With withheld words as the only measurable distance between us, our knees touched, igniting a spark both of us feigned oblivion to. Inhale. Exhale. Passive-aggressively, you demanded my honest opinion, yet your eyes recoiled --the potential of rejection would split your perception into disjointed scraps. Eyes shining and lips sealed shut, I watched you wither under my gaze until you shook. You were a lamb; predictable, but endearing. And so clearly in love with me.

Unconditional --through my passionate debates, flared conscience and difficult persona, your hand never fared far from mine. When my eyes met yours; and our story was no longer of unrequited love. Two scared lovers scared of what this intense emotion implied. Afraid to take the next step, as if the distance extended from the moon to the stars. Inhale. Exhale.

But my eyes met yours. My mouth parted, forming words naturally clouding my mind in the darkest of nights, and the brightest of days. You feigned oblivion; you claimed these emotions are foreign, especially concerning me. The world darkened, and suddenly, I was no longer part of this unfamiliar environment.

Inhale.

Those words of thinly-veiled rejection underneath mass pity... suddenly, I'm the one shaking, similar to a single flower rebounding against raging storms. More than anything, I am blinded. You were the one constant in a life of variables, but unbeknownst to me, an irrational number with digits I never considered.

Inhale.

I questioned life.
I questioned my worth.
I questioned you.

Inhale.

The truth appeared peacefully. These doubts gnawing my mind were my own self-doubts. Amidst desperately inquiring those in yours, I forgot my own. A helpless ladybug, I lost myself in long blades of grass, sharp as the knives in a butcher's drawer.

Eyes closed, I remembered you. Simply.

Your words are thinly laced with regret, insecurity, and greatest of all, unbridled passion; your arms around my shoulders, those spontaneous compliments and the crooked smile, your soft eyes sparking at my presence... it screams denial.

Denial.
Denial.
Denial.

This isn't my denial. This is yours.

Exhale.

Paint the night sky with twinkling stars, distant from one another but collectively emitting a spectacular glow;
Paint the spun ivory clouds across the interminable blue, watching the softness suffocate sunlight streaming below;
Paint your frayed chocolate braids beside curved, smiling full lips in the middle of a vivid, adorned cottage;
Paint the passionate red of blood that stains our hands as they clasp together like imperfect puzzle pieces, and the jagged breathing that fogs the dusk;
Paint yourself where you are loved--
Paint yourself with me.

light-hearted denials
that stab every situation
I perceived, tasted, heard,
with my alert senses
that lead to who I am today--
and your dismissals of
such a degree that
invalidate my feelings.

"My children were mascaraed with blood spurting in a disarray,
a nightmare flashing freshly with every passing night,
and the man's blazing eyes ignited with inevitable
pure evil --if there exists such a thing,
and my faith in humanity subsides,
my heart snatched out of my aching body,
for I am an unsuspecting, wounded mother."

But involuntarily,
for a fraction of a second,
her lips quiver in glee.

"It was beautiful;
their screams of agony,
my control over their lives,
and sweet fear
reflected in their eyes--
my eyes."

I judge people
for being judgemental.

Oh, the sweet irony.

my undivided attention,
the way my intense gaze falls
on the outline of your lips,
as you continue speaking
but the words contain no meaning;
just the sound of our heartbeats
eradicating in unison.

countless restless nights
tossed under blankets with immense heat
or infinite coldness
the sight of your turned back
freezing every toe faster than winter
an awkward snow angel
I am numb

but for those small moments
as flashes in your overcrowded life
did you like it?  

I gave you ownership
of the very essence of my being
and you didn't notice.

For us to understand humans, we must first detach ourselves.

A judgemental, prideful and arrogant writer confines within his mind.

Writer
[noun]

someone who cultivates raw dirt to produce a single flower, blooming from the depths of their soul;
but grows addicted to its presence --beauty amongst darkness.
and in attempt to conceal the muddy reality, develops a garden with lavish, beautiful flowers--
of assorted variety, with unique traits of every flower and indistinguishable as stars in the night sky;
but harsh winter tramples with intricate footsteps, the petals tragically withered and torn as the writer's heart
their watery eyes acknowledging the dirt once more.

