Saturday, July 31, 2010

Reach for the Sky

How could we have resisted the opportunity to touch the sky when it is all we have ever longed for?

We let ourselves go, and reached for the seemingly unattainable, our bodies becoming dust, the dust becoming particles, and the particles becoming atoms. There we might float free in the furthest reaches of existence, with no past, no future, and the chance of doing anything the Universe might have in store.

For what are we all, but moments in time?

Friday, July 30, 2010


I can't help but wonder: what would the world be like if we each fought for what we wanted?

I always thought that I would fight for you. Then insecurities and doubts got in the way. They shot me down before I even took flight. I made you think I didn't want you. In fact, I wanted you to think I didn't want you, because I thought you didn't want me. In reality, I should have done the opposite.

I wonder: what would have happened if I had fought for you the way you wanted me to? What would happen if I tried to fight now?

But most of all, I wonder if it's too late, at the same time knowing the truth I wish I didn't know:

It is.

Ridiculously enough, this has become about you again. The real struggle is trying not to give in and write about you. But I find I cannot help myself anymore than a wolf can stop itself from howling, or the sun can stop its burning. Though I try to steer clear of you in words, everything else seems a lie.

I wanted someplace to write things that people could appreciate. I wanted to write about the philosophies that presented themselves to my mind. Yet here I am, and all my writing has become about you again. This is my struggle.

Everything I write has a trace of you within it. You're the ghost who guides forth the words that I spill across the screen, across the pages of my diary, throughout the lines of my poetry. And still you thought that I didn't care. Do you realise how wrong you were?

I'm left to wonder: do you still read this, which I hadn't known you'd found?

Now things are finished and I am yet to move on. Falling is never easy. And it ALWAYS hurts. That's why it's called falling.

I try to think that another door has opened before me, while the one with you behind it has closed, but I'm finding it a little bit difficult to find that open door. I want to find it, I want to let it take me away, away from the hurt, away from the memories, away from the unanswered questions. And most of all, away from the "What if's".

I want to find my independence again; I lost it when I'd grown so used to leaning on you. I suppose I leaned too much. I broke you.

I'm sorry.

You won't accept "sorry". I understand. Most likely, I wouldn't either. But it's there, just so you know. I couldn't say it enough to cover all the things I've done which I wish I could be forgiven for, but I'd like to. I wonder if that means anything to you. Probably not. Why would it?

I was a coward, I was insecure, I made you feel like you weren't the person you should be. I made you feel worthless. And I had no right to. I never wanted to make you feel like that, I didn't know that I had. It's just another thing to add to the long, long list of things I wish you'd told me.

Yet, for all the paper cranes I could fold, not one of them, not all of them, could grant me even one wish. I do not deserve it. I deserve nothing from you. You were willing to give everything and I turned you away, like a stubborn child who struggles for what they want, and only when denied and they cry is it offered to them, and so lost in self pity, they turn down what would have made happy.

We've managed to sacrifice all the good times because of the bad. In moments of anger I said things I ought not to have said; in moments of reflection, I regret each and every one.

This doesn't mean I was the only one who was wrong. There are two sides to every relationship; you are as much at fault as I. But I believe my injustices were worse. What made them even worse than the fact I had committed them, was not knowing how they had truly affected you. However, it is a testament to how little trust we had in our relationship that you never told me. Did you think I would allow burning anger to get the better of me? Did you think I would run from that confrontation?

That is also a testament to how little you must have known me. What more can I say?

There is much more I could say; things I have learned in hindsight, questions that will remain unanswered, wishes that are yet to come true. But let us not dwell on those. There has been enough sorrow here already. I have already written much more than I had intended to, much more honestly than I ever wanted. There is no anonymity to protect us. The story's been told, the play performed, the song sung.

What I have left to wonder is this: will this help me on my way to recovery the way I wish it to?

And most importantly, who is waiting on the other side of the wall in front of me, who has possibly been waiting patiently for me to find a way around that wall, and walk straight into them?
Who is it that I may possibly have a life with?

Only with this struggle finished and buried will I ever have a hope of finding out.

