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.

I find myself staring at rows of dairy products to no particular reason.

The pleasure of pressure brings no joy

Walking down old haunts against a flow of faces I will never remember.

Drowning sight in rose-tinted glasses

What if I don't want anything anymore?

These crown of thorns sewn into my skull to be a king of fools.

"The bittersweetness of having arrived in the future, seeing how things turn out, but not being able to tell your past self."


Swept the dusty floor with the steps you taught me, one and half step forward and back.


The sensations caress skin no longer there to feel it, having flaked off time and time ago again.


Where did the time go, if not here?

Where did the sand go, if the tears in your eye weren't caused by it?


We've always been alone.


You made living life a little better.


Goodnight, Lord Janus.

Your presence heralded new beginnings.

And we left the same way we met.

The bones ache, down to the marrow.

Creaking and sighing til you come back.

It's gonna take a while to get the skin used to your absence.

It's gonna be a while before the poison wears off.

Yours is the language of the body which I have to stop speaking.

It's a funny metallic feeling,

A ****** taste in my mouth,

A slight despair filled with minor joy.



You're me.

And I'm you.

Without you there is no me.

Dying for you, dying for me.

Perhaps saying it makes it right,

Perhaps saying it makes it true.


Reach out to me in your sleep.

Walk alongside me in my waking hours.


Shadow my every step,

Follow each motion through.


Marry the left with right,

Kiss the top of each other's forehead.


The king in black meets a foe he has been fighting for far too long.


The seer in white comes out to hold the king's hands with the words he has been waiting for a lifetime to hear again.


"I forgive you."

Your bitter synopsis
A raging storm but quite pointless bluster
Slamming against an echo chamber
Like the empty vessel you are


My practiced charade
Masks and more masks
Hidden away my visage
For my eyes would betray my thoughts


Her eternal solitude
Penance she pays
For the sins never wrought
In permanent slumber.


His silent auction
He doesn't believe in words anymore
Actions drag him closer to the edge
Making a choice he'll never regret


Their solemn vigil
Below neon lights
With smiles long practiced
And temples beyond restoring

Our voices harmonic
As we breathe
With that feeling
Fire scorching nerves
Drowning in sensation
Grounded in the moment
Lost in the space between us.

Hello there.

It has been five years now to the day I met you in person again.

After like, years of not meeting.

Five years plus a few days.

Ah.

If someone told me five years ago I'd be what I am now, I'd probably laugh my *** all the way to the Singapore River and threw myself into it.
(you know I can't swim.)

I wasn't always like this, you know that don't you?

Bitter, bitter heart of mine.

Though it is precisely why bitterness enjoys misery's company : bitterness provides the bleak landscape which misery just sits and broods for days on end.


But then again, I wonder.

Did your coming into my life herald my restart?

Was it the end of my reign of dysphoria, the king in black with eyes that mirror nothing but echoes of yesteryear?

Perhaps, just perhaps.


That one day I made my decision to honour both of us.

To fully enclose myself, wrap my soul around yours.

The warmth of acceptance and eternal patience for one such as I.


I remember how much you hated me writing.

I remember how much you hated me recalling about moments past.

I remember most bitter moments, and wash them with water when you leave me all alone.


But I keep your smiles close to my heart.

Remember how we first went out?


Through the glass, right?



Ah.

So much transpired since then.


Funny how I've become synonymous with you and antagonistic to others.




Perhaps they were the kindling so I could step upon the grey expanse of ash.



I don't regret the choices I made.


Choices imply responsibility.

And all this time I thought I had responsibility over myself.

But I didn't.


She once told me to love myself.
She once told me to be good
She once told me many things, but I never once was any of them.



Funny.

I'm supposed to say something melodic or dissonant here.


Isn't that what I do best, poetry?


But no.


This is no poem.


This is no love letter.


This is no song.


This is someone who has been beaten black and blue.


This is someone who is numb.


Someone who would laugh as the whole world quite literally burns around him and perish screaming, fingers raised in a one gun salute.


This is a confession.


This is me no longer in doubt.


It's a rocky road ahead.


Surprisingly, we taught each other how to love.


I, with my scars.


You, with your demons.


Your feet and mine in a shy embrace.


The difference between us like how one would view the moon and the stars from down below.


Yet fail to notice, the moon and the stars will forever be closer than those down below will ever be.


With a simple task and clear intent, but a blatant disregard for preservation, a malevolent will.

Even though this is all happening, this immolated man spent moments frozen in eternity with your eyes open wide, a circle immaculate, the simplest bewitching of a non-physical drug candy.



With calculated movements befitting the only dance we'll forever do with each other.


For every second crawling by, feeding the smouldering flames between us, harkening to the start of it all.


Happy birthday my love.


Here's to us again.

Here's to you.


Love, ZHB.

Finding the words to say,
Instead resorting to babbling semantics.
Victory so close at hand
Easing all sense of doubt (and courage)

Yesterday even though was rosy
Eased all doubts,
And united us, once and for all.
Restoration of hope, ending heartache.
So, we do the dance again and again.

Love, here's to you.
Oh my goodness.
Love, here's to us.

"So I uh, well. Heh."


"أنا  بحبِك"

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.

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.

The silent tick of the clock
Brings me home to you

The silent tick of the clock
Brings me home, to you.

You are the unwritten sensation,
The unspoken passion.

Held passively,
Arms bound around my skin,

Just the two of us,
In this moment forever.

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."

We're fiction as long we're not within grasp
My diction requires your palm on my crown
Your friction may just feed me benediction.


The heart's jurisdiction is a fickle contraption
A not so subtle crucifixion nor constriction
Ensued when I fought against interdiction

You've become my addiction, my mental preoccupied obsession.
A depiction of dereliction's eviction.
Never again will there be remission's nonfiction.