It was the strangest thing;
I was all alone,
Like I always was
Then your face flashed in my head
And the me who promised herself a solitary future and whom have always been alone started to hope,
Started to dream of things that would've scared the younger me into an episode.

Perhaps it was because you are unattainable
Or because you seem perfectly happy,
That I wasn't scared to picture you,
because it's safe,
Because we'll never be.
But I was struck with this longing for life and happiness;
a companion and a partner;
Yet overwhelmed with fear and anxiety,
Of revealing and committing myself.

These thoughts were so utterly pathetic,
And so normal that I didn't know what to do with myself.
Am I to laugh or cry or go about my day,
It baffled me and left an aching in my heart.

Perhaps one day I'll see a person who is enough in the mirror or meet another who makes me feel like it but till then I shall pretend that I've got no idea what these feelings are.

Ridiculous really.

All of a sudden I was this
sarcastic, tired cynic
who had a love for
hope and innocent beings.
It was almost a
beautiful contradiction
in this dark web
I spun within myself.
Now if only I get prey willing to stick around past my meal time.

I procrastinate
And as deadlines approach
Anxiety buds and bubbles
And yet I sit staring at the question
Reading and rereading
Thinking 5 steps forward in its entirety
and scaring myself with reality
I tried clearing the haze from my gaze
And getting my head in the game
But then the heart starts pounding relentlessly
And I clutched at it, an excuse to sink into the comfortable darkness
Then I wondered why I'm living without really living
There was naught I didn't put off
And it wasn't as though work was put off for real fun
I put off life to sink into inactivity
I get out of days and weeks from bed with weakened legs and an aching back,
Friends no where in sight, life barely existent
Is living really necessary after all?
I questioned and floated in constructed pain and darkness
Such fortune for a kid to have a shelter above her head, well fed with nothing lacking yet why
Why why why
Why am I still in an endless loop
Why am I still here
Am I necessary after all
Of course not
But it is as though the brain has no power over the heart
I operate on id, ego rarely at work
And it's a devastating tale of the hopeless
One after another with naught but excuses

No other way could express
this aching heart better
Than a protection of the soul
from the  poison of the mind.

But all this hand wants to do now
is reach in
and feel heartbeats slow and cease,
caught underneath the nails
and squeezed beyond fingers,
detached and unrecognisable.

I found warmth,
in water that scalds.

I found love,
in books that move.

I found reality,
in marks that scars.

I found joy,
in comedy and satirists.

I found utter devastation,
in this heart that won't stop beating.

It hurts,
it aches,
it wrecks me whole.

No soul must know,
no soul can know.

But the pain is eating me whole,
inch by inch,
till darkness overwhelms my bones.

I bawled and I clawed,
at the flesh on my arms,
On my thighs,
Steaming hot water running down my chest,
Eyes full of hatred,
Tears full of despair,
Then I waited,
Hugging my knees under the cold shower,
For the marks to subside.

When I stood,
Water cascaded peacefully down my arms
My hands covered my ears,
And echos consumed me,
Memories started playing,
Images haunting and voices screaming.

It was suffocating,
So suffocating,
My head started banging against the cold tiles
But everything was clear,
The reason of all the pain,
Was a map that leads to me.

I crumbled yet again under the shower,
Voices rise in merry right out that door,
And I wailed a soundless plea of help,
Chanting their names like they'd turn and reach for me,
Like everything will be fine after.

But nothing will be fine,
Nothing will be fine at all.

I picked myself up,
Scrubbed myself down,
And stared at the mirror,
A smile plastered on,
staring right into my eyes,
And I smiled wider,
Grinned on the way to my room,
Smiled in the mirror and laughed,
Laughed as hard as I could,
And went about my day.

My hand is stained.

I see it no matter,
I feel it regardless.

The hatred runs deep,
the violence boils beneath.

In a mask for the mass,
humour was the course.

In a platter for the rest,
a distortion was forced.

Depravity a mistake,
Society a joke,
Pain a fortune.

You've seen nothing here,
You've heard nothing.

Turn around,
away from me,
so I can be free.

"Nothing has been, Nothing is to be."

Blood dripping down my eyes,
yet another soul I spurned.

Another step you took,
away from me,
and another,
and another,
I hear you loud and clear,
I get you more than any other.

I've embraced you a million times in my mind,
this,
is you embracing me.

You're the only piece of security,
and I long for your arms around me,
the love,
the comfort,
the understanding.

