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izzat haziq Mar 2014
i miss the nights when i would feel nothing, see nothing
the nights when i wandered to another astral in the midst of my deep slumber
when i discovered what it is like to be in a realm of dreams, to be devoured by the lucidity of nightmares.

now that is all set and done i have finally grown up
an entity managed to lift the veils of sands that shielded my eyelids
i've lost my yawn, my drowsy eyes
sleep has transcended itself from being an effortless routine to an ardous task
clouds of thoughts lingered in my mind attacking me
a myriad of irrelevant voices resonates in my ear
i am distracted by pathetic regrets
an hour quickly turns into a whole night of arguments with the inner being that dwells inside of me

so i am left with no choice but to fight them
every war leaves casualties
and it seems that my soldiers ought to be treated with large prescription of sleeping pills
izzat haziq Feb 2014
you immediately feel that there's some kind of unknown forces extracting air out of you moist lungs whenever you caught a glimpse of him, oh the pale complexion of his skin that you yearn all too much to devour.
his smouldering black eyes, darker than onyx yet far more magnetic than a black hole, you could gaze at it all day long. whenever he speaks you could genuinely feel all 4 corners of the walls caving in, his voice was as sweet as an ochesctrated hymn continuously to drive itself into your ear drums infesting every piece of neurons  inside your brain.

he was the perfect fainting spell for you & i am merely a lacklustre, unable to charm you. all i ever knew was to write poems on pieces of paper crumpling them at the end of the day so i could string them up as a rosary that i pray to but now i realise that no kind of prayers was able to break you free from his necromancy.
izzat haziq Feb 2014
i have nothing
for i am lost in this downward spiral of a ****** up universe
alone but not really a loner
picking up the pieces of a broken stature trying to re enact my yesteryears of pure sonder
a sudden realisation that I am
(We are)
going fast approaching our own demise
izzat haziq Jan 2014
what she misses the most about her teenage years was her midnight walk down the neighbourhood alone, not heading anyway in particular, shivering due to the bitter coldness. she roams & wander aimlessly, unbeknown to her dysfunctional family. she was an idle teen lonely a misfit a freak. she wasn't sneaking out to attend a rave or parties & it was unlikely that she would get invited either. gun sitting under her petticoat, just in case she needed to use it. the world was /& is a pretty ****** up place she didn't want to end up dead in a drain gang ***** by chavs either. other people would eye her suspiciously if anyone spotted her. she would ignore them, an idle teen she was. some even offered her money in return for ****** favours but she kindly turned them down, insisting that she was "not that kind of girl". sometimes she wonder if she really took off will her parents even care? she would sleep on playgrounds, lying awake staring at constellations plane talking to god, asking whether she should run away & leave everything behind. she longs to inhale the icy cold air that at 3.35 a.m that sets her heart on fire but at the same time triggers a logical part of her grey matter that she should head home. sometimes she wishes that she would ignore her brain signals & leave town
izzat haziq Jan 2014
forcing our demons to dwell into our hollow shell
of our bone cavity
we grieve at the second these demons escaped from their compartment
worrying at the consequences if we let them roam out of our epidermis
yet we unknowingly kept them as prisoners inside of us for such a long period they have somewhat *evolved

from being oppressed to becoming an oppressor
they took over our heart & reign over them spewing lust gluttony wrath pride greed sloth & envy on our arteries letting them flow, living, breathing in our bodies
soon enough
consuming us alive
the oppressed have become the oppressor
he/them, smiling gleefully smirking at his/their spawn
the patron saint of sins is born
izzat haziq Jan 2014
i've always have this mental image  of ancient poets
Homer, Shakespeare, Rumi
kneeling on the ground sacrificing young virgins drawing the bloods of their **** in vials.
writing prose poems ode & what not using haemoglobin as inks. sweet red liquid oozing from felt tip drawing letters & aksara on papyrus sheets, producing masterpieces in the form of poems that we worship.
izzat haziq Nov 2013
staring at her face was the only remedy i needed to cure my sadness and deprived soul

no longer i yearn for other things
i have came attached
to an angel in disguise sent from the 7th paradise

letters i wrote to her
tattered but not torn those yesteryears of collecting photographs of her
she was my Monroe

bit by bit I detached the petals from its thorny stalk
she loves me she loves me not
is a question that i will never obtain a concrete answer

i walked away from her grave with a sense of reluctance
because i knew
under those 6ft of soil & dirt
she beckons me to join her
my Matilda
that day will come
Basically this is the outcome of repeating alt-j // matilda for hours & hours
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