A Little Too Close, A Little Too Far

It seems that everywhere I look I still see traces of you. It's like the Universe is conspiring against me to remind me forever of what happened, to tease me about what I lost; a name in an email, a mention in passing, a smell that's a memory.

What do we do? What could have happened didn't, and what shouldn't have happened did. You're so close, but so far away, you might as well be on a different planet.

We're left to suffer the consequences of our actions, dictated by the Universe's plans; we're but pawns in its great game we call Life.

Yet, I think that we still wish it to be otherwise. How else would I be able to explain why sometimes your eyes linger on me a split second longer than they otherwise ought to have?

Thursday, July 29, 2010

Call of Home

Don't make the mistake of thinking that I'm going to stay here forever. It's just not physically possible. You have done nothing to make me want to stay.

There is no way that I will be able to resist leaving; there is no way I would want to. The voice of the horizon calls to me, ever, from afar, sometimes murmuring, sometimes shouting, always present. This may be where I was born, where I was raised, where I have always lived. But this is not home.

Home is somewhere far away, simply somewhere where you are not. Home is where the horizon is calling from, where its voice pulls my soul to come to, where it tugs at me incessantly, like a child pulling on the sleeve of a parent until they are noticed.

It is as though I was cruelly torn asunder from where I ought to be, and brought here to serve under oppression, hidden in smiles and false affection. And you wish to keep me. You wish for me to stay here, and breathe the same air you do, to think the same thoughts you do, to take the same path of life.

That is not my way. My path lies elsewhere. It is leading me away; away from here, away from these sounds, away from this air. Away from you. And that is how I wish it to be.

Of course you will try to stop me; you will not be able to any more than you are able to stop the Earth from turning, or halt the sea's ebb and flow. You will try to stop me because you won't be able to comprehend that you don't have control; the strings are no longer in your hand, and I won't be your puppet anymore. Already they are snapping, while you laugh and still tug, oblivious. How long will it take you to notice that I am gone?

The road calls, the horizon calls, and the lure of places seen only in pictures still haunts me. You don't understand. You won't ever understand. That's why I am halfway gone, and you are stuck here.

One day soon the desire will overcome me, and what's imagined won't be enough anymore, wishes won't be enough to sustain me. It will become a reality.

That's what happens when you keep a bird too long in a cage; upon its escape it tastes the sweetest freedom it has ever, or will ever know, and you are left to weep in its absence.

I look to the horizon and promise "Soon". I see the promise of Home lingering, hoping, the way the lover of a sailor stands on the shore, and prays for the ship to bring his safe return.

Help, I'm Alive

It's a funny feeling, being lost. You never quite know whether anyone is paying attention to you, helplessly wandering, or whether they just pass you over, thinking that you're just another face.

It's like being trapped in a box, where the confines are too small, and the walls are made for you to look out, but for no one to look in. All you want is for just one of them to see you, and make sure that you're ok.

Shake the box, call the winds, break the silence. Make sure that they see you, make sure that they hear you. They can't ever give you help if they don't know that you need it.

Don't let the sadness get the better of you. Don't let it make you feel like you are worthless. Break forth, show the world that you have what it takes.

Don't let yourself be another one who disappears in a puff of smoke, swallowed by the void.

Wednesday, July 28, 2010

Appearances of Reality

Don't ever think that things are always as they seem. There are too many things that govern any one event, too many facets to every situation. Too many corners to see what lies around all of them.

Parts of the picture may be obscured, for they don't want you to see everything. They don't want to be made vulnerable. They shed light only on what they think you should know, and leave the rest to darkness.

We are all victims of darkness.

The shadows don't burn as incandescent as I thought they should, don't scorch nearly enough as I thought they would. But perhaps this is the reality of pain: perhaps this is the numbness of the initial shock, those moments before the pain begins to shoot through you. Maybe the worst is yet to come.

I don't want this to be numbness, I want to feel it all. Only then can the reality exist, for till then, what have I to hold on to?

Maybe this is only the tip of the iceberg, and we haven't even begun to scratch the surface yet. I can only hope that below the turbulent waters, there lies a peace, an anchor, a whole other world. Perhaps I can sink to the depths, until the storm exhausts itself and the waters still themselves once more. Only then shall I surface and see the world with different eyes, having healed the hurt I am yet to feel.