I am a humble painting
hung upon a common wall,
composed of grey tears;
striking, yellow laughter;
trampling fear; undisciplined love,
of other human beings.

you want
a part-time job
as a backup if the
guitar in your hands
fail to entice
under moonlit skies.

this kind of idealism
is the beauty I long for
in this  world of
status, competition,
envy.

your silence is beautiful.

you express love
behind sealed lips
and twinkling eyes--
to return with my own,
in a vast ocean of emotions;
lavender, orange sunsets
all without a single
audible sound.

we reside
in a world
of our own.

Twirling on moonlit streets
where their shadows entwine
simple as falling water,
in a world without time.

The scent of lilacs arise
a true epitome of spring left
on their fragile fingertips.

Count the seconds until my screams
drown the hysterical slashes
at the padlocked door;
until my ringing mind
confronts the blackened fear
hovering above my head.

A pair of eyes
piece my neck.
Yours.

Nobody is going to save me.

We didn't last forever;
the word attaches shackles
and chains that restrain,
and is better left unspoken--
never uttered, always locked
in the bars of my ribcage
where it restlessly remains
in utmost agony.

Then,
it stops.

The silence haunts me,
and my ribcage is imbalanced.
With laughter filled with tears,
and nonchalance juxtapose passion,
I whisper:

"Nothing lasts forever.
We fell apart like rose petals
amongst heavy storms."

The mask slips;
I avert my
red-rimmed eyes.

"But we could have--
oh darling,
we could have."

warm, sweet,
and comforting
flows through red lips
and rosy cheeks
and a mind shining
like the first rays of dawn.

They think it's beautiful
that I'm broken--
the words beginning from
from my frail heart
articulate in prose;
words laced in pain,
resonating in warm whispers
to sooth other damaged hearts.

I don't think
they understand

Poured my heart
into some music blasting
new goals
and presents
with ribbons unravelling
life is good;
it's fulfilling

you need an excuse,
a quick simple lie
rolling off the tip of your tongue
to disguise the true reality
of underachieving;
there's actually no reason.

I have my father's mind:
logical, quick-witted, carefree,
always searching for sublime meaning
in words and people
over a third cup of tea.

and my mother's heart;
soft, selfless to a fault, empathetic
searching for ways to attain happiness
for everyone but themselves;
ultimately alone.

Within me,
*they are still together.

Maybe it was never love,
but envy,
because your carefree nature
didn't come from battling hardships;
your scars exist only outside;
and your life falls perfectly
according to plan
while mine keeps falling apart.

Perhaps this bitter
resentment I hold
is because you never
quite appreciate
how whole you are--
while I am cracked edges
pasted together.

heart sinking slowly
a deflated balloon
as the world around me
turns slightly
but I thought perhaps
there are others
like myself;
suspended, inanimate
facing failures while
whistling showground tunes
and yet
it is a delusion:
through rose-tinted glasses,
I wanted to perceive others
--and belong, encapsulated,
in a bubble with other warm hearts.
honestly,
the world hasn't stopped;
it doesn't turn for anyone
but me.

Better than you;
always considered myself superior
--a delusion I nurtured
with vicious remarks
and cold sniggers;
within the remotest of land,
full of dust,
you learned to bloom
with your youthful flowers
growing larger
than me
and yourself.

Competing,
sabotaging, manipulating,
controlling, demeaning, angering,
underestimating, avenging,
hurting
stops when you
learn to respect
that person.

A fatal flaw
of selflessness
that is humbling
on paper
but self-destructive.

"But why ask questions
without definite answers?"

Philosophy is a vortex of the unknown;
of confusion that hazes every screen
as the night returns to dawn
--only there is no clear transition
and the night becomes the morn.

But
it changes every decision;
your perception of life through those
tinted, often cracked sunglasses
and pastes a smile on your face;

This is power
of the unknown.

on your birthday
I wrote a letter comprised
of all that I adored;
words articulated in strikethroughs
and barrelled with smiley faces
to disguise my evident
addiction to your smile
--to your happiness.

and although I value your happiness
the letter remains at the bottom
of my computer
untouched, unsent
because my heart is already
shred to pieces, and the thought
of you dismissing
the words I poured myself in
is unbearable.

words;
they never articulated properly
although I pride myself a writer;
I addressed situations I overanalysed
over countless nights of lost sleep,
where your mouth dropped,
your eyes lowered
your breath grew heavier after
another brutal attack from my unaffectionate
words.

