That Music

Oh it plays on.
even when I'm not ready to receive it
but oh the memories
they come so vividly in the night of direness.

I'm so sad I can't share it
because it all exists in my head
where only the imagined-you
can hear it.

Melodic Unhappenings

Piano concerto,
why does the melody drag me away
off the ground, above the mountains
and through the clouds? Darkness
assumes the light of the moon
and we lose ourselves in the deep
notes of the keys.

Piano concerto,
why do you take me home
to the house steeped in monsoon?
Did you intend to bring me memories
which only serve to taunt
with what is no longer there?
The girl who played under the tree
and in the tree
is now there no more and
neither the house nor its occupants
exist in this sliver of time.

So piano concerto,
are you trying to remind me
of the breaking of innocence
and to teach me about the loss of time?
If so,
why do it now
when I am sat alone
with nothing more than myself
and the memories which kill to remember?

Grow(n) up

I'm such a child sometimes.

How Did You Not See

Idolising you made a difference to words.

A charming typewriter with no aspiration
moves closer to poems and rhymes.

Dead though, now she lies
in a room of typhoid-carrying flies
sadly mistaken for and misperceived as
a promiscuous devil who
played with and
preyed on the
open hearts of men;
instead, really, she was an innocent one
never tried once
to misplace men
even for herself or anyone in fact;
dead though, now she lies....
....
....
...and oh, how I am disappointed in you.

Knowledge

The nights of knowing so
backfires on the plotter
but still hurts the victim.

Cheers for that.

Permanence

Oh how your lies
penetrate the night;
sleepless in bed, staring
fixated at the light
you gave me when
the day was young.

Throwing the blankets off
and wandering into the dark
my shadow falls at the corner of the loft.
Oh my child, are your feelings stuck
on the memories you formed
in the throes of love?
Or were they merely expectations
based on misconceptions?


Dear child. You die
knowing you were all but nothing.
Tragically dissipitating
and constantly disappearing.
Why do you hold on so long
to the nights of young
and unfaithful songs
which no longer hold meaning
let alone hold promise.

Carpenters sing in the lonely air
and I hold on tight
to what I have left:
a pillow, a blanket, and the
unnerving image of the light
you sent to me
on a cold, naive night.

Game On

You play the very same game you said you didn't like.

It's called exclusion. I spent quite a lot of time pondering about the rules. It dawned upon me that this game only spelled out hate for the losing player and I wanted no part in it.

But somehow I got drawn in.

I lose, of course, because I didn't pay attention to the strategies I used (actually, what strategy?). I don't process instructions very well either to be honest. Maybe that's why I lost. I don't know. Can you tell me where I went wrong?

Oh wait....everyone's leaving. I guess the loser doesn't move on and isn't told where she went wrong. It's always a mystery isn't it? I guess I'll never figure this one out.

Here you go, mother;

here's your useless child.

Then

"I miss you"
If only I had said those words
when time permitted.

No More

I know I shall play no more games
on the battlefields of hate.
How ironic to discover
you have only learnt to play.
I cannot partake in these
nonsense sketches. I resist
temptation, greed and hurt
to avoid becoming the dark devil
in order to save your bleeding soul.

Not to be Heard

"Sorry"
was said
on a non-existent plane.
Joy
succumbs
to over-whelming guilt.

So much for Burns, Wordsworth
and the bloke who wrote
Kubla Khan
high on opium.
Hello to Thomas, Larkin
and the married
Plath and Hughes.

So much of the
unromantic
deadened the pain
which pulsed so thick
through the breakable chain.

A slit of the
[I won't say it]
ends the night young.
We starve ourselves naked
never having begun.

So the rubber band
snaps,
tensions soar high
and they wander around
with their lies.
But I say sorry
on an imaginary plane
which not only does not transmit
but also does not suffice.

In Peace, I will not be Left.

The year ended
flat.
No goodbyes or happy smiles
we leave. And joining them in the new years
will not be me
or so it seemed.

Leprous walls and doors
with a strip of green which travelled with me.
Sterile floors
mopped with alcohol
hiding that gleam
that mad gleam
which only this floor possessed.

Join the club.
We sit in isolation.
Isolation Club,
twiddling our thumbs.
The smell of burnt toast
we ate.
We only needed
the smell
and the sight.
Nothing more than the
non-physical touch of
neccessity.

Bitter battles
between mind and
gut. You clench your fist until
your palms bleed but still,
you don't understand.

