There is a story behind everything

Whether they can pass for something interesting you can talk about at parties, a story you wish to tell your children, or words and paragraphs you wish to keep between closed books, unspoken

We choose to let these stories unfold on the sentimental values that uphold such existence

Like the ring on my finger, the necklace around my neck that I hope could represent how much I love a person

Or the scarf that was given to me one winter, a picture that was taken last summer, or simply just thoughts that cannot be expressed enough to shape something physical

Everything comes in forms with words of meaning, that may or may not articulate accounts that we desire to bring across an audience of eager listeners and uninterested individuals

There is no such thing as ‘meaningless’, just significance, and one is not required to utter words that can suffice the story behind it

It doesn’t matter if it can only be held by the heart, or of hands that are worthy

We all have treasures to keep and experiences that we have yet to receive and it is up to us as human beings to take such things with gratitude that will be enough to create a story

A story that would be deserving of words, or a story of unsaid expressions that are ours to keep

n.j.

I want to die

And that's not just a saying
I want to rip my lungs out
And stop myself from breathing
I've grown to hate not love
The so called "temple" He gave me
Day by day, always at thought
Accompanied with only the beauty of death
And the overwhelming feeling of envy
I'm tired and I just don't know
How to keep this facade on longer anymore
I'm sick in the head
But no one seems to care
I'm tired of the mistakes
And of the people who are never there

So I'm writing this poem
It's stupid I know
A bunch of useless thoughts
Put together for a final show
Maybe I'll be gone after you read the last word
Maybe I'll be crying to sleep again
Maybe I'll fantasize of shooting myself in the head
Maybe...

But I don't know

n.j.

time is painful to deal with. sometimes i wish it never existed. we cannot grasp or stop it from going back or forward, we're only left with how it is and what will be.

eventually it is the only thing left to accompany us alongside accepting the deaths of loved ones and those of the unbeknownst. our lives befall victim to numbered days, hours, seconds and we cannot control the outcome. my only wish is to not see you suffering into shivering hands too fragile they might crumble. to be able to fulfill dreams without the cost of the lives of another.

i wish i could be able to hold you until your final hour but who knows, there could be something more distant than distance that will never bring us as close as we are now together. nothing can compare to the present affection we offer to families, lovers and friends. most of all, nothing is more beautiful than the never-ending dedication and loyalty that we will carry on as treasures buried deep in our hearts.

we will continue to love past coffins and tombstones, sickness or health, touch or longing to get rid of the ache that we feel.

and we will always wonder why there's never enough time to love the ones we want to, the ones we need to.

n.j.

i wish i could tell myself that everything's going to be alright but i am never in control of everything i know and i do not hold the future, i simply know what is, not what will be.
what i hold is the capacity to off myself and to unscrew what is whole and complete. i can build a stronger version of who i am, yet i am given this choice to slowly deteriorate the only things i have. i can be a target of elimination and a person who can be a subject of improvement.
so many things i can change and the actions are literally at the brink of my own finger tips. so many choices for betterment, but i choose to waste away.
when numb, i choose to crack my exterior, to bruise each of my layers until i see colors.
when in pain, i choose to thicken my skin, until i don't feel the trickle of tears.
when in between breaking down and forcing a smile, i choose to fill my lungs with cancer, i love the taste of bitter and lighted cigarettes.

life is merely a matter of choice. and i was given numerous choices of whether or not i dragged a keen object across my skin, whether i shook my head to a cigarette, or plunged my fist into a concrete wall.

if the beating of our hearts were given to us as a choice, and if we were given the capability to hold and refrain it from bleeding anymore than it should, then i would have killed myself a long time ago. and that thought alone terrifies me the most.

n.j.

