There is not a day, I don't wish to be seen
As a woman straight out of a dream.

Time once again for the mind’s late night talk show, and what better a time then under the moon’s late night chalk glow!
The time for the mind to run rampant with fear, depression, paranoia, sorrow, ailing feelings coupled with thoughts quite unclear
Run away little boy, from the shadow of a man, from the shadow of your desires, run away if you can
Hide under the blanket, the pillow, or a smile. No comforts can save you from yourself, a toxic dream factory most vile
Lose yourself in the light of your distracting mundane phone, it won’t stop the nightmares that plague you when alone
Toss and turn as the poison seeps and your heart weeps, the discomfort is delightful as you squirm while the fog creeps
Shrouded in the mist, paralyzed at the legs and tied down at the wrists, the romantic interlocking marks that a weak mind and horror kissed
May your terrors come to life, and your heart fear the worst. May you flinch at every strife as your soul is now cursed.
Once again the boogeyman comes to toy with your mettle, your courage being whittled down petal by petal
When he gets to the stem, he shakes you at your core, instilling the mayhem until you can take no more
Before you cried at the world because to the world you were small, now you are enveloped by dark where you are nothing at all
Insignificant to the empty void of black, an abyss with no break, chip, or crack
But why are you bent on the judgment of vacancy, why should nothing make you ashamed of complacency
Why have you given up on challenging your fear, why would you rather be anywhere but here
The nightmare isn’t the bloodied visages of the ghosts and the ghouls, nor is it the paranoia invading the minds of madness stricken fools
Single out all the devil’s playthings and the mind’s erroneous states, add in the bad luck which binds all of our fates
May I face all those dreadful barbarities in a convenient sum, for the weight of their abhorrence would fare better than living in the shadow of who I could become

Seas that have earned their sparkle from the sun, at its picturesque potential
perhaps something you know as your eyes
and a heavy overflowing jug of intelligence, wit, charm and understanding pours out at a waterslide's rate within your mouth
spikes of subtle sexiness
grow in your cheeks
topped with a tidal haircut
just so I can appreciate the rest
is what keeps me distracted
in the most interesting of classes
and gossip filled television shows
perhaps even xanax wouldn't be enough
I am yet to find the worst quality in me to cancel out the best in you.

zh (26/09/17)

Every time I wake up, I open my eyes.
I scan my room seeing it fills with my stuff;
my guitars, my desk, my mirror, my books...my pain..

Locked door, shut windows, absence of lights.

As I scan through this sad dark room with trapped air from
days ago gasping for freshness while I was fine with
carbon monoxide filling my room every single day.

I feel safe when I'm in my room.
I feel safer when I lock the door to my room.
And I feel even more safer when I turn off the ******* lights of my room.

I'm not alone.. No. I have people. People in my room.
They are shadows and darkness and they try to be my friends.
I rejected them. I rejected them since the first time I met them.
But when things are falling and my ground is shaky,
They come scrambling for me and tell me this is the time when they come in handy.

I hate myself. I punish myself.
I punish myself because I let them in.
I let them control me.

My room is like a dead party.
When I leave,
my room literally becomes empty.
When I storm back in,
They were waiting, stretching their ugly, rotten, dark, arms
to grab me and my poor ******* soul.
******* on my energy, my happiness, my only source of joy
out from my mind, my body and my soul making me feel
so ******* tired.

And when I am tired,
I lie.
I lie on my bed
Feeling half dead
as I bury my face on my pillow, sad.
I try to sleep..

But I can't. I can't ******* sleep not even a minute.
Not even a second. Not even when my brain begs for a little rest.
I am so sorry brain but I don't know how to make it stop.

And I wonder and keep on wondering,
My room needs help.. or maybe I need help?

you’ve told me before,
self-loathing is just
a common cliché,
now everybody’s doing it.

that’s not to say
i haven’t seen how
your eyes roam over
your body like you’d been
stitched together with all
the wrong fabrics
i don’t think
i’ve ever seen you
look as dissatisfied as
when you look
at yourself.

you’ve told me before,
self-loathing is just like
an std, everybody’s had it
at some point.

it’s just that some people
were smart enough to
use protection or are abstinent
and they’re the ones
who sleep easy at night
while you’ve always got an itch
to scratch it was never clear
how they toed the line
between their self love
and hate better
than others and you
were their other,
caught them staring
and couldn’t tell the line
between love and hate

(thought you saw it
split the ground open
wanted to dip your toes
into the nothing between
you were scared
you’d fall in).

but you won’t tell
me what it’s like
when you look at yourself,
and your reflection
is rag-doll ragged
the perfect pincushion
and you pinpoint
all the split seams
moth holes your
smile is just a
loose thread you stop
to unravel

and you won’t say
what it’s like
when your reflection is
all pins and points
and you’re not sure
if the rag-doll face
underneath is still
there, at one point
she smiles
like only girls with pins
in their lips can,
her lips unravel

(you don’t smile).

you’ve told me before,
self-loathing is just
a common cliché,
there’s no way you’d
be caught dead
doing it.

i’ve seen the red-capped pins
you keep with your make-up.

they look so much
like my own.



hey.
are you still there?
i can't see you beneath
all those pins.

in the timbre of my voice after six ounces of bacardi and red bull,
in the gnawing of my stomach's hunger when my mind is empty,
in the curve of my abdomen as your hand rests upon it,
in the salt of my tears on nights when your rejection is too much, too much.

There are just too many things that were supposed to have happened.
Arguements lurked behind every door.
Playing hide and seek with sarcasm and distrust.
A recipe to end the book titled Forever.
And even though love was still begging for attention.
The path has ended.
Most have already left the theatre.
Except for those wandering.
Wondering if there will be a tiny clip after the credits.
But the budget has long since dried up.
And the explosives took a lot of the show.
Sadly they are what hilight its runtime.
It's dark now.
The reel just looping black and white.
Waiting for the next show to replace the old.
But there will not be another.
The building has been deemed condemned..
Due to lack of upkeep.
It will remain a historic land mark.
Untouchable.
For there is little else one can do.