A Momentary Relief

It almost sounds as if you know nothing… as though nothing’s going on inside you; like nothing consumes you…  

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July 5, 2018 • 11:50pm

Margaret Atwood said that Knowledge is power only as long as you keep your mouth shut.

Only it doesn’t make me look wise though. — It only makes me look like a fool; naive, even. But I like the word Naive. It sounds so innocent; so pure… It sounds so peacefully calm. It almost sounds as if you know nothing; as though nothing’s going on inside you…

like nothing consumes you…

Fleeting Chances

Can I just have a taste of you? Before we say that it’s all through..

Your taunting lip crosses the line
Of what the words could not define
These things you say that were unclear
Tell me, do you have someone “Dear”?

You told me once that you were Free
As in “Free as a bird can be”
Then all we had were words to read,
And poetries were what we need

Then time had passed, from hours to days;
And weeks to months, to all year ends
I’ve never seen your eyes before;
Nor see your smile or heard your voice

But some of what you say are true
Though, maybe just the thought of you..
Then came a day, I had to leave
I’ve never seen a soul to weep

Though one needs not a salt to bear
Somehow, I can smell it in the air
So I took my leave; I went to fly
And came the words of your goodbye

Too late, — I know, but then it goes;
Got pricked and stung by thorns of rose
Your letters flew; they have reached me
My heart did flutter, unwittingly

Your hand has never touches mine;
Though odd enough, was I so blind?
Remarks I say, do not condemn;
I only hope you comprehend

And though our hands had never twined
Still your lines reached a heart to mine
And now I know, I understand
Like a story made out of sand

You had to say it far too late
When I had no time to be on wait;
Inadequate, — that’s what I am,
So I’m off to see; to find someone

I’m no especial lass you see,
But not for you, — surprisingly
I never know, a man like you
Would ever want, — to know me too

Your words on letters ended shortly,
Like our story, — ends rather abruptly
When I come back, — that’s if I can
May I ask you once again?

Do heed me out; I’ll whisper Dear,
For such a thing you need to hear:
Can I just have a taste of you?
Before we say that it’s all through..

Lost Soul

When you’re losing your way, that very moment when only the pain remains and all the rest has gone. You find yourself drifting away, numb… and paralyzed. Emptiness prevails.

Feb. 23, 2017 • 2:19pm

When you feel so helpless that you just couldn’t even cry anymore. When the once inexplicable loneliness, and immeasurable pain have dissipated and were replaced by the sheer emptiness. When all the suffering had turned into mere indifference…That’s it. That’s when you know you’ve lost it. — you lost it all. You lost even the mere fact that you are still you.

No, you’re not who you are anymore.

Fatal Malady

..it has always been what life meant; To be defeated once and for all and to start all over again.– Either you’d fly into stardust or burn into ashes.

Nov. 11, 2016 • 4:29pm

We thought that we were free of plagues when we see our skins clear. When we are really, deeply blighted and corrupted inside. We are so afflicted from within… We aren’t simply wounded; we are profoundly critical. We are so very ill, so sick and so frail that even just one clasp of a hand or one look in the eye might submerge our consciousness into the depth of indifference. Either that, or it’ll make our soul shatter into fragments that we won’t be able to collect. But we can never be what we once were; not even close. And we continue leaving our old selves behind not because of a choice but because of a demand. Such a demanding necessity of a situation that what has been of our lives. I figured, it has always been what Life meant; To be defeated once and for all and to start all over again. Either you’d fly into stardust or burn into ashes. But we can never cease this malady; nor flee this affliction… At the end of the day, we would always choose to just curl ourselves up into a ball while our insides were crumbling into shambles. Stoically enduring everything while a single tear says it all. But it is when someone finally looks into your eyes; through those cracked and fragmented, critical part of yours… that you will find out whether or not you would break down into pieces or you would feel whole, once again. The moment where, you do not know whether you’ll shatter and fall apart all over again.. Disintegrate and collapse into dust… And scatter. Or, you’d finally feel complete.. and found, at last.– No longer lost.

But perhaps it was both fundamentally, a virtual and humane idea to be in one’s mind in the first place.

Life in Irony

Life is strange. You remember what you badly want to forget and forget what’s meant to be remembered…

Oct. 15, 2018

Life is strange. You remember what you badly want to forget and forget what’s meant to be remembered. You always keep what you mean, and say what you don’t instead. We fill our lives with all the nonsense… all the meaningless things. Even if we meant well, we cannot do it.– nor say it. I wonder what hinders us,– what’s keeping us from doing what we really want to do, and what we really want to say.

But such is Life, and such is Irony.

Masterpiece

I write not because I want to write about something… I write because there is something to write about.