Yet I'm shaking on the hard floor,
back against the wall,
bawling my heart out,
gasping for air,
as I tighten my jaw to rein my voice in.

You'd cry if I told you.

So I sealed the emotions from my eyes,
swallowed my heart
and swore myself to eternal secrecy.

I knew everything had an expiry date.

But I thought things would be
different this time.

That they are different.

Perhaps I revealed  too much.
Perhaps I said  too little.
Perhaps I laughed too loud.
Perhaps I was gone  too often.
Perhaps I was who I am.

I see the end that I never thought I'd see.

Easy comfort and connection
now something that makes me
feel like an outcast.

Desiring to stay longer
becomes wanting to hide away faster.

Not showing my face,
not getting silence in return,
hearing whispers,
seeing those looks that I've never seen,
Not on their faces,
Not when it comes to me.

I should've known.

I can't do this anymore.

I had hope.

I need a welcoming warmth,
an easy connection.

Too weak for anything else,
cried too much,
for way too long.

**Alas, the date has surfaced.
We've reached an expiry.

A thousand and one ways I've said,
a thousand and none you comprehend.

How can I say,
such that you'd see?

How can I say,
such that you'll understand,
that I'm not made for this,
not made of love and kindness,
not made for love,
not made for this at all.

I ache where it hurts most,
a dark cloud of storm,
a black heart pawned,
no hope to see through wrong.

They said hearts weren't made for sleeves,
and I trusted none of it.

I bared and I cared,
then I saw,
the world that tromped,
mercy far from reach,
pain stitching into skin,
darkness looming forth.

I took it all in,
a canvass of chance,
forfeited through time.

Let me live,
let me free.
no more pain,
no more pain,
tears re-tracked,
mirth re-planned,
let me live,
let me free.

If you were to tell me,
that the world I'm in,
was but conjured,
would I let loose and live free?

If you were to tell me,
that all I've seen,
was but trial,
would I concede in glee?

If you were to tell me,
that all I've felt,
was but concocted in my haze of thoughts,
would I doubt and flee?

But if you were to see,
that in the vast oceans and seas,
all I've wanted was but to plea;
a wee lass such as me,
neither delicate like a pea,
nor sturdy like a tree,
but a wreck much like thee,
that there's a key,
one that opens those doors wide,
in time before long,
and welcomes me,
ardently.

Some days,
I wished I never lived to feel this pain.

Some days,
I look up,
And see the majesticity
of an entity so wide,
it covers the Earth whole.

Some days,
it weeps so sorrowfully,
wind picks up and starts blazing.

Some days,
the haze thickens,
hiding true intent and
unaccidental fortunes.

And it causes an ache in my icy chest.

It brings a reminder of
a world that'll meet its end,
and a life that
doesn't seem to see an end.

Some days,
I sit,
awed,
wishing that if the sky is my only reprieve,
then some day,
to be raised and swallowed whole,
flouncing among those
weightless clouds,
and it'll be such a wonderland,
of hope,
of joy,
for this
soul o' mine.

Some days,
I sit staring at an impossible dream,
from a sight so glorious it overwhelms
and pushes me to an edge,
a brink of
free fall.

And just another day
never seem to come again.

Wounds and battle scars,
unknown to any,
a dark secret.

Couldn't tell,
couldn't reach out,
hatred grew.

A created beauty,
from layers of armour,
none to be seen in front of that cracked mirror.

Anger, pain, frustration,
a muse for despair.

I chopped it off,
in that state of anger,
thick locks of hair carelessly strewn in a trash bag,
steam escaping underneath the bathroom door.

In grave despair,
fragile and susceptible,
a great roar came,
from the one most loved.

It scared me to the bones,
shaking and in tears.

Laughing,
alone,
between four walls,
light streaming through the window,
at dawn or nightfall,
it doesn't seem to matter.

Crying,
alone,
between four walls,
dark and cold,
back backed to a wall,
curled like a ball.

The roar of a beloved,
came like the wind,
swift and impactful,
It was a strike to the core,
a backlash for all the expectations,
unspoken words of love
and sacrifices.

Dark secrets and battle scars?
I bore it all for you.
The pain you'd feel,
unspeakable and unimaginable.

I knew and I withheld,
yet for something seemingly trivial,
your bark shook me to the core.

I was afraid.

Like a child with trauma,
it suddenly came to me,
reverberating in my ears,
through the laughter on my laptop screen
A dark ominous feeling rose in my chest,
fear overwhelms,
afraid you'd might come again.