Do you love me Anabel?
If Anabel is what you call it
then No 
Anabel does not love you.
Then who is to love this
frame? Who is to love this
thing?
Only a parent could love
or perhaps not even them.

Stuck between obssession and reality
the doorway begins to shut.
Which side are you on?
Which side are you on?
I have one foot out the door
only one foot on the outside floor.
Such a child, you are
Such a child.

Sorry

The "sorry"s mislaid and the tears which fell were part of the aftermath.

Here for You

The doubts in my mind exist almost like a deadly entity. It sits there waiting to spring up admist my lack of self-confidence. Never to resist a chance, it hovers silently over time and space. And I'm ever more aware of it during times of distress.

We forget you

it says. If only I could forget it. It's too strong. And it lies deceivingly dormant under the dead leaves of autumn.

Chase me once...
...catch me,
and lay me down in death. Its hands so cold and so unfeeling that I feel like I'm sinking into darkness

Grit

Silent grudges...

..ooh..don't think I want to be part of that.

What a undeniably trivial thing to partake in. Why do you choose to throw the words at people you dislike? Isn't it better to say nothing at all?

Okay you've proven your point. Let's change the subject. Have you noticed the weather recently?

Clearly not. You won't let me move on will you? Stop talking...you're hurting my ears. Driving me up the wall, you are.

Oh swift silence...where be you now?

Down

Depression exists in so many forms and is triggered by even more sources. I'm not going to go into the causes (because they are too subjective) but I am going to get you thinking about the way depression masks itself on a day-to-day basis.

Case study #1

It's Friday...and Harry is in need of a break. Work's too much, that girl in the cubicle next to him is a pain in the arse and the memories of the abusive past lover is sitting at the back of his mind like a pile of bricks. Watching McIntyre on the telly doesn't help anymore - it just reminds him of the nights spent on the sofa with the person he once loved. And talking on the phone does nothing but remind him of the girls he tried to pick up when that same lover abndoned him.

The rest of the night is spent in a haze of booze and bright neon lights and the next morning was, well, spent rolling around in bed trying to piece together last night's events in a more coherent format.

Friday night repeats itself on Saturdays night and Sunday is spent wondering whether the weekend existed at all. But at least the memories stopped flowing in for a change - at least it was a weekend of relief.

Case study #2

It's whenever...and Julie spends her nights crying. The day is dominated by the rowdy kids in the kindergarten she works in and the nights are spent allowing the memories, suppressed during the day, to flow back into her head. She can't stop crying about the memories of a lost family member but as distraught as she was, she couldn't express sadness during the day.

She works, drone-like, chasing hysterical children around the playground and mopping up the mess little Adam always makes in the kitchen. She often comes home wondering where the day had gone when  in actual fact, as far as her mind is concerned, the day never existed.

When the weekend comes about, she finds herself walking around endlessly, trying to drown the memories in a blur of long walks. She starts at 10am and gets home at 7pm. Before she knows it, it's Monday again. Time to say hello to the little darlings...no more time for memories

These are coping mechanisms in two cases. They manifest themselves to hide an underlying anguish.

I want Harry and Julie to know I am sorry. And that I wish I could do more to help.

Help

Please don't...I beg you...I didn't mean to

Knowing

I'll never know now, what you would have said to me? Perhaps it could have been warm words of praise and love. But you left unexpectedly, and together with your words, you vanished, leaving me to merely imagine what they could have been but never will be.

The ashes burn so quietly, and I see the tears trickling down the faces of those who loved you. I know nothing of what is to come - I just know of what had not happened and what will never happen.

Another Letter

Dear Liv

Please let me hide with you. I don't want to stand here alone because it feels like an eternity. You left us and it's all so hard without you. Did you fly through the branches of the dark trees as you left? Did they try and catch you and stop you on your way out? Will it try and stop me?

You were beautiful Liv. And as you left you leave our hearts in ruins. The funeral was just a beautiful reminder of the goodbyes I never got to say to you. And oh, do I regret it so.

You are pulled from the wreckage,
Of your silent reverie.
You're in the arms of the angel,
May you find some comfort here.

Generalisations

All of you are the same...


[insert umbrella term]


Stupid girl.

Smash

I slept deeply again, only because I've tired myself out crying. These tears, no one knows they exist. And the pain, I channel to the people inside my head - they are the only people who want to listen to my voice.