Feb.28, 2017 • 12:26am

The pain never goes away; not really. It remains with us forever. But what we have to learn is that we can allow it to blossom into something beautiful– like a work of art. Into something that conforms; something that resonates. Something that will reach out to others and make them feel understood…–to help make them feel that they’re certainly not alone. That pain can also build a connection. We don’t always have to force ourselves to let it go because it doesn’t always work that way, –when the scars were already there. We can only accept it. Accept that these things happen. We cannot know happiness if we hadn’t known pain. And we have, but only one way to ease the pain and live with it: To use it.

We have to use it.

False Hopes

Everything is just going into hell of a repetition and I couldn’t stand it anymore. Everything is going the same and I’m stuck on the same pattern.

11:54pm • Sept. 26, 2017

I hate this Life.

I hate this fucking life. I hate my life and everything in it. And I mean, everything. Everything that’s happening… everything that’s been going on. I hated this fucked up life of mine. And above all, I hate myself the most. Everything is just going into hell of a repetition and I couldn’t stand it anymore. I swear, I’d give up any moment with just one tap on the shoulder. Everything is just the same. Everything sucks.– To which one day felt exactly like another… Everything is repeating itself. Day after day, week after week, month after month… Damn, even year after year! I am losing my mind and I cannot escape this hell! I’m so tired of this shit. I can’t do this anymore. Everything is going the same and I’m stuck on the same pattern.

I hate this Life? –such a cliché line, I know. But believe me when I say that I know how “cliché” exactly feels like. How frustrating it is? Oh, dear! You have no idea.

I’m so… so tired giving up each day and then trying to be optimistic the next day, because who knows what might happen if I just get at least a little bit hopeful… Besides, it’s what they all say. Hope. “Just Hope”. –It is something they all believe in. And it’s something they all hold on to, — to convince themselves to never give up because there’s that. Yeah, that thing.

And I didn’t know it then. I didn’t know that hope can be lethal. Hope is fatal. Period. I didn’t know that hope will kill you. Hope can kill you, when there’s too much of it. And that Hope, will actually kill you in the end. That it’ll one day turn into this kind of poisonous potion eventually… And while everyday you keep drinking it; trying to fill up your heart and trying to convince your mind… Trying to keep that dream alive. We drank into it. Into the idea that hope was some kind of medicine; a cure, perhaps. To keep our sanity. Insisting that hope will save us.

But hope have saved us.

From ourselves, from our own negations. From our own doubts… and fears, and our own questions. Just so we would shut up, and just Hope, instead. Or maybe we use it as a form of escaping… because we do not have the courage to accept and face what happens but instead prefer to hope for the better, if not for the best. Knowing we, fool people that we are, would accept anything the world tells us to believe. The society could’ve put stones in our mouths and yet, we would’ve swallowed it in the blink of an eye. We believe everything that we hear and see… But in denial to our own feelings. Couldn’t accept what we already feel. Wouldn’t believe all of which we’ve really had experienced.

Hope. Motherfvcker

It had killed us in the most subtle way… In a way that we, ourselves, wouldn’t even recognize at all. Hell, hope is even more cunning than a wolf,– if I say so myself. It was pretty unrecognizable to the point that we couldn’t even understand what was happening. We are blinded by the thought that hope, and only hope would save us. Hope is something we hold onto when there is nothing else that we can do. We subconsciously think that hope will save us, but it won’t. Only Faith, will.

We hope and hope… Until we wake up one day, and realize we’re empty. We simply give up and cling unto the idea of hope because we can no longer do anything. We thought it was okay to hope, and that it’s a normal thing to do because everyone does it. Everyone always hope for the best. Hope for the better. Hope for more. You see, that is our mistake; we put it all into hope so much and forget to do something for ourselves. — In our own. Forgetting that hope can do nothing for you but to keep you positive. To give you something that will fire you up to always keep you warm inside. Maybe the fault is in ours, after all. And not to blame it all out to hope itself. We made ourselves believe. We made ourselves believe so much… in which we, ourselves, had made.

Maybe they were right when they say that everything that’s too much is bad. Because hope has been a drug, for us…– or for me, at least. I took too much of it and got so high. So high that I couldn’t even remember what I did next. Maybe I got into a deep slumber and forgot to move on my feet. Maybe I enjoyed partying so much and forgotten how to go back home. Maybe… maybe it was wrong to hope. Maybe it was wrong for me because I had gone this way; Maybe I should’ve never took dose of that toxic pill of hope each time I was down. Because I never knew it’d only turn out to be like this. I should’ve let myself succumb into doom and let myself burn instead. Maybe it would’ve gone better that way.

But then I hoped because there is nothing else that is left for me to do. I can’t do anything to change it; to reverse my life. And if there is anything else that I can do, that is to hope. To hope that things would get better, somehow.

I hope one day we never have to hope. We only have to believe and then it will happen. But then that’s the thing. Because nothing really happens.