Blanketed and backed against a wall,
I realised the secrets
kept me from love,
and vehemently wished it dispelled,
from memories I held.

A locked chest,
a key thrown?

A nonexistent chest,
And a consuming pain.

Then maybe,
as I realised how my time cooped up,
in despair,
keeping to myself has past
as my hair grew down my back,
thinking that its enough to have people at my funeral,
enough at that,
that its okay none would cry,
that no one has truly loved me for who I am,
that I can't be loved for who I am,
for the scars I bear,
for who I've come to be,
then maybe,
when there are no recollection of that past,
I'd be able to live,
see past despair,
and achieve dreams I never had,
make my imaginations reality,
be positive and a lovable company,
then maybe I'd be able to pursue living like I never had.

Layer by layer,
a support system,
and safety coverage,
much like
an encouraging armour.

I piled them on,
layer by layer.

Coloured cream,
every inch,
every corner,
explored by the wisp of a soft brush,
caressing and comforting.

Stroke by stroke,
black ink on tapered brushes,
forms a full pair,
and prominent curls that
softly flutters.

Such lovely coyness.

Stroke by stroke,
a staining motion,
softly presses,
while trailing a curved path
with eyes lowered.

Truly,
the cheapest thrill a woman has.

Hands running through,
pulling yet gentle,
of soft brown curls.

A spritz from a glass vial,
neck daintily stretched,
eyes contently shut.

The light fragrance flirts in the air,
a flowery scent,
musky and sweet.

An over-sized pullover,
cotton hides luscious curves,
drawing eyes to every inch of
skin exposed.

A shiver contained,
from the ruffling of the material,
and intense flames behind watching eyes.

A deep intake of air,
eyes meeting through the mirror.

As though gears clicked into place,
an indulgent smile displays.

*"Come here," he said.

There's nothing beyond the world you sculpt,
a bed of roses,
drenched in lies,
prepped by knives.

So carefully shaped,
so carelessly grown.

Every nook and crevice,
give me motivation,
I'll tear it all apart,
irreparable,
a ****** mess,
a catalyst
that'll spark your destruction
and set that mind ablaze.

Fragile and weak,
the human crawls,
in seek of help,
only when it all crumbles.

In bliss,
in safety of their cocoon,
they rejoice,
a fool,
not a thought,
not a mind,
a pity indeed.

It could've all grown so well,
bloom fully in spring,
and emit a fragrance
that enchants unlike any other,
but you forget,
of the thorns you grew,
and I'll use them all,
let you have a taste,
of the tangy sweetness,
of the world you've built.

Maybe one day you'd know,
How much those words,
Spoken with or without intent,
Jesting or testing,
How much it hurt,
How much I had to withhold
How much I hate myself for it,
How much tears I shed,
How long I took to regain composure,
How easily I cracked.

Yet you're not even a friend,
Merely an acquaintance.

Because of the semblance of truth,
Because of that tiny hope of acceptance,
Because of who they said you are,
Because it was rubbing palm after palm
of salt into my raw wound.

Yet you didn't know,
How much it hurt then,
And how I changed now,
And I still hate myself,
For giving a ****,
with words spoken with such ease.

I want to dig out this beating heart
with my palm and dig my fingernails into it,
squeezing till its unrecognisable,
and see blood overflowing on my skin,
the contrast of the thick red liquid against paleness,
and feel the physical sensation it'd cause,
a painful kind of release,
of a different kind of ecstasy.

Built up tears,
A dam released,
Violent movements,
Punching bags.

And all at once,
It liberated itself
Of its confining chains.

Alone,
An empty house,
All that movement in still air,
Very much hoping to be heard.

And the irony
of not knowing how to explain.

Harsh tears,
Ripped heart,
A voice made coarse,
Anger,
Frustration,
Fused a total meltdown.

An agonising cry,
Desparate movements replay
On days when feelings numb down,
And a hole widens from deep within,
Projecting from an empty shell,
Onto a vastly absent world.

All the kicking,
The punching,
Sore knuckles,
Aching knees,
Swollen eyes,
Dripping sweat,
An utterly spent heart.

And a hot scalding bath later,
An hour or so,
When souls filled a place called home,
It was as though nothing ever happened,
Simply a day well spent,
Rather eventful.

I can shout to the world,
A hundred times over
That I deserve better.

Yet how can I,
When I don't believe it either.

A masterpiece,
perfectly carved,
perfectly wired.

Then came mankind.
who ruins and pollutes each surface.