Tuesday, July 27, 2010

Aurora Borealis

Someday, we'll sit beneath the broad expanse of the sky, its comforting velvet black, and try as we might to touch the stars. The cluster will speak to us, whispering secrets from galaxies far away, murmuring stories of the Great Beyond, and reassuring us that it will watch over us for all time. And all the stars in the Universe will agree unanimously that they will take it upon themselves to guide us, wherever we may travel, however dark the path might become.

We shall lean back, nestling against the comfort of a rock, nestling against each other, a fire burning protectively before us, warding off the cold which coats the land with white. Our sighs will come out as clouds of mist, our ears shall be assailed with the soft, even rhythm of our breaths, punctuated only by the crackling of the fire, and nothing else besides.

Our fingers shall curl to keep away the frost, and our tongues will taste the silence. There will be only the lights of the sky to keep us still, presenting a tranquility lost in the hum of city, in amongst the rabid race of hopes, desires and fears. Only here will we breath easily, feel the inner calm we each have the ability to call forth.

We shall lose ourselves to the comfort of the moment, letting the curtains of the sky fall, and veil us from the darkness.

Monday, July 26, 2010

In Between the Lines

We all have a history; every one of us. No, they're not the histories that end up in the books, which lie on the old bookshelf, worn and dusty. These are much more important.

They're the untold histories throughout time; for all that ends up in books are the cold events: the what happened, to who, and when. Those books don't have the real histories, the insights into the lives of those who lived. Those books can never give the reality, because they never look at the real stories, of those people who lived, breathed, fought, loved.

There are enough of those stories to fill all the books in the world, but barely any of them will be written, which makes them all the more spectacular. The real glory of history isn't in what's written in the books, but what lies in between the lines, those white spaces between the letters, between the words, in the margins. And still there would not be enough space to write all that should be there; all the lives lived but untold.

We all have a history. We all have sorrows which lie hidden within us, we all have triumphs which are remembered as the happiest moments in our lives. Things we have run from, people we have loved, people we have hurt, the beauty we've seen, and the sorrows we have felt. We are all too afraid to let it all come back to haunt us, so we run, we forget, we move on. We never heal. The wound is left to fester, left to bleed, so even hidden in our past, the pain still shoots through us. The happiness too uplifts us, but it is often overshadowed. There can be no light without creating shadows. They are what we must face, what we must fight, what we must overcome.

Only then can we be secure enough to write our tales, and let it begin the revolution, where history becomes the people, their emotions, not the events.

So tell me, what's your story?

Sunday, July 25, 2010

I Want to Hold Your Hand

It's not so difficult travelling through life when someone holds your whole world in their hands. Especially if you wanted them to have it. It's nice to know that they may cradle it, and cherish it. It's when they crush it, and pull it apart that's the problem.

Perhaps it would just be better to keep the world for yourself, and just let someone else hold your hand instead; it probably hurts less to let go of that, rather than having them letting go of your world, and it falling to the ground, shattering into a million pieces.

Saturday, July 24, 2010

Promises of Light

Searching for happiness was never meant to be this hard. But you have to go through the worst, to recognise the best. That's the way Life is. Appreciation comes hard to those who have never known sorrow.

The past is the past; it's dead and buried. I emerge from the mists to face the new day, the new light, the life that promises to be brighter. Still blinded by the swirling grey fog, the way for a better life is still obscure, but as sure as I know the Earth turns beneath my feet, I know that the path I am on is the one that will lead me to happiness, even if I am to travel it with parts of myself missing, lost in the fog I leave behind.

This time I'll remember to leave my love in a jar by the door. Perhaps it's better to pick it up as I leave, instead of coming in holding it too tightly, and then giving it away to temptation. Perhaps it's better, instead of losing yourself to those behind that certain door.

So as the blindness lifts from my eyes, and the fog begins to lift, I hope to find myself standing on the edge of a sunflower field. The only problem with mist is that its remnants will cling to you, wherever you may go, woven into the fibres of your very being, never unravelling.

