Come out, Angel.

The way she moved scared me the most
She carried herself like a beautiful ghost
Her breathy laughter haunts my heart; it sings
of all the things she hopes for
All the things she want (from me)

Baby, I’m no exhibitionist of that kind
I have what I have, and all that is mine
This documentation of our daily lives
Proves our world is as empty as our photographic smiles.

There is a part of me who speaks on my behalf
And scares the other part that hides opinions too well
I don’t mean to offend, my friend
But this Freudian flaw in my design is not my choice; it’s not my kind

The day will come when you’ll have to choose
Between winning what you don’t want, and what you want you’ll lose
But until that day comes knocking on your window pane
She’s trying so hard, she’s trying too hard.
One day she’ll be faced with the same emptiness she was trying to mask all along,
and she will realize that truth is not to be seen by all,
at all costs.

And one day when she’s finally gone mad,
She’ll tell you all she feels in a single breathe.

Distracted.

Because only when people lose things do they realize the cost
of it all, and break down to cry over everything they’ve lost

Seeing them live and laugh, break, hurt, leave and die
Makes me wonder about the life we both live by,

and now I know: It’s ten days to only half a year
And you’re already telling me things I don’t want to hear
but have to, for my own good because you truly care
and we’re starting to learn to live without each other there

Infatuation’s packed its bags and its preparing its departure
But that’s not a problem, ’cause the thing about each other
is that we don’t need all the silly shallow things that others want – 

Cause we know those things can slip away and what we have just can’t.

8:00 am.

She screamed helplessly, though nobody could hear her on that still Friday night. Nobody walked past that dark alley, and nobody saw her collapsed on the floor, over his bleeding, battered body. She frantically wiped the tears off her face, replacing them with his blood from her hands, with which she held him so tight. His eyes darted back and forth, and he breathed so heavily, she could feel the fear in every breath he drew. How was this even possible? They were just sitting in the evening air a few minutes ago, discussing their life, discussing their love. It wasn’t plausible. Like the divine writer of the universe hadn’t arranged his manuscript properly, and misplaced a few pages. 

He grabbed her wrist with his bloodied hand, and looked at her, and closed his eyes. She cried out,

and cried herself awake, to the sound of her alarm clock.

 

She stretched out her left arm and silenced it, before realizing what time it was.

Dead Memories.

I was just cleaning up my room, making space and clearing clutter before continuing 2D lesson’s painting assignment, when I found my old diary. Dated 1st January 2007, to somewhere around April or May 2008.

This diary saw me through my final year in Secondary school, family arguments, friendships and fights, a myriad of crushes, and an actual relationship. A short-lived, painful, blind, but extremely important one.

It taught me a lot, and although the words I used were simple, and often childish, I can sense the seriousness the entries hold, and can remember the feelings I had while writing them.
I can feel the pages still soggy from the tears cried, and some pages still hold the creases from my angered fists, crumpling and getting ready to tear the book apart.
But I promised myself that I wouldn’t tear a single page out from this book, so I can remember every stupid thing I did, said and felt. Everything childish, everything mature, everything sixteen.

And the diary ended, because I left that self-indulgent part of me behind, and decided to become more public with my thoughts, hopefully so I wouldn’t feel so crazy talking to myself. 

But so many things in my diary bring back memories. Painful ones, good ones, sweet ones, miserable ones. But I’m not crying =] Not a tear. 

I decided I’ll type out a few things I wrote, in a series of posts from now. Please remember I was only fifteen/sixteen so, some things seem a bit childish.

This first part is an attempt at poetry, about admiring someone from afar. While you’re swooning and wishing and hoping, your thoughts fade into oblivion before they even reach your lips (and subsequently his ears): 

” The soloist you can only support;
The beauty you can only dream of
and later, attempt to sketch 
only half as well,
nothing close to perfect, and yet,
every inch, perfect as perfect can ever be.
To thrive in oblivion is painfully real to me.

Oh, painful sweet oblivion
the inability to feel
and yet
feel like you’ve never felt before. “

Veh Cool.

[Put your MP3 player on shuffle, and write down the first line of the first twenty English songs. The first line of the twenty-first is the title. ] Matt did it, Dzaki did it, so my itchy ears/fingers just had to give it a go =]

Show Me What It Is You’ve Done

Maybe if my heart stops beating it won’t hurt this much
Look at this photograph,
Watching every motion in my foolish lover’s game
Three little birds sat on my window.

Hello, good morning, how’d you do
I slip softly through your slim fingers, leaving traces
I am thinking its a sign;
Put on your best clothes. 

A picture paints a thousand words.
Caught up in this madness, too blind to see
Cradle me, I’ll cradle you, we’ll do the things that lovers do
Desperado: Why don’t you come to your senses?

Tonight, I celebrate my love for you;
Lonely the path you have chosen.
She seems dressed in all the rings of past fatalities
Your shadow walks faster than you. 

Daydreaming and I’m thinking of you
I take a breath, hold the air until there’s nothing left
And in the end, we lie awake and we dream:
Welcome to the greatest show, the greatest show on Earth.  

 

Overall, I think its pretty cool, minus the ‘three little birds’ part. Sounds a bit retarded. Also cause slipknot had a part to play in the 4th stanza. But I think the last verse makes the most sense. I could never have written that stanza on my own, although I wish I could have. 

Because Jicheng was right about situations like this. You can’t find it in you to start, because you know you never want it to stop. 

If you were certain I’d leave you a little something again, you were right =P I can’t wait for tomorrow!

 

 

How Now Brown Cow. Chocolate cake Olé.

Silence.

Who knew one could fall this way
headfirst, headstrong, I fray
into the separate strings that bind
this fragile love I cannot find 
they make a mockery of my love
the words I speak are not enough
there’s no telling what I’d show
or give of me to let you know
Secrets stay so if not spoken
its my sanity you’ve taken
But they make a mockery of my heart
trying hard to keep apart
my mind and soul from your own
and all the misery I’ve known
comes sevenfold, tenfold, to my mind
my memory stays; it is not kind
But when the time comes you must know,
my bleeding heart to you, I’ll show

You’re lost for words, you’ve lost your tongue.
The maddening silence has just begun. 
 

 cause put it any simpler, and I’d have to explain.