I've hated each and every inch of my being,
of what I've done,
and what I can't change.

So what makes you think
that your words and actions,
will make me break,
with the things I've known,
of the things I hate.

And in the midst of it,
there always comes a gift,
a breathtaking beauty,
one that coaxes,
and shows,
that it may not be all that it is.

And I don't know why,
why,
to such extent,
that such a gift,
bestowed onto one like me.

In being human,
with desires and temptation,
there's no telling of the lengths we go,
of where we'd reach,
of the distance we fall,
deeper and deeper.

The days that pass,
the time that flies,
the night that crumbles,
if given a choice,
I wouldn't live it all.

In that state of delusion,
with darkness that hazes my sight,
creating such a mythical illusion,
teasing and beckoning.

Enveloped in that cloud,
we live,
as though tomorrow doesn't exist,
like death is naught but a a century later.

Nothing matters,
in the way we fight,
in the way we watch,
in the way we live.

We tell ourselves,
it's all gonna work out,
that pain is constant,
that there's no reprieve,
no acceptance from they who surround us,
yet,
is that essential?

From they,
who just like us,
bleed and ache,
all the same.

And still we want it all,
everything that feels good,
that makes us alive in our skin,
and in sight,
lose the point of living entirely.

It's a struggle, a dilemma;
One that have always been
but a procurement of
emptiness and insecurity,
in the way of a fish out of water.

While life and death was never
brought to front,
it was simply the matter of
awaiting the alloted time.

It would've been good to recognise all the weaknesses and treachery at a glance but in that split second when a point was made, naught came to mind
but a lesson of life.

Of simple humiliation,
of swallowing that lump in the back of your throat and suppressing that gargantuan rise of emotions in the chest, heavy and foreboding.

Because it is then you learn,
of yourself and the world.

No one promises that it'll all be fine,
but there's more to life than
failures and setbacks.

On the day past the point of living,
maybe then you'd understand that it all is necessary afterall.

A twist of fate when blood runs stale,
A change of heart when time lets pass.

You,
a discordant symphony,
who needed naught but a look to understand.

Blank eyes, aching heart,
A cherry top was what it was.

You,
a perfect contradiction,
recalled of a time when the sun still rose
from east to west.

It could've been
but surely you wouldn't deem,
a time of youth,
to see through years.

Torn pages, running ink.
A devastation you left it be.

And it was all simple,
really.

A gift returned,
wrecked in folly.

And thus,
I stood and stared,
An epicly carved being,
eyes bright with life,
Ones that framed my every move.

Life must be well.

My heart swelled,
Thoughts of you anew,
And my place that could've been,
A question that would've never been.

I smiled,
*"No you don't."

What would it be like,
When people like us gather,
On a frivolous journey for the nether
with a crew of cuckoos;
Like a family headed for the gutters,
humour abundant.

What do we have to lose,
In a world full of *****,
And time to lose.

Day and night,
Lightweights and *******,
A love fest and a funfair.

Stomachs full,
Heart merry.

An euphoria of heightened souls.

What would it be like,
When people like us gather,
Tired of the same,
Aimless and shamed.

Days run tame,
Nights run old.

What would it be like,
When people like us gather,
Purpose in mind,
a book in hand.

Like a vast ocean,
the overwhelming weight sinks the insides,
marking a persisting emptiness.

Like a vulnerable fool,
waiting to breakdown.

The surroundings serves naught
but reminder
to why you want out.

Yet there's no way around life than to live.

How for everything there is a reason.
Yet you can't find anything else at fault.

For the things that happened,
for the way they reacted.

As though every snap-back of the stretched rubber band
signifying effort,
is well-deserved.

Putting it out there always comes back like a beating,
a reminder why you clam up in the first place.

The effort becomes too much,
constantly repressing,
constantly reminding,
how worthless it'd be,
like offering iced water in winter.

Then you tell yourself
you don't deserve this,
or that,
or anything else.

It seems like everything is wrong.

You can't fix it.
You can't end it.
You can't seek help.

When life busts about,
you partake,
you live,
like its
the only freedom.

When you're stuck,
it feels deserving.

Being in misery,
causing misery,
asking to be put out of misery,
dreaming of it,
yet so scared to disappoint the only one that matters.

He who seems to have never given up,
He who never gives what you can't handle.

Yet you feel the burden of it all
weighing you down.

Just awaiting,
for the day it all ends,
hoping that He'll forgive you,
hoping that one day,
you can return,
loved.

& still you believe to be undeserving.

