Did God not make love vain in the first place?
Stolen my wings; my sacred space.

Did God not lie to us all?
To say together we fall.

Can we have time?
Because peace can only appease my rhyme.

What is with people today?
We act in our subconscious away from the fray.

Can someone just make sense?
Because what does not makes the world tense.

Only sticking around because I am a known freak.
To women I am not sheik.

Can someone just make sense?
Because this world seems dense.

Will I succumb to my fear?
Because away from this world I wish I could disappear.

People are starting to swerve as they steer.
What is wrong with people today I said with no fear.

Like a sinful seduction, I slip off the edge of sleep,
my eyes are drawn to the darkest shadows of my room... kinetically searching...
I seem to penetrate them, my mind breathes life into them,
they begin to stir and morph into the preludes to my peculiar dreams,
bizarre at first until inevitably familiar,
as if I had lived them indefinite times in the past... and infinite times in the future... remembering... becoming... unfiltered and unaffected...
my subconscious is my truth, awakened by my dreams.
I long to remain lost in this ethereal bliss.

Everytime I close my eyes,
Sunday afternoon comes to mind.
Sometimes when I close my eyes,
there is only white noises.
The Sunday in my head is always sunny;
rarely it rains.
When it rains on Sunday,
I am reminded of school uniform;
sweaty and sticky,
but it is still Sunday.
Everytime I close my eyes,
I can smell Sunday.
The smell of Sunday in my head—
consists of jasmine, pandan, and milk.
The Sunday in my head rarely rains.
When it rains, it smells like **** and soil.
The sunny side of my Sunday is not always bright—
and my wet Sunday is not always gloomy.
Everytime I close my eyes,
I see myself tracing Sunday.
I run my fingers through the odds of—
possibilities and the ambience of the present.
You see, I cannot imagine anyone but myself—
in my Sunday.
Everytime I close my eyes,
I see no one.
Everytime I close my eyes,
I see silhoutte of myself.
Everytime I close my eyes,
I see myself leaving trails.
Everytime I close my eyes,
It was all in my head all along.
Blessed with the odds,
my Sunday goes by very slowly;
so slow sometimes I caught myself in turbulence.
From violent shower to the still lake,
I avoid meeting myself on the foreground.
If I ever crossed path in the middle,
I would be non-existent;
none of this would matter,
and there will never be my Sunday.

Sarah Radzi
In Between Four Walls,
19.08.2018,
01:56

you sat on the edge of a fire escape
where I bestowed you
the softest kiss,

its tenderness as an embodiment
of time and distance between us
silent lovers.

There are countless stories
living, breathing in my bones
begging to be freed,
piercing the unknown.
Each day conjures a tale
that plays out within my mind,
a world that seems so real to me,
who knows what I may find.
My subconscious divided
between this world and my own;
A thousand lives have settled
and made myself their home.

Hey do you see me, I am on the side of the road,
I am forgotten yet I was part of this street long ago, now I am but a little figment of imagination, yet I am not none existent at all.
Do you want to talk to me or are you losing your mind ?
Take me with you, I will be your backup, your solid motivation,
Fragments of feelings are a fading memory which you seem to fail to remember, then wouldn't it make sense to keep them not as dearly,
Maybe if you were alike me, stop thinking and start being free,
A clear white mind with nothing to fear, empty with nothing to hear,
They are gone they can't fade away, a hollow heart has nothing to say
You are like me now isn't that nice, you have broken free from all lies,
Now like a little rock, light enough to be carried by the wind, you wander aimlessly through this world, isolated from humanity,
It is like they don't even understand that you are there, it is likely they don't care of your fate, nor do they seem to worry of what happened.
But don't worry either, talk to me, your little figment of imagination,
Because now you are like me and know what I feel like..
You are but a little rock on the side of the road.

~ Umi

Until no end,
where there is more unshadowed

Rest can be measurable
Of pierced veils unhallowed.