Friday, July 23, 2010


This has to stop. All of it. We can't pretend that everything is ok. That's just not how things work. Perhaps you're fine with the idea of just forgetting things and walking away; it seems to be the way you deal with everything, because you are too fucking weak to take it any other way. Well I'm not your goddamn pawn, I'm not your marionette, and I'm certainly no longer your friend. You've forgotten that I'm another living, breathing, thinking, feeling being.

You may try as you might to patch things up, but sticky tape never fixes anything permanently. And now everything's falling apart. Have you even noticed?

I want to know if what I'm doing, how I'm living, is hurting you. If my laughter stabs you in the heart, if avoiding you twists the knife, then wrenches your heart out because the knife got lodged too deeply.

I don't think you understand. I loved you, and could have given you everything that I could possibly give. Only, I was too afraid to actually give it, I was afraid of rejection. I was afraid of success.

So we came to a standstill. And things began to crumble.

Now there's nothing left standing. And it's as though you're trying to reassemble a man from the dust he became; there's not enough left to build from. I can envision it becoming a sad, consistent pattern in my life.

I can't live this way. I realise that I didn't want you or your personality or your conversation. I wanted the chance to have someone to love.

But enough is enough. I see now that I deserve someone better than you could ever be for me. I see now that the same could be said of me for you. We should go our separate ways. So stop trying to act as though nothing has changed! I don't want it. I don't want you! This isn't silent frustration anymore, it's chaotic agony, where howling is the only release.

I have come to realise that the most important thing in my life is Love. But I do not yearn not only to be loved as so many others do, but to also love. I want someone to let me have the chance to love them, to hold them, comfort them, kiss them, assure them with quiet murmurs. I want someone I can give everything to. I want someone to let me have them.

This is the greatest agony of all; the eye of the storm, where the howling winds have stopped, and the frustration simply gets the better of you, and you have to collapse in silence and bleed it out in tears. Then realise that you're all alone in that agony, because Life is incapable of fulfilling your one true desire.

Is it so wrong to want just one person, just one, to love unconditionally, uncontrollably, irrevocably? To surrender yourself to wholeheartedly, and have them let you do it. To have someone to pull tightly into a hug when they are upset, and take comfort from the embrace, as well as they. To be content with rising everyday to see their smile. I do not believe that it is so wrong, but then why does it seem like reaching for the impossible?

I thought perhaps it could be you, but no, I was wrong. I realised that I did not love you as I had thought, and for each day my vision was clearer, I realised that I did not like most aspects of you, of who you became. And so I allowed you to hurt me, while I hurt you in return. And I believe you enjoyed having the power of pain and pleasure over me, but I had given the power foolishly; I take it back into my own hands now. Only the person who lets me love them should wield that power, and that person is not you. I may be the lonely girl tormented by dreams and heartbreak and memories, unable to survive it for much longer, but that does not mean you have the right to drag me into deeper despair.

It's time for this to end. It seems as though some goodbye's never end, dragging into eternity, long after both parties should have fallen into oblivion. The last curtain has fallen, so why do we linger upon the stage?

Thursday, July 22, 2010

Silence on this Stretch of Desolation

The days grow dark, the sky grows stormy, the path is so uninviting. Yet this is the path we must continue upon each day. Every other way is blockaded, broken gates a sign not to enter. All we can see ahead is the same stretch of road, disappearing into the horizon, with no sign of it ending, with no sign of hope. The land is barren either side, and we wonder what we are walking towards, if there is anything at the end of the line.The silence is deafening, giving no indication of whether we will make it to the end. 

So many have fallen already.

We cannot escape this path, so we must continue upon it, and live in the hope that there is something better waiting for us at the end; we hope that there is no ominous sky bearing down on us, no desolate landscape to either side. We live in the hope for life. 

But unless we persevere, we may never see anything like it. We must remember, every step of the way, that what's worth the prize is always worth the fight. 

Wednesday, July 21, 2010

Cry for the Moon

It's difficult to even begin to understand why things are as they are. Some things, though inexplicable, can be changed, it is all within our power, if only we open our minds enough to see the evils that we consider part of the norm.

