what really is the true meaning of life and why do we insist on living it?


questions infiltrate my mind
Intellect takes its prioritising position in my brain
yearning for answers, for the journey to that end
that end that so many of us have seen
where the protagonist in the movie reaches his or her epitome
to their motivation/philosophy in life to keep going

some have reached that peak, others struggle to keep afloat
for me i constantly imagine that movie-like moment to appear
somewhere, in my life.

yet i think that singular moment can transcribe into different variations
rippling with changes in its pool
with each decision as my stone skips across the ocean
tearing more and more waves
overlapping ripples with more complications and confusion

the journey is a long one and it may not be easy
but i intend to enjoy every step
learning, mourning, smiling, crying
vying for the end that dreads so near but out of reach

Columns drafted in pearl and eggshell,
Green vineyard draped over each one
Cautiously, meticulously decorated
By the dancing trees grown so tall above

Pure, clear water spurted out
Rivulets across Athena's strands of hair
Into her ivory *** she bears
The goddess smiles as the stream flows

Out the ***, it gushes through,
Towards a gentle pond
Becomes a lake
Then an ocean

Vast beyond imagination,
Where the goddess drinks
From her honey-gold chalice
Cupped neatly in her hands

Trickling down her chin
She gazes upon the reflection of a hundred souls
Dancing and prancing inside the water
Bumbling happiness and eternal bliss

A cascade of flowers bloom as the sun rises,
She waves her hand over the water
Glancing down, she whispers so dearly:
"Be patient, my child. All will come to you."

I pray this is the dream of the hundred souls
I pray this is my Utopia in White.

Drugs can be seen as happiness,
Happiness can be seen as drugs.
If happiness was a drug, I'd take it.
I can see the liquid filled in the needle
Shot through my veins, the world lights up
Bright and shiny, gleaming with hope
Finding the right phrases to decorate my smile
The people smile back, they wave, they laugh
They find spouses and friends, hugs and warmth
There's no more demons, no more darkness.

But this doesn't last long, you can see,
The pupil shrinks and the shine is gone
Laughs become groans; hugs become pushes
Away people go, backed to their corners
Finding for a dealer, another shot in the arm
To rid of the grasping dark entity holding them back
So many of them, tethered to a needle
Dying to be happy, to be safe and sound.

But Happiness is a drug, and it will always ward off
As you do it more and more, it's effect gets shorter and shorter,
It's always temporary, and you're always addicted.

Days over nights
cries and no fights
i recalled the first time it happened
tears slid down my puffed face,
unfolding my dented moments
in my mental head.

Confused, this feeling so familiar
why do i cry with no purpose
each tear propelling itself into my hands
already knowing when it'll wet my sweating palms
consistently surprising myself with agony
inflicted out of space and time, dwelling
surly in the darkness until it jumps on me

What's wrong with me?
why do i feel this way
why do i cause people pain by this
further causing more pain on myself
why can't i voice anything out
when the one voice in my head speaks so abruptly
directing all its statements towards me

Can't focus, what's wrong?
can't think, what's wrong?
can't feel happiness
can't feel genuine happiness
can't imagine it can last longer than just a few days
before this pain creeps and lodges onto my back again
tearing me down all over

What's wrong?

I can't:
____________

go to see that moment after moment
and work after work
i am so unhappy with myself.

i keep seeing myself in the mirror as someone else --
someone else i want to be:

happier
prettier
more confident
more capable
more of everything i'm not
____________

take this brain, nor this head,
to stir this mix of pain in my mind again;
why not let my thoughts of ease
to reincarnate my life into a life
____________

have things easier

why can't it be easier

(just pretend it's okay)

why can't i love myself for who i am

(just believe it's okay)

why can't i ever be them

(don't realise it's not okay)

when will i ever be happy
when will i ever be satisfied with my own self being
when will i ever love myself more than others
when will i ever be myself

-- if myself even exists.

iii (dying love)

he loves me,
he loves me not.
loves me again,
but it gets lost.

what sweet love lingers
in the petals that i carry,
falling and wilting
slowly but surely

i wish i could convince him
to love me more —
alas, it is now up to chance
up to the petals that he now plucks

one after another
my heart stings more and more
he loves me, it mends;
he loves me not, it breaks.

all till the last petal remains
so delicately poised on its remaining bridge to love,
hanging on a chance
on a thought
on a moment of hope —

oh so sad,
how nothing cannot save this dying love.

ii  

would you rather
get shot
or feel heartbreak all over again?