I noted little things;
conflicts within yourself
and wrote about them,
my remedy a simple melody
contrasting the bitter tunes
spat at you, through widened eyes
and curled lips.

That letter is unsent
because it exposes too much
about how often I think
dream
feel
about you.

while I say very little

i dream peacefully tonight
with you on my mind
s
    l
      o
         w
             l
                y
singing me to sleep
with words transferred
through a toneless electronic soul
i  cherish them
reread them
s
l
o
w
l
y

with every joke and letter
inking into my mind
recur, recur
'til I am no longer sane.

dream alone
dream vast
dream slow

because i'll remember you,
in the depths of my dreams

slowly
but permanently
you become
a part of me.

My heart bled ink
on the ivories
of the piano;
enveloping all white
in supreme darkness.

He painted every key
with careful, calculated words
that spat venom
to cover
to conceal
and to showcase
the superior identity
of the black keys.

Suffocating black drowned
strangled cries
as the white blended beneath
the black;
forced to play the same
sharp
note
while ignoring their own.

But music is harmony.
Without white, there is no melody.
As a monotonous sound resonated,
the black scrambled to recover
these voices --different,
soothing, rich in beauty--
have already broken.

And so the black keys play
--imbalanced, remorseful,
and forever imperfect.

white fluff
but crunchy
plain taste that
is somehow
fulfilling

Do you watch the night skies
your mouth agape in awe
watching light sparkle; radiate?
remember:
the stars gaze
at your warm heart
self-assured posture
intelligent eyes
and wise soul
with ceaseless fascination.

Vulnerability is trust
Trust is vulnerability
Carefully tread these dark waters;
do not lose yourself.

My father said the other day
with a sad smile
his calloused fingers ran through my hair,

"You feel too deeply:
it is both a blessing
and a curse."

"Blessing?" I inquired.

He had no answer.
His hand gently provided more weight
and suddenly I knew.

It is not a blessing
to be different from the majority
from pragmatic individuals
who superficially skim over events
--that hurt, injure, sadden-- me.

No;
it is a curse.

I remember
I remember your smile
I remember your smile in the depths of night, where remnants of vanilla ice cream leave acid bitterness on my tongue
as I steady my heart for another day
where the sun shines brightly
and the distance between our hands grow
and all I'm left holding
is a ripped, wounded memory
of you

Beauty is
Flowers, rain, the night skies, city lights,
and,
benevolence and compassion.

For I see humans everywhere,
but no humanity.

Was I ever special to you; or am I delusional?

I've always pondered
the emotions behind delivering
a confession of love.

A friendship ruined;
interminable pain
rejection suffered

Somehow, my heart is lighter
Rays of sunshine linger
instead of fading
into the night.

*I don't regret it.

When somebody watches television
the blur of noises, visuals and sounds flashing
through their mind and eyes,
my heart breaks.

It's an oddity
but people watching television
reminds me of words--
loneliness, monotonous, numb--
trapped in a bubble of emptiness,
feeding off external non-human interaction
to somehow stop the pain.

together we stroll
misty foothpaths reflecting
our empty, sad smiles

I like words.
I like watching them
f
   a
       l
           l
together
m e l d i n g    i n t o
                   one
large collection
of feelings
thoughts, emotions,
               d
           r         e
       a      m       s
and stories
that you whisper
before I drift
                      to
                          sleep.

On a comfortable breezy evening,
my mum converses with her sister via Skype
exchanging quirky tales

They broach the subject of her lemon tree.

"It's the most peculiar case;
it was growing so divinely
until, suddenly, it stopped."

Silence. Then the punchline:

"Reminded me of your daughter."

They exchange hoots of laughter
Meanwhile, I sit in the corner
arms folded, eyebrows knitted
unamused

The prospect of reaching happiness--
this intrinsic desire can never be attained
unless we change our definition

Happiness is me;
everything I am
everything I have
right now

I am happy.

Scorching red flames
dance in perfect circles--
engulfing all passion
removing any trace of emotion--
It slithers down my veined neck
it smoulders, burns,
to slaughter the vigorous desire
I attempt to refrain
but cannot remove

Yet my heart continues to beat--
the invincible fire synonymous to destruction
continues to be inferior
to my robust, paper heart
inked with memories of
me, you, and us--
and wishful thinking that
yours is stained
with me.