We are left to howl out frustration into the dark of the night, with the moon our only witness. It's all because we yearn deeply for a sense of freedom. Yet we think, and think, and cannot understand what it is we are fighting, we cannot understand where our sense of disquiet arises.

We howl to the moon because the moon understands; it does not judge, it does not label, it merely accepts, then embraces. It relieves us from the tight groups the world forces us into. The labels we force ourselves under. The judgments we force others to face.

We cry for the moon when no one else wants to listen because they are far too busy doing the same. We cry because we cannot see a way out of the cycle we see ourselves in, the life we are raised to live.

We cry because we wish it to break our chains.

Tuesday, July 20, 2010

When Worlds Collide

Life is about always looking up. It's a fact that people barely ever turn their eyes to what is above them, for it is always so much easier looking down, observing your feet as they walk along the path. So most people lose moments that they might otherwise have had, moments that could have defined them, changed them beyond belief. They miss all the beauty of the bigger picture. 

We all should aspire not only to look up, but also to see; there is a vast difference between the two, and we often forget the latter. For this reason, so much is often overlooked; moments melded into the fabric of Time, and then snatched away, never seen, never remembered. 

You may walk with your head hanging down, or your eyes held shut; perhaps living is easier that way. But it is never better. 

Walk looking up, walk looking forwards, towards the future, and perhaps you can stop the oncoming traffic and teach them to do the same. Or perhaps you can walk right into someone who cannot help gazing down, and discover what happens when two worlds collide.

Monday, July 19, 2010

The Vanity of Perfection

In the perfect world, I'd live to dream. There'd be nothing to stop my imagination taking hold, nothing to bring me back to reality. I'd float among the leaves of grass forever.

In my perfect world, I'd sail into the sky.

But I'd have to remember that loneliness comes in all sorts of shapes. Perhaps you can never escape it.

And I won't be able to scream; there'd be no one there to hear me.

They were wrong when they said that all the pain would go away when perfection and Paradise was attained.

Sunday, July 18, 2010

Insatiable Colour

Come with me, and we'll colour all the world. We'll teach them all about passion in colours, as we learn about it ourselves.

Or perhaps we could leave them to suffer in black and white and shades of grey, until we've satisfied our own selfish lust for those colours.

They should only hope that we don't find our desire insatiable.

Saturday, July 17, 2010

Much Too High a Cost

Look at how you've torn my wings. They're tattered, and frayed, battered almost beyond repair. I don't think you even care about what you've done to me.

But all things heal in time. Even this bleeding wound. The scar won't fade, but life will stop seeping through it, away from me.

You just remember when they turn to ask you where I am, and how I'm doing, that you make the hell sure you turn around and tell them how I'm defying gravity. You'd better make sure that they know all about how you tried to stop me, how you tried to bring me down, break me, and all about how you FAILED to do so.

And remember, this time, you can't get back what you've lost.

Thursday, July 15, 2010

Patron Saint of Lost Causes

I just want to walk away into the glorious sunset. Is that so much to ask?

I want to leave behind the shadows, the lost causes. The ghosts that don't know how to stop haunting me. But why is it so hard?

I've never wanted so much to whisk you away to some other place, and spend the rest of my life trying to make you happy, as I do now. You deserve happiness too. But the question is, will you let me?

Tuesday, July 13, 2010

Expressive Style

We are all born with a sense of beat. That's why we are so good at tapping out a tune with our hands, or enjoy whistling a cheery melody.

If you listen carefully, you can discern the rhythm in everything; the ticking of a clock in the dark silence, the sound of the cars squelching past on the rain-blanketed road, the clunking of the train over the rails. And some of these rhythms inspire us to move in tandem with them.

You tap your foot to the beat, enjoying the movement of your body in harmony with the music. Soon you're up on the floor, wildly swinging your arms about, whacking your hips to either side, and headbanging so your hair flies everywhere. Or perhaps you leap across a stage, gracefully cutting the air as swiftly as a knife, propelling yourself in a twirl with nothing but your arms held stiffly.

Whatever may happen, no one can take that away from you. If there's a rhythm, there's a dance to be had.  Each to their own style.

