Leave

I hear a clutter in the kitchen
It's you.
You leave a distateful sense in this house.
Tried to distort me
Did you not?
Twist the emotions I did not have.
Such a failure you were,
such a failure

I live the life of a
nomad. I drag my belongings with me
through the snow, ice
while you live the life of a
liar. Forever a slave to your stories,
lies. Trust me,
you won't get far.

So I leave with my possessions
and leave with you believing
you had won.
But I leave with my emotions
in tact. I shall drag it
in one piece, even through
tougher times in life.
And unlike your lies,
which stay twisted and permanent,
all I will ever leave
are just marks in the snow.

In Her Words (A Translation)

It's like there's darkness at the edge
of my mind. It gnaws at my thoughts.
Devours it. And they no longer exist
That's what it feels like
 this disease.


I can feel it all going again,
all going....
..........................................................
...............son.....................................,
.................................................
....................................
.........(..........)....................
.........soldiers................!
..........................
....ring.............
.............
............
........
what?

Did I tell you
about the time I went on holiday

No?
I didn't think so.
I have a story to tell you
but it seems to elude me,
 the details of it...
...some times I question
whether it's real.
Polar bears in South Africa?
Or perhaps a brown bear?

My darling grandchild,
I hope to see you
soon.
Buy me the chocolates
I loved to eat as a child
You know which ones I like.
I hope to see you soon.

...
...
...
...


Who are you?

"I'd rather be a Comma than a Fullstop"

 
.

,

it's called a semicolon.

Habit

It's 1pm.

Time for my crumpet and brussel sprouts. Time to sit down in front of the laptop and type away mindlessly about my thoughts on life. What do I think of the crumpet?

It's 1.02pm.

Time to listen to some Coldplay and imagine myself away from the four walls of my room. I'm standing at the edge of a cliff - I can fly (or so I can in my head)

It's 1.15pm.

Time for my third cup of coffee. Black, bitter and strong. I have soy milk but it's not going into my coffee (as it normally doesn't)

It's 1.17pm.

Time to sit down with my coffee and listen to Coldplay again. Black, bitter and strong.

It's 3.30pm.

Time for a walk. I throw on a jacket and walk out the door. It's raining - never mind - I can still go for a walk. Rain, shine, snow or ice. I walk through the park on the way to town. I know the route so well I hardly notice it as I walk past. I know this route all too well.....

It's 6pm.

I'm back. Drenched, cold and tired.

It's 6.05pm

Time for another cup of coffee to warm me up and wake me up. The water boils. I pour it into my cup - black, bitter and strong.

"I turn the music up"

"Maybe the trees are gone"

"I feel my heart start beating to my favourite song"

"And heaven is in sight"

"I turn the music up
I've got the records on"

"I rather be a comma than a fullstop"

"Nobody said it was easy"

"Oh it's such a shame for us to part
Nobody said it was easy
No one ever said it would be so

I'm going back to the start"
 

Stir-Crazy

Up and down High Street I go
the cobbled street I am so familiar with
the shops I've seen so many times
the people I know from my countless walks

Up to the cathedral
to photograph the same damn building
to cover each nook and cranny
with scanning eyes.

Around the park,
Again, and again, and again
The sight of flowers were almost damaging
Their same-ness taunted me

Up and down High street I go
cobbled streets, shops and people,
Up to the cathedral
damn damn damn.
Around the park
Around and around. Fuck those flowers.
Up and down High Street I go....

People of the Past

I dropped the box of photographs as I was tidying up the room.

Photographs spilled out of the box and lay splayed out on the floor. They spread out like branches on a tree, the one closest to me being the earliest photo I had of myself.

2006
I was sat on a friend's bed smiling, with my glasses askew (typical of a 15-year-old who couldn't give two fucks about looking stupid in a photo). I only ever smiled for photos.

2007
I was stood amongst my classmates. My hair was a mess and I had displayed a small smirk on my face. A time hardly worth doumenting, admist preparations for my GCSEs - Eleven subjects: Malay Language, English Language, English Literature, English for Science and Technology, Modern Mathematics, Additional Mathematics, Biology, Chemistry, Physics, History, Moral Studies - I got 4 As.

2008
I was standing on the beach with five others. We were at camp. Sunburned and tired, we looked as limp as a the seaweed clumped at our feet. I could already see the weariness in my eyes.

2009
Last day of boarding school. In the background, I could see a friend crying and hugging fellow junior boarders. In contrast, I was sat on a bench, smiling meekly, eyes dead.