I've lost my soul in the crowd of people. It zipped off in the midst of the busy day and only came back in the lonely hours of the night - and they bring the tears which spell regret and hurt. I wish someone would have told me how to do things and speak the words which have cracked under the surface. No one did, and I didn't speak and I lost it all and gained regret.

I replay the past over and over in my head like a broken tape recorder. And I act out scenarios which will never ever happen in real life. By midnight, I'd invented a movie in my head but that's the only place it will ever be in - my head. It doesn't exist in the real world and I can only ever wish it did.

I wish I had said more and had said better things. But I just let the random rambling stumble out of my mouth. I'm so stupid - and will forever remember that I am.

Speech

Can we speak again
under the murmur of others?
Is it possible to whisper
over the cries of sorrow?
Or have we joined the worlds
separated by a canyon?

I think I've burned the forest
And there are bodies
lying on the ground.

Gone

The last of that generation has gone to sleep, leaving, in the wake of its passing, the younger generations.

Smoke
inhaled. So

aromatic.

It floats and

wafts

before

dying 

again.

Hell notes

lie singed,

burnt.

And words
lie                                                                         

motionless,

and wholely

unsaid.

It's all good

Altruism in human nature is the most unrealistic ideal which exists.


The selfless man is an overly-romanticised idea conjured up in the minds of people to hide the lack of benevolence within society. It's an idea which does exist neither within groups nor between individuals. What we see as  altruism is just a show which others put on in order to portray themselves as the ideal.

*rolls eyes*


The attack on the vulnerable on the street of New York receives no reaction from its witnesses. Even as the body falls to the ground with an eery scream and the blood leaks onto the dingy back alley, no one does anything. Yes, jaws drop and eyes widen but that's the only as much reaction as it would ever receives. No one helps; no one responds.

[typewriter chinks]

*rolls eyes*

The boy trips on road and scrapes his knee. Crying, he gets the attention of another child standing by the road waiting to cross. The child does nothing but stares at the crying boy. No help is given. The child keeps looking and says nothing, not even to alert someone about it. The lights turn green and the boy crosses.

There's a loud thud and the sudden revving up of a car. A car zooms down the road and the child crossing the road is lying on the road with blood trickling out of his ears. There are no adults around, only the crying boy is there - and he just stares; jaw drops, eyes widen.

*stops typing*

June 28, 2009

I feel completely and absolutely...

drugged.



I guess the panadol and copious amounts of caffeine is not agreeing with me this morning. Down with a god-forsaken flu which is determined to render me emotionally and mentally numb for the next few days or so. I guess it's a good thing. Then I won't remember most of the boring bits of KTJ. But hey, life hasn't been completely bad. Up till yesterday, I had a very optimistic May Ling popping in and out of my room and at the end of today I will have a should-be optimistic Wen Shi coming back from her Penang trip....and by tomorrow (or Tuesday) I should have a rodent-loving roommie back.Last night's SNE was spent, once again, on the floor. This time next to Mr. Ang who glared at me everytime the shutter went off. Not the best impression to give an ex-army cadet. Anyways, in editing the photos, I ended up turning most of them into monochromes and I'm not to happy bout that but that's the only way to overcome the hedious lighting. I've got bland, colourless photos now =S.


4th of July will be mourning day.




time to buy the coffin.

Where is she?

She left you slightly prematurely.


On a cold, desperate night, you unlocked the door of her bedroom and lay on her bed. You left the room exactly the way she'd left it and you could still sense your daughter in the room. It was like she was still here - her school bag lay on the floor, unzipped as if she was mid-way through emptying her bags when she left.


You wished you could hold her hands again. But that can only be relived in memory now. She was your daughter, your baby girl, your precious darling but now she belongs to no one - not even to existence.

Ignorance

It would be so much easier to expect nothing. It cancels out the disappointments which only expectations can bring. Unfortunately, humans are predesposed to be curious - basically, we're digging our own graves

It all explains why people jump of bridges and land with a sickening crack when they hit the concrete below.

Flashback

"Why can't I realise
That I'm fighting for my life"

Rant

Here I come, being a bit of an arse as usual. Can't be bothered to think about anything beyond now just because everything seems pointless. The night is now here and New Years has ended on a bizarrely lame note. Just another reason to keep my head in one piece and to not get distracted by the crap I normally get engrossed in. Tapping away at my phone I am - never really injecting much conscious thought into my words. They all float away limply implying nothing much more than the incoherent sentences in my head.