Monday, July 12, 2010

No One Mourns the Wicked

When all's said and done, no one will miss her. She will sit and look to the setting sun, knowing that somewhere, she left herself behind. They won't ever know who she once was, they won't look beyond the person she became.

No one looks at her but in fear
None for her can shed a tear
They don't know what it is to be alone

Loneliness led her to bitterness
And bitterness led her to wickedness
So from society was she thrown

Cast down without a friend
She wondered when this would end
Could she survive it on her own?

She screamed one bloodcurdling scream
And woke them all from their false dream
They ran to find her lying in her blood

No one would miss her. They'll lay her in an unmarked grave, to forget that they were wrong, to ignore their shameful actions. They go about their lives, reveling in false rejoice, for they know, behind the lying eyes, that they were all responsible for what she did. No one mourns the wicked.

She watches them from her seat in the sky as they too join her remains in the earth, one by one, and never once does she weep for them, for she remembers their injustice. No; no one mourns the wicked.

Sunday, July 11, 2010

The Wrong Choice

I should have known this was coming. By choice, I looked the other way, and pretended that it wasn't possible. But now it's happened. And it hurts.

No pain is quite as sharp as looking up from tears to see that no one even noticed you were crying.

Saturday, July 10, 2010


Here we are, I'm flirting with the edge yet again. Are you sick of it yet? Oh but if I didn't, what would we be?

You see, I'm not as blind as you might think. I can see that I've almost fallen over that edge, almost plunged to certain death, but you know me; I'm never too close to the edge until I have fallen off.

But I think that time has come, that I have indeed toppled over. Still, this doesn't quite feel like falling, it feels like I haven't moved at all. I always thought the worst part wasn't the impact but the time it took to get to the bottom; the waiting. The falling. Maybe I was wrong. Knowing what was coming.

Well, I'll keep sailing right on in to it, whatever it may be; whether danger or desire or death. That's our final destination anyway. Not even we can escape that. And you know it.

Yes, I see, this isn't what you told me it would be. This isn't nearly as bad as the hell you made me believe I would be damned to traverse. I look up at you, in your mighty throne, and hear you laughing, because they all believe your facade, they all believe that you're as good as they say. They won't ever know the truth until it's too late. No, those who were really good, were the ones you banished, and threw down to the ground.

I wonder, how many of the others are crying because of what you've done? How many more will have to suffer before they come to realise the truth?

I shall sit here, my wings broken, my soul shattered, but my determination still firm. I shall show them what you are one day. And then they shall weep because of their foolishness. Oh yes Puppetmaster, you should be afraid.

Friday, July 9, 2010

Language of the Soul

Nothing in the world can move you like music can. To put it simply, nothing else can pull at your heartstrings in quite the same way.

Each of us has a reaction to a beautiful melody, each of us remembers a haunting score. It may not be the same piece, but it need not be. There is so much that we take with us from music.

While there is so much that we hold dear in our lives, there is nothing that could have a stronger hold than the story told by the weeping strings of the violin, nor could anything rally us so, like the beat from a drum, resonating through our core.

Upon the wings of a symphony we can soar, so just close your eyes and fly. And at the end, when the tears have ceased, remember to spare a thought for the musicians who made your flight a reality, and thank them; because they just revealed to you a piece of their soul.

No one but a musician knows how to reveal true human nature as an art form, no one else can speak to us so, because no one else can take raw emotion and translate it into a language that the world can understand.

Thursday, July 8, 2010

Inevitability is the only Certainty

The colour is drained out of life. There was much more that it had wanted to give, but you didn't let it, so it stopped trying, and let go, all the colour draining away, because you didn't deserve to see it.

We are not infallible. Our mortality is visible to us all too clearly; each day there is news of another murder, another rape, another missing person. How do we go on, knowing we are one of them?
There are too many lonely souls wandering this earth. That's what we are, each and every one. It is inevitable.

So sit and stare in sorrow, for the colour won't reappear, it's gone forever. You shunned everything and everyone and became just another one of the Lost, joining the rest of the world. Yes, you have Fallen, doomed to wander until you find the end of the line. And the trees lost their colour weeping for you.

