The poet writes
with no pause and no rest
in the vain hopes to finish
his works in due time
as he stares at his canvas which was
a sheet of innocence
now tainted by shades of black
that has since lost the ability
to reflect that which is inside
leading him to question how
he fell this far
to writing to cater to
a crowd of sheep
praying for a chance for himself
to finally,
breathe

Caught in a mirage
Never ending, never ceasing
Parched throat thirsting
For that sweet illusion
A silent empty vessel
Adrift in the ocean of dreams
Taken back to the past
Away from these hellish scenes

All too clear,
All too clear,
Right from the beginning,
It was all too clear,
That this was going nowhere.

All these colours,
Blinding neon lights,
My head hurts,
Oh how it throbbed,
It hurts, It hurts,
Why am I still here?
Why does the lights attract me so?

I do not belong here,
I can’t breathe,
I can’t breathe,
Tell me again,
No, no more,
I can’t take it anymore,
I’ll be taking my leave now.

Words from a shiny star,
Lulling my sadness to sleep.
I begun hoping without realising,
A faint dream I did not wish for.

What good does having feelings brings?
Nothing, I screamed;
Nothing but pain to my bowl.

I have long past the age of dreaming,
I was a fool.

My love ones sent me two bowls of rice,
In hopes that I keep on going on,
In hopes that I never fall.

I dare not let them down,
I dare not let out cries,
I hide my broken spoon,
the cracks in my bowls;
And I laughed.

It's like she lost the will to live.
Like one who has lost all dreams and aspirations.
Then, as if she was thrown to sea,
she forgot how it was to breathe,
she struggled with the pain,
but for what ends?
And naturally, when she gave in,
all was well, and she laid lifelessly,
watching the world unfold,
through her warped looking glass.

distant laughters; muted senses
to find a home which belongs to none
engraved smiles; withdrawn gazes
in search of a life worth breathing

i. my heart is a ghost town

I called out to every passerby
in this dead and desolate town;
asking,
if they could hear me
but to no avail.

Not a single could hear me
as they move on with their merry lives.

Those with broken souls
seemed to have mend themselves
with the company of others.

No longer do they need I.
I, who whispered nothing
but nothingness to them.
I, who could do nothing
to mend their wounded souls.
I, who is helpless,
in the face of helplessness.

As with my fleeting existence,
I could no longer match their pace.
It was like standing together
on the same pedestal
but on divided worlds.

We could no longer hear
each others' voices.

Upon this oppressively somber town,
I cast my shadow;
shunning away from the laughter,
away from the words
I could no longer comprehend.

My only friend; the silence