Light and darkness,
Lies on our souls,
Pure actions,
Acclaimed by,
Purest of intentions,
Makes us whole,
ill biased actions,
Consumes The light,
Makes us wither,
Drown, succumb to The darkness.

You'll never be As beautiful,
As you are now,
We shall never re-live this moment,
Again,
But will be Forever Stored up in our minds,
As memories,
My life, your life,
A insignificant speck of dust,
In The vast universe.

Do what Makes you happy,
Don't invest in regrets,
Cherish every moment,
Savour every breath,
Every moment,
Can be The last,
Or The best,
For god's reside up,
Up in our head's.

a  joke that was fine two hours ago
a joke that's been fine 100 times before
a joke that's usually hysterical

silence and doubt
unable to reciprocate a simple
"goodnight i love you"

you feel guilty
i feel guilty for making you feel guilty and you feel
and it doesn't end

kai warned me that it would be hard
if only i had known
that he knew why

We lose our words,
they get twisted and tangled
and it hurts, but what do we say?

I have not been awake for so long,
my eyes turned blue,
my skin turned pale,
and I don't look like me.

In fact, I don't know what me is anymore.
I burned bridges and there are fumes...everywhere and no
don't tell me this isn't poetry, this is my poem about losing and gaining and being stuck in between.

Memories from a history I call yesterday
are not the reason why I feel so miserable today,
for my misery isn’t because of what I lost yesterday,
but for the history I’m not making today.

If only she knew
That I sit alone at night
Drinking by myself
Thinking about her
Wishing she was mine

If only she knew
That I'll never be alright
Going through this hell
Till my eyes begin to blur
And I only see her in my mind

If only she knew

That the hardest part of my day
Is when I think about her lips
Sliding through his skin
As he moves in for the kiss
Think about his hand
starting to caress her cheeks
They both gasp for air
though no one speaks
And her eyes can't seem to look away from his

If only she knew

That that's the hardest part
Knowing that she's his
Knowing that her gorgeous lips
are only his to kiss
And that her beautiful eyes
Are looking right through me
Knowing that I'm nothing to her
And that I'll never be

If only she knew

That she leaves me Paralyzed
When she looks me with her eyes
It feels so cold
Yet I feel so alive
If only she would realize
That without her my heart cries
It's hard to beat, though it still tries
If only she knew
The pain of getting lost within her eyes

Those star-stricken skies that once watched
our world now begin to flicker away as
my skin begin to age, my eyes find more to see
and I realise that I have grown old enough
to miss something from the past .


There were once
grassy plains that stretched across the land and grasped the edges of the sky,
wooden fences that I waited upon for neighbouring friends,
and flowers that mixed with weeds but still looked content;
those visions are ones that cannot be seen.


I remember
the relief of jumping in large lakes on a hot summers day,
the times were I would inhale the mellow dewdrops after a storm,
the blissful sinning of drinking from my father's glass bottle;
I remember those times but they are fragmented with cracks
lining the center of its core.


The sounds
of baby birds weeping for their mother's warmth,
of crickets chirping at the burning sun,
of children whose words had grins;
those sounds are a distant memory that I wish
had remain fresh in my mind but are only a collection of
wilted, quiet, languished noises occurring in silence.


I often question
how the city lights block my stars that shine through its own darkness,
how machines have become friendlier than the people here,
how the winding roads never end at one place but now conjoin with each-other,
how the pavement plants can only grow between flaws of concrete;
the town I once grew up is nothing like this city.
the sight I only recognise, the one that has never changes,
is the bottom of the beer bottle;
but it's more bitter than I remember.


Everything is different but at least I have working hours.
But in those lonely times like these,
I'll miss those country roads.
The roads that once ended to show rolling hills
with the sun glowing underneath creamy clouds
and the scent of happiness blooming from flowers.

I often wonder if Robert Frost
in all his life ever got lost
did that road he took need corrections
if so, as a man, did he ask directions?