Tuesday, July 6, 2010

The Overcomplication of Something Simple


Love until it hurts. Love until that's all there is.

Focus on one thing, and feel; feel everything.

Love its beauty, see its beauty.

Love till you cry.

Love until you can't breathe anymore.

Monday, July 5, 2010

Master Passion Greed

You might say that I am enchanted by you. You might say that I am charmed by your looks, the way you hold yourself, the way you speak. You might say that I am spellbound by something so ancient it cannot be broken, despite how I may pull at the bonds, how I may scream, how I may suffer. You might say that I am under your command, for it is so; it seems that there is no free will left. You stole it from me.

You have never invited me to take my leave, you have never shown me the way out; I think you must like having me by you too much. You have never given thought to how your grip crushes, more so than even the deepest despair.

I wonder, have you done this before? It seems you are most proficient in this sport. Oh yes, you make it hurt like all the fires of hell burn in me simultaneously, then you offer your apologies, before plunging the knife in once again. I may have tried to escape once, but you wouldn't relinquish me, so I learnt to take the pain, flinching each time your eyes flicker towards me, because I already know what comes next.

The worst twist of this convoluted tragedy is that I still look to you in hope. Still that tiny, last ember of desire glows deep within, even as I
hope the pain will fade, and not be administered again. I know it is a false hope.I've learnt the hard way, Enchantment is just another word for Prison.

Seek her
Seduce her
Tame her

Blame her

Have her
Kill her

Feast on it all

Master Passion Greed - Nightwish

Sunday, July 4, 2010

Unexpected Gifts

Things can happen in the most unexpected of ways; you may find friends that you haven't talked to in years, or see something beautiful and fragile in a harsh, dirty place. Take note of these, for they are the little gifts that Life takes it upon itself to bestow, when times are difficult, and it seems so hard to push forward. These are here to bring colour back to a world which has lost all to despair.

It can come in a flower, growing through the cracks of a city footpath, defying everything to reach for the sun.
It can come in the form of a melody, heartwrenchingly intertwining itself with the dormant feelings within you, so that you are awakened to it all once again.
Or it can come in the form of one perfect day, when the sun simply smiles down upon you, blessing you with its rays.

Friday, July 2, 2010

The Tears That Never Let Fall

I know you feel like you're drowning sometimes, like the world is suffocating you, and so oppressed, you feel it hurts to take a breath, lest all that's piled upon you settle in your lungs when you breathe. I know that sometimes, you want to just sink into it all, and let it take you. I also know that you sometimes don't feel that you're cared about, that the world could end and no one would even think of you.

Well, what I know, is that that isn't true.

You've imprinted yourself onto the hearts of everyone you've met; sometimes in a good way, sometimes in a bad, but it's the people that care about you who will come through when you most need them. Don't be deceived; some will pretend that they care, others will blatantly show that they don't, but they aren't the ones you need concern yourself about.

Remember, the ones that care the most will be there to catch your tears, each and every one, as they fall.

Thursday, July 1, 2010

Dear Self

I'm starting to think that it's ok to be messed up, and confused, and basically having a life where up is down, and wrong is right. You may not be the person I always thought you were, and you may make me absolutely depressed sometimes, but then, there are also the times where you make me amazingly happy, because you're you, and no one can take that away.

We're in conflict quite often; I think one thing, you think the other, and we both pull and tug and tear at one another till one of us gives in. Sometimes this takes longer, sometimes just minutes, and even now, there are still a great many things we haven't resolved. We just need to take the time to sort it out. The clocks won't stop ticking until we've finished and sorted it, but that does not mean that we should stop trying, because the problem won't disappear only because we've decide to ignore it.

So though we may fight and disagree, we're in this together for the long run. And yes, despite all, I still love you.

Yes Self, you are the part of me immersed in shadow, and sin, and desire, but also hope, and light, and the fire to keep on fighting. You are the part that the rational side of me wishes away, and tries to censor and control, but you cannot be reckoned with, and emerge, strong, passionate and invulnerable at times, throwing life into chaos. But I wouldn't have it any other way. What I'm trying to say is, I love you, I accept you, and I think it's time you and I learnt how to work in harmony, so I embrace you.