I for one, would be shot
but no, not for the reasons you think i imply
not at all

if i were to experience heartbreak
and it’s streaming flames lashing out at me
i would already be experience the equivalence of a shot

i’d have many shots at many clubs
trying to numb what’s on the inside

i’d be clawing at anything sharp
to relieve myself of the psychological pain

i’d have myself leaning —
standing on the edge of nothing
finding my feet slowly shifting forward

i’d have my body found on 4th street avenue
surrounded by the many willow trees and passing men
a hole in my heart leading my limbs sprawling out

so if a hole in my heart has the same result,
as the hole in my head
why not take the shorter route to the destination?

so this question's for you:
would you rather
get shot
or feel heartbreak all over again?

i

My heart aches
no, it’s not from heartbreak,
i know what you’re thinking —

it’s from missing heartbreak,
its ends, middle grounds and beginnings
and all the love  — sweet, pure bloomed love —
that came with it

It aches, knowing i don’t feel love
no i really don’t remember
how it feels to fall so deep and cry so hard

for a person
because they start talking to someone else
more than they talk to you

tell me,
would you rather experience heartbreak again?
just to feel the love you yearned so very much at the start?
to know that you have fallen so deep — loved so hard, that you dedicate everything
to only one single person

one single person

Isn’t it weird
to be unable to see the rain
at one angle
but able to see the thousands of streams of it
at another?

Isn’t it weird
to see your name on a book
at one angle
but then not see it
at another?

Isn’t it weird
to love someone wholeheartedly
at one angle
but stop loving them
at another?

Isn’t it weird
to imagine looking at the most perfect angel ever created
at one angle
yet see the devil and his sharpened spear
at another?

oh look
the rain stopped

The morning after
nothing goes my way today
fights so unnecessary; thoughts so pointless
i recall the scenes so scattered

Whistling tones, heavy bass
recreating a life full, of wonder
of the unexpected
of new experiences

Down, down, down, down
it goes further and deeper
into my veins
i long for it

blurry lights, red hues
spread across the room
rendering my vision blurry
slowly it keeps deteriorating
- please stop yelling -

out, out, out, out
it leaves my dreadful system
tracing itself into the dark
flushed away from my chaotic self

Back to proper consciousness
i regain my position
i step forward to reclaim my title
of keeping everyone at bay

Misinterpreted phrases enter their ears
the stars dance in their eyes
drunken thoughts collecting inside their head
misleading scenes play in the corner of their eyes

The morning after
the dreaded things i have to clear up
still they don't understand, they push me forward
to the centre of the stage, waiting for my play of explanation

Why are the mornings without the headaches
hardest to live through?

Quiet down—
Let the rumble come to a stop,
Let the noises drown,
Let your body take a drop.

Into the ocean of wailing whales
and silent sails, drifting
abruptly upon the
golden coast sea

Open your eyes
water’s rushing into your lungs;
Your hands flail
but halts
Floating amidst the dark bed below.

Vastly stretched views,
the sun rays penetrating the surface
giving you your glimpse of hope
beyond your dark, blue, cold endeavours.

Quiet down —
Let your body phase into the air,
Let your heart be found,
Let yourself find love to bear.

flutter, flutter
and there it comes again...
another soul that has captured my essence;
secured it, caressed it so gently
with such hope and promise
i was taken away.

flutter, flutter*
and there it goes again...

over the years, with the mistakes and problems
i cried myself to sleep almost every other night.

tossing and turning the sleepless nights away,
my hollow eyes dangling towards the edge of the ceiling.

i lay there, in the dark for my package's arrival.

the dark depths of hell awaiting for me to surface;

i enter the life i'm unable to escape
the rigid soul and halt of emotion,
filled with the distorted scars on the flaky skin
and the blur white canvas hidden in my head
creeping with veins of red.

the words that string out of my vocals
no longer remain as
a part of myself,
or whatever of my remnants.

i prayed for the day that this wouldn't come,
haunting the only thing i kept alive and beating;

the person i'm feared to face in the mirror,
for every night i go to sleep
when the moon falls into place,
i'm forced to look at the demon that lingers in my nightmare:

myself.

"How are you?", she asks
her eyes gathered upon sincere worry
"Fine," I reply with a tight grit smile mask,
which was unrealistic and lying --
for this I say sorry.

"Are you OK?", as he gazes across my striped red arm,
scabbed with souvenirs from the past;
"Oh, it was my cat," awakening from my drooling daze,
quickly fixing my mismatched clothing,
tugging on my cast.

"What are you writing?", they stare at my laptop,
I tone my music deaf as I turned around to witness a dozen
different eyes locked on my screen as I switched it off,
realisation dawned upon me
that my terrible situation had worsen.

"What are you doing?!", they shout from below,
they stole and gobbled up my happiness like a cannibalistic eater,
"You can't help me, not anymore," I whisper through the willow,
'Take my soul and rip out my heart'
-- to my dearest Grim Reaper.

As the sun sinks into the sand,
The pink streaks in the sky
Reflecting in the irises of my eyes
Fade away, leaving my heart empty.