2010
I was stood with friends in the kitchen of one of the student halls. Toilet paper lay strewn around us. Too much of a good night perhaps? But I looked at me - it was like I wasn't even there. Eyes dead, body limp - I could only ever just manage to smile for photos.

There are no photos of myself for 2011. All I had as proof of my existence were the countless photos of everything but myself - trees, squirrels, buildings, random passer-bys. I spend so much time hidden behind the lens but it's where I feel safest. I don't need to be reminded of how I've changed.

I pile up the photos once more and place the photo of myself from 2006 on the top - that's the only photos worth remembering - goofy teenager, glasses askew, deceiving the world with nothing but a smile.

"Mam, we're playing funerals now"

The view of the cemetery crossed me at the corner of my eye. I was on a bus, going at 50kph on the small winding roads of Surrey. The bus stopped at the junction, waiting for the traffic line to turn green. I turn around and take a second look at the cemetery and took note of how old some of the gravestones were - chipped and moss-devoured, the headstones' details were lost to the running of time and age.

The light turns green.

Just before we sped off down the countryside, I noticed a small old woman kneeling by a headstone with flowers in her hands. Could she be the only visitor this cemetery had left?

The bus began to move and we turned around a corner.

I lost sight of the old woman and the cemetery but the thought of a lone visitor lingered. I wondered how it must feel to be her, the only one left who seemed to have any longingness to visit the dead loved one. Where were the other funeral-goers who cried over the coffin of the dead? Were they all merely playing the role of 'Mourner'?

I got off the bus at the Bird in Hand. In the pub, there was a loud chanting of the birthday song and I knew that all those singing were just playing the role of "Friend".

Something Amazing

The twang of the guitar
in the cold winter's air, holding
the note in eternity
to captivate the listeners,

and onlookers. I shall not say
what I wanted them to see, I just wanted them
to sink -
sink into the melody, nostlagia
and hope for the better tomorrow.

The sky cried silently onto the pavement.
The spectators left and I took
the guitar home with me
to be laid next to a burning fire
to dry away the emotions
but I knew that there were stains on my listeners.
They had gone home with it,
drenched.

And I Lose my Thoughts..

The storeroom is empty - I mean, I am the only one in there with the books and the files and dust-covered boxes. There really is not much in here but the four walls - and the books and the files and the dust-covered boxes.


I wonder if books could talk?

I consider the possibility of life within this room. I'm the only one breathing in here. With every exhalation, more hot cabon dioxide seems to burden the atmosphere. That's how small it is in here.

I can hear the mysterious tinkling of mugs.

Coffee-stained mugs sit behind the small stack of books. I know they are there even if I can't see them. I know this because I put them there, to hide them from the boss who always grumbles at the sight of dirty mugs.

Omnipotence. I know everything. I am the only one with a mind in here.

I love this feeling of knowing everything. I am a level of intelect above these books and I am more well-versed about the present than these files and boxes. I snicker at the thought of this power - I am in control.

Suddenly, the door slams open

"What are you doing in here?"

And reality is calling...

So Real

Sometimes I wonder what my eyes are telling me - is the sky really as blue as it seems? Or is all I sense based on what I was told to believe, want to believe?

I stare at myself in the mirror.

Distortion...

Is this what is real or what I want to see? I pull out a fisheye lens from the bottom of my camera bag and stare through it. I watch the warped space of the room dance in front of me and wonder whether this perception was more real than my own raw perception of myself.

I drop the lens and it lies by my right foot - I remember how I could once see the veins snake beneath my skin. Now they were embedded under flesh - flesh that shouldn't be there.

I leave the lens on the floor and think of perception no more.

Days Gone

I cry about it less these days...and I think about it in moderation

I still get glaze-eyed in Tesco and confused and indecisive in the health food shops. But I know it's all an after-effect.

Although many days have gone since the worst and many negative instances have flashed by, I am no different from the initial days of the symptoms. But what is different is that I now know where my line stands and where my self should stand.

I think my self stands a good distance away from the edge.

Tingle

One year on and I still sigh at the thought of it. I play the songs I played all that time ago and try to make sense of the journey I've made so far.

Somehow, I'm still not happy..and I question whether I ever will.

I still remember the times when I could fit between the gaps of the door left ajar and disappear into the crowd of clubbers without my presence ever being noticed by the people around me. I wonder whether I could still do it and whether I should still try to do it.

It is just a tingle...a reminder of what I used to be and what I'm still contemplating of being (in time...)