The last thing I remembered was when we lit up the sky
Our eyes, they were filled with contentment and happiness
Delight, not fright and our hearts were beating with courage
I remember you holding my hand and saying
"It's finally going to be okay"
And with words that slipped, there remained a smile

Because for once, the sky was on fire
We were the heaven, and above was the hell
And earth, didn't feel like a bad place to live in after all

What remained, were two friends staring at bliss
Tasting it, savouring the flavour
Because we knew
That this happiness, will and won't, last forever

n.j.

i loved you with a heart beating
and in return you gave me back the friendship i needed
although i would still give you every ounce of my soul, every inch of my skin, every tear, every scar and every kiss i would bleed for
nothing will ever change, and sadly we were not given the power to control another person's heart
for we are already selfish beings, and i guess that's more than this world needs
yet you never gave up nor deserted me
and when i poured my heart out
you caught it with your bare hands, still beating and breathing
you held it gently with a smile on your lips and tears in your eyes
you said that you couldn't take it but i insisted
and you told me to say no more
because there are others who are worth and needed it the most
but that if ever those others would break the heart i poured

you'd be there waiting for me with yours

n.j.

i wish i could have met you in a past life, somewhere deep into the future or a different environment. a foreseeable destiny of
disassembled events, waiting to be rearranged into a different order. maybe you and i could have perfectly fit in, as i've always imagined us to be

but unfortunately imaginations seem to fall under fairy tales and tragedies, because sometimes *what we want won't always be

I am in between the realms of death and living
I have grown to accept the magnificence of the afterlife and what lies along that path
I romanticize about my flesh being eaten and my skin being burnt
And I dream of a life worth living, trips I wish I could document and capture with my vision
I plan to store towers of written events, and the ink will be the blood released from the slits of my wrists
And I hope I will not run out of ink before my feet land on the concrete and the soil I will soon to be
I aim to breathe a life of expectancy and my goal is to become the earth and the waters that serve as coverage
I want to be thought of as I am still living, and I want to be remembered as I enter into deep slumber of a casket that bears such aesthetic
For that, I like to believe that we are all works of art
We are walking and breathing future statues, but in death we will ebb into the dirt
As of now, our ribs are the servants, bones that are built to cage valuable possessions
So let us continue to breathe and live, and for the remaining years, let us anticipate for what comes after
But right now, you and I are alive, and that's all that matters

n.j.

10:34PM*

i'm torn between filling an entire page with my stream of thoughts and collapsing into bed, hoping i'll never wake up again in the morning. it's terrifying to think that something so dreadful could easily cloud up a mind that's trying so hard to escape from death. but i can't help feel anything but discontent and the constant disarray of patterns and paths i wish to fix.

but what can i do when i can't even fix myself?

n.j.

i want to write something life changing
but i always end up rambling about the things i've been building up for so long that slowly end up falling apart before my eyes. the slightest things can have an impact on myself and can cause me to relapse. a single word, an image, a person, can trigger so many things and memories that lead me to breaking into a million pieces. it's up to me if i can afford a lot of time and patience into thinking if i want to resemble the parts of myself that i want to improve. i want to think of myself as an embodiment of flaws and confidence. but i am just one of those in the end. it's so hard to  continue doing your everyday routines, trying to catch up with schedules and my favorite bands and idols, when i myself can't understand where i'm heading. i pray so hard, to a god, someone that i want to believe in but i'm slowly drifting apart from, everyday hoping that i'll get better when it's been 5 years of on and off struggles and relapsing. i want to get better, so that in the future i can share words that are written in happiness and certainty. instead of the redundancy of constant death, thoughts of suicide, and insecurity. i want people to stay tuned, maybe anticipating if i end up dying early from overdose or recovering completely from the darkness that has engulfed me long ago. but no one is sure, not even myself if i will get better. all i know is that i'm still here and in the process of finding something that will change my life forever.

You're kind of like yesterday's rain
You're gone but not completely
I can still smell you
And feel your presence
How you set foot
And left your mark
But only for a while
Before you leave for good
And come back again
Unexpected
And I hate how you
Just leave without saying
A simple goodbye
Just a reminder that
You were there
And that you'll be
Gone again

n.j.

What's worse,
Is when you're trying to hold back the tears
Then it starts to hurt
It's like fighting between suffocating
And biting in the sadness
Of the things that were always worth

n.j.