Restless, I ****** up the icy rocks
Skipping it across the water
With each splash
I catch the encasing of the dormant half moon

So small in the corners of my eyes
Clouds clear, leaving the stars stark naked
Clutters of them mingling
Intertwining, attaching, collapsing

They pull me near
Their enchantment under the half moon’s
Drag me closer and closer
Until I feel the rushing waves reviving my senses

The tide rises
My time races
The gleaming half moon smiles
Down to me, grazing my cheek with its pure white lips

Amongst the shooting stars and milky way
From far, far beyond this deep galaxy
Eyes fixated, pupils dilated
My half moon hangs softly, shining from above

I write to you,
In the stars that loom,
My dear half moon,
stay for me.

Humans are always oh, so curious
their hunger for knowledge never subsides
and me— as a prime example of a human
pondered quietly in the dripping rain
“what if walls could talk?”

If walls could talk to me,
I would be able to run a news station
broadcasting blocks of news
across dozens of countries

I would release their haunting, beautiful, aching stories
to the public
for everyone to open their eyes
and understand each other
to relish in the aftertaste of candour
to comprehend history’s course
to apprehend our future’s course

to create peace

or would it lead to war?

If walls could talk to me,
would they lie and cast me out
to the world where I’ll be judged
for being crazy enough to believe
these walls
that literarily keep our walls up
are breaking mine down

But… if I don’t tell anyone about what I hear
will these walls haunt me
whispering nonsense and truth
until i see no line in between
driving me insane for belief

If walls could talk to me,
would they tell me the best things about history?
or would all the gore and unfortunate sacrifices
in their repertoire of sick realism
leak out their cracks into mine
demolishing my nature

i’d often forget that knowledge can make or break a person —

*so walls, if you hear me now
do not talk to me
do not tell me anything
do not let me know the secrets of life
for the sake of my sanity and yours.

Yours, Mine, Theirs.
Eyes, here and everywhere.

Your eyes tell stories
that can never be foretold,
the deception it writes
only for you to hold.

The blue of your vibrant lens
electrically conversing to me,
striking and intricate
in its details to be free;

Where trapped thoughts and mindless actions
dispute in a ring,
in the rims
of those multicoloured Siamese Twins.

With every emotion,
your daunting colours change,
from storm grey to rose gold,
I ponder to your range.

There's everything in me,
from what I see in you;
except the burning red compassion
for the love I held you through.

I remember gazing into the abyss of starlights and sequin sparkles of your dilated pupils;
I remember listening to your sweet singsong voice when you call for my presence.

I remember the feeling of your gentle strong hands at the sides of my waist;
I remember the smell of your lingering odour that inhabited my belongings.

I remember the taste of your sweetish lips locked against mine in that long awaited period;
I remember and know that you've kept me whole all this while, to lengths too perplexed to say--

that when you now only exist as a fair lone memory,
all my five senses have gone away.

Dawn light rises above my apartment balcony
giving life and colour to my potted friends
(especially the orange of my marigolds)

The chirping of blue, yellow winged souls
resounding in my empty ears
as they hop and dance to the harmony
of my shuffling footsteps
with sunlight as their spotlight

The chug of steam exits my panelled window
my rose coffee screening its scent
onto the projection of my nose

My vinyl records shifted aside,
finding my favourite one.

Sinatra sings;
Holiday serenades,
I pick up my pencil
scribbling away
-- a perfect sunday morning to spend.

Industrialised glam, digitalised intimacy
Rich aroma, dancing lights;
implicit wonders are unexplored
as they hide beneath the headstock
obeying society's stream of thought.

Rigour movements, sundried streets
hustling and bustling with only time to beat;
withering moments drape the paved sidewalk
just like the bland orange tainted tree in
your grave backyard (which many have described to be hollow and large)

Lingering spirits have strewn themselves over your covered sheets,
cementing their curtains as the bright white light
of haven glistens above their unblinking eyes
constricted by the deafening silence,
untoned to the faint hymns of children's laughter.

"Stop to smell the roses", the wise men speak:
confidence is their ruse; do not let it deceive you.
They hide amongst the similar thousands of men,
yet never raising a head to any of them.
These are the children of our future.

Senseless to surroundings, spray them fresh air,
Move their cognitive gears to move their oil-rigged limbs;
Let their creative minds sway to the rhythm of rustling trees,
Revive the diverse culture of our people for these brainwashed folks;
Deny the irony of being consumed, when you are the consumer.

An anchor you were, weighed to the endless bed of ground
pulling me beneath surface, down into depths of the dark.

Strong as you were, I kept slipping through your intertwining cold grip --
I resurrected; I embarked
through the ripples of our refracted memories
(with the rarity of your crystalline glimmered light)

Without you -- your touch;
             I feel the surmise of the surface:
"closer", it whispers with each finger of yours unlatched from mine
further with each breath you drown.

Anchor -- my anchor, you were,
keeping me under the shore, staggered, scattered,
            away from solace
why... When you've finally let go
I am finally floating/drifting away from the light?