,
Overwhelming feelings,
But i am dead already.

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)

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)

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)

Knives not walls
Surrounds me.
Oh the sweet melody,
Of death's calling.

Which way oh dear thee
Would thou choose?

I'd die near the top/where no one sees/ go down strong/ fight back up again

Things strewn around the house
Shirts on sheets and shoes unsymmetrically
placed on the dog-earred floor mat
That spells “welcome” but
Thick layers of Dust and dirt
Reduced it to a “wel”

Splashes of paint on a plain,
Blank canvas followed by red
Angry slashes. 1...2...3... uncountable.
Black patches of spilled ink
Followed by smeared blotches
The paper is not clean
Anymore.

Butterflies in ribcages let loose,
Broken bones and
Insects crawling under my skin.
Chipped nails and dried blood,
Skin flakes off
Me.?

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.

I want to write but at
this point in time my
head is empty.
ironically, heavy as well,
I stop writing, to hold it
back up.