Future (Poem)

The future is my secret closet monster,
Claws slowly dragging me to its doors
Yet its not the nightmare which I fear,
But the possibility I'll find nothing more.

We're searching, trying, feeling, dying,
Our dreams suffocated by intentions well-meaning,
I'm lost, blind and cut adrift,
Burdened by love overprotective.

Standing at the tip of the edge,
With shaking hands held tight.
Into the frightening unknowable unknown,
Falling, I drop out of sight.

Different (Short Story)

At first he'd fascinated her, this boy. With his stories, his ideas and ambitions.

It was hard to believe that people like him still existed in this world of today, brimming full with passion and hope.

And she wanted so badly to believe in those dreams of his.

To hold his hand while they both tried to reach for the stars with trembling, cold fingers.

But logic held her back and dragged her down.

Ambition alone wasn’t enough, she knew. A clear head and a calm heart were two vital things he should, but didn't possess.

Arrogance was also far more in abundance than his common sense.

Even so, it was hard to deny his talent for making things sparkle more than they're worth.

And she stopped herself from looking beyond and deeper.

There was still this secret longing that maybe, just maybe, cheap glitter might be stardust in disguise.

But it was harder to ignore the emptiness within him.

It called to her like a melody with no voice, haunting and dark.

She recognized it for it mirrored her own.

Like matching twin black holes that sucked everything down into a bottomless pit.

He told her she wasn't just like any other girl, that she was unique. But it soon became clear that he had an invisible, unspoken expectation of her.

Not sex, nor money, but love.

Or rather, his own definition of it.

Loud, clear and in your face.

And he didn't know how to interpret the way she showed it.

He was blind to the secret messages hidden between the lines, the 'I love you's slipped into little actions.

She tried her best to show it to him, but it was as though she was speaking another language he never bothered to learn.

'You're different from the others,' he repeats that same pickup line a year later.

This time round, she could hear the hidden accusation, dark and perplexed, as though she was a complicated question he was still trying to figure out the answer to.

'This time round, we'll be different,' he'd promised at the start.

In the end, he wants me to be the same, she thought to herself, with more than just a little sadness.

Still, it didn't, couldn't stop her from asking the unanswerable.

Why?

Far too many reasons were given to justify himself, far too many excuses.

In the end, she'd simply bowed her head in silence, the broken promises lying crushed underneath the weight of his lies.

It hurt to realize that she'd been foolish enough to assume what they had was real.

Yet, deep down within, she knew it was inevitable, unavoidable.

Two empty souls will not join if they cannot fit in the missing gaps.

She could never fill that emptiness in him.

Because he'd never truly loved her, only the idea of her, and that alone would never be enough.

Eyes On The Prize (Poem)

Tempted and tired, fighting back the lies,
Unwilling to be in a position over compromised,
Eyes on the prize, eyes on the prize, eyes on the prize,
Yet who can save me now, with a heart so paralyzed?

Endless tears and endless sighs,
Endlessly said unwanted goodbyes.
The story always goes in a cycle,
From happy smiles and euphoric high,
To low and painful broken ties.

Then it's oh dear, oh me, oh my,
Shed a few tears, have a good cry.
And when another comes along,
Another charming sweet-talking guy,
You say to yourself, why not,
Why not give it another try?

He might be the one,
The missing piece that fits.
He might be the one,
To sweep me off my feet.

So the fairytale flips back again and again,
Until it drives one's dreams quite dead and insane.

Tempted and tired, fighting back the lies,
Unwilling to be in a position over compromised,
Eyes on the sighs, eyes on the cries,
Eyes on the sad, painful good-byes,
No one can save me now, with a heart too cracked up inside.



Author's Note: This poem was inspired by Aaron's words, 'fight the lies', 'compromised', 'eyes on the prize' and 'paralyzed'. So part of the credit goes to him =)

Ignorance (Poem)

on a night stripped stark,
starless, I stumble in the dark.

Ignorance is
bliss,
there's nothing you know you don't know,
nothing you can possibly miss.

it can't actually hurt,
when your brain's buried in dirt.

Ignorance is
a lottery killer,
spinning slowly around fate and chance.

you only win,
when the truth stabs you hard in the guts.

Ignorance is
just a pretty word for stupidity,
and I was dumb enough to swallow a whole lie,

it nearly choked me to death on the way back up.

Ignorance.

overpaid with lost trust
& a guarded heart.

Too Late (Super Short Story)

She had watched him drop all the way down, like a fallen angel condemned to the sin-riddled earth.

The laws of gravity had always fascinated her and it didn't seem to matter to her whether it applied itself on human beings or not.

After all, she had seen people die in movies and this did not look like it was any different.

Except that this time round, the cameras would continue rolling. And the dead person would never be able to get up again.

"I wonder if he regretted at the end," she murmured, releasing each word out carefully only to weigh them down on her tongue, heavy with unspoken meaning.

One of the onlookers snorted.

"Regret? That poor fellow must have had enough misery to push himself off fifteen floors."

The girl didn't reply. Fat men old enough to be her grandfathers were not worth her attention.

The air was biting cold, but she remained unaffected, her eyes burning with a strange, dark turmoil.

"Before the ground dragged his soul to hell," she said softly, "that split second right before his fate was sealed."

The onlooker regarded her with a raised eyebrow and skeptical eyes.

"Well, it's too late for that now," he said slowly, choosing to reply even though it was clear he thought the girl crazy, and more so that she was not talking to him. "He's dead."

His nostrils flared as he took a slow drag off a cheap, half-burnt cigarette.

The girl caught the relief in his eyes before he quickly looked down, shame-faced and scattering glowing ashes all over the asphalt ground.

She was suddenly reminded of a pig who had just escaped the abattoir, glad that pain and misery had chosen another victim to push through the gallows today.

But he was merely standing in a long queue lining up for the end.

Sooner or later, his turn would come.

Her lips curled into a thin line crossing between contempt and pity.

"Too late," she echoed in a hollow whisper, briefly touching the locket she wore around her neck. "Too late for regrets."

Then she closed her eyes and continued to stand there, stiff and immobile, until the cold seeped into every pore of her skin, until every other curious onlooker had walked away.

A silent tribute to the death of a man whose blood runs through her veins.

Only then, did she allow herself to leave.