How do I live now,
when each ray of hope
isn't mine,
when each blame
lies on me,
when the cycle never seem to end.

The heart cries for salvation,
and the ones close
to never hear of it.

"My attachments don't run deep."

Was what I said to her.

Was it a call out,
or a dare,
I can't figure.

Never held attachments
besides family
close.

There were those who came close,
but then left,
leaving me
in a tighter shell.

A recluse,
who seeks a deeper meaning to life.

All I wanted,
was someone to want my company,
and encourage me to be better.

Each time I think its her,
or
him,
just like always,
they leave me wondering,
if it was me or them.

These attachments,
were close,
I figure,
once upon a time.

Then I realised,
they weren't close enough to weep for,
nor ache for.

When I disappear,
or am in a state of mess,
there was naught they did,
didn't notice,
or couldn't be bothered,
having deeper attachments of their own,
not family,
just like me,
but one who obviously means more,
than I could ever be.

Was it me then?

I've always known it to be me.

Couldn't keep anyone staying,
Couldn't keep anyone caring.

Aloof,
I became.

Nice,
I've been told.

Funny,
I could be.

A *****,
I try not.

Weird certainly.

Always tried being nice though,
"do unto others what you want done unto you",
never it worked,
maybe I'm inconsistent,
or maybe,
just not worth it.

When I watched,
them in their environment,
having fun,
being themselves,
being loved and accepted by many,
I knew there was no place for me.

Away,
in a corner,
alone,
I always was,
not because I wanted the solitude.

But it was the most comfortable I could be,
neither trying like a fool,
nor licking my merciless wounds.

I certainly kept trying,
maybe not hard enough,
but I hope,
maybe just one day,
I'll be good enough,
then maybe,
someone,
anyone,
would start caring.

Pathetic really*.

For each part stolen,
For each day in pain,
For every touch that recoiled,
For every burning second.

I thought that maybe it'd be nearer.

For each breath that hurts,
For each night in tears.

I begged and begged for it to come faster.

When time makes a mockery out of the living,
When the greatest one just wants to prolong what he knows best.

I don't know how to act the difference between
being awake and
being alive.

What if the night ends each day with the
same resonating emptiness?

What if waking up becomes the
same as sleeping each night?

I don't know for how much longer.

Naught but mockery.

In the back of my mind,
I've always recognised why
Why all those nights,
I fought sleep,
Why all those days,
Appetite didn't come.

Didn't sleep again last night.

And I rose from bed,
reluctant as ever to return
to a heart-torturing reality.

The hot scalding shower,
wasn't hot enough.
And when it was,
I closed my eyes,
Calm reigning my soul.

I walked the streets,
Drizzle of rain splattering on my face,
It was as though everything was fine,
Yet everything wasn't.

I felt everything wrong,
But everything was right.

I, I,
I wanted to stand
in the middle of that street,
And await an incoming car.

Nothing in me protested,
Except for the mind,
the god fearing mind.

My heart was silent,
eerily calm.

I hailed a cab,
got to school like
everything was fine,
But the emotions on my face
probably couldn't lie.

All bottled up,
in a bright corner I sat,
just wanting to let it all out.

Yet again,
The heart-torturing reality interferes.

*Figured, why I never was a fan.

They're all moving on.
Better lives,
Better them.

I'm happy,
for them.

Yet I can't help,
but despair.

Who's gonna pull me out?

None but I.

But for the life of me,
I can't bring myself to.

Help,
for I'm sinking deeper.

Help,
for I can't help myself.

Help,
for this self-pity to end.

None that knows this misery,
for it'll be they who hurt.

Enough that I'm the only,
left in a destructive shell.

Time after time,
I thought I'm moving,
finally,
to a peaceful,
healthier life.

Time and again,
I fall back,
into this pit of darkness,
as though screaming,
yet unheard.

It hurts,
to know none bother,
Or notice.

I beg,
for the day of eternal release.

Being good enough is entirely subjective.

Not knowing,
but understanding,
that you'd never be.

So alone I stand,
record as clean as a babe's.

Not because no one's good enough.
But because I'll never be good enough.

When they leave,
One
By
One,
I never protest.

I watched,
and empathised.

What I have,
everyone has.

What I lack,
anyone can make up for

I only wish for that simple happiness.
Of love.

Yet how can I?

Thus I'm content,
in my halfheartedsoul,
that I will never be anyone's cup of tea;
should never be.

They deserve better,
much better,
but I just can't help myself,
from thinking,
if.