Guilty

From the lingering smell of a girl’s perfume on the collar of your shirt as I snuggle on your neck, I was supposed to feel the warmth of your embrace but I felt cold. Cold as if a bucket full of water with ice was poured on me, as I realised the perfume isn’t mine. It began. Was it a crime to accuse you all at once?
      

I thought it was so the benefit of doubt was the least I could give. But the constant ringing of your phone whenever you were with me and the hint of a smile from your lips as you opened the message told me this doesn’t seem like a text message you’ve received from one of your teammates. It continued. Would I sound like a lawyer if I interrogated you?

      

I didn’t want to sound like a lawyer so I let it pass. We never lied to each other but here was a thing I wouldn’t admit. There were times when I followed you wherever you go because of these aching accusations etched in my mind fuelled by your suspicious actions I couldn’t set aside. It escalated. Could I be sued for being a stalker of someone who was supposed to be the love of my life?

     

At this point I did not care anymore as I sketched an elaborate plan to confirm these suspicions that stopped me from having a peaceful sleep at night. Your actions kept me awake as I recalled the old-you whenever you were with me. I sulked more upon the realisation that you’ve never been this distant before. It led me to drastic measures and could you blame me when you, the supposed love of my life, drifted away as if an ocean is between us? It went out of control. Am I the suspect of this crime?

     

The answer was no. When one day we’re together, you told me you need to go. You brushed me off like dust when I asked and the conversation even heated when all I wanted to know was what was happening between us. You said we were fine but you know damn well we were far from that. The only right thing you did was to leave your phone when you walked out the door and there I saw the main evidence in this mystery I’ve been trying to solve. This last and most crucial clue brought me to the crime scene. I saw you kissing her. It ended. I knew I was the victim and I’m suing you for committing murder.

    

Now don’t you dare tell me that you are not a murderer; because you killed me the moment I saw you with her.

   

-fin-

(featured image courtesy: deviant art)

Walking Oxymoron

my mind a controlled chaos,

my heart an organised mess

beautifully painful are my emotions

i arguably acquiesce.

with my naturally strange company,

you’ll learn to deal with what life brings;

like the sad joys and sweet agonies,

with all the huge little things.

typically weird sometimes.

awfully good at acting natural.

i like small crowds in order to be myself

somehow, it is weirdly normal.

i’ve never told a lie, i am a liar.

i always busy myself with nothing.

i care deeply for humanity but

oftentimes, i loathe human beings.

my past experiences make me burn in tears,

i drown at the fire brought by

the aftermath of my unpleasant years.

so to protect myself, 

i hate to love and love to hate.

just same differences, they create.

     

-fin-

     

(featured image courtesy: pinterest)

Here’s To All the Writers Out There

Thank you for all the wee hours you spend in front of your table and write to express the opinions and notions which represent not just yours, but the opinions of so many people like me, as well. During the times I have waited for your stories, I already know it will be worth it.

      
Thank you for voicing out all the thoughts in my head that I know I would never ever be able to say out loud. You have been the voice of so many people like me who relate to your writings.

     

If it weren’t for you, less people would be able to understand what I am going through and I could not thank you enough for doing a magnificent job in portraying these emotions as if you experience them yourself. But who knows whether this pleasure or pain you write about is how you truly feel? I hope I would be given the chance to know if these words are real or that is just really how lucrative and effective you are in this field. Nevertheless, thank you because you could not have written it more accurately.

     

Thank you for your passion in this field. I hope you know that many people like me find you as an inspiration. Your love for what you do can be truly felt in each and every page of the books I hold when they are the only things that keep me company. Your books have been my only friend during those times when I felt so alone.

     

Thanks to them and thanks to you, I have felt as if it is you who has been my friend, too. My only wish is to be able to get back to you, someday. Because if it weren’t for you, this reality I have been dreading to face would have made me give up and end it a long time ago.

    

Thank you for all the stories you make, albeit fiction, which help me escape oftentimes when reality is too hard to face. You have taught me that there are moments when it is okay to be lost in a perfectly made-up world of heroes and heroines who also, in a way, has taught me a lesson or two which could help me as I face the real world again. The pieces of advice from the experiences of these characters are truly applicable. 

     

If it weren’t for them, I could not be brave to take two steps closer to being ready as your stories conclude and here I am in the real life waiting for the new set of your writings again.

      

Thank you for giving me hope through the fabric of words you weave. Thank you for giving me courage through the intricate lines, stanzas and paragraphs you design. Thank you for giving me a will to live through the euphoric aura and nostalgic vibes that exude from everything you immortalise on paper.

      

If it weren’t for them, I could not have survived this life you always have had described as the ever-confusing labyrinth which although, many wants to escape from it, you have influenced so many people like me that life, indeed, is worthy to be experienced and endured.

      

That is why thank you; thank you for saving so many people like me. Your words speak of the death people like me continue to experience everyday, and that is what makes me want to stay alive.

    

-fin-

(featured image courtesy: suewhite.com)

A No Laughing Matter

This is for me,
As I got a glimpse
Of the real world
Where my fellow countrymen
Continues to suffer
Under the scorching heat
And inconsistent weather,
But still strives,
And pushes thorough
To survive.
Commuting is
A no laughing matter.

 

This is for my dad,
As I realise
How much he care,
As he try to
Always be there
So I won’t go through
This exhausting,
Extremely arduous
Experience where
I may falter.
Commuting is
A no laughing matter.

 

This is for my fellow countrymen,
As I salute you,
And your forbearance
For living each day,
And surviving
The warzone,
The daily battle.
The struggle
Of every minute, every hour
Is for the family counting on you.
Commuting is
A no laughing matter.

 

This is for my country,
As I hope
To serve the people
In the years to come
As I witnessed how
This is too far gone
But I believe
I can still do something
For it to be changed.
It mustn’t remain the same.
Commuting is
A no laughing matter.

 

-fin-

   

(photo courtesy of tenminutes.ph)

Never the Same (World Suicide Prevention Day)

Your parents would pass by your room, and everything would come back in a snap. How they found your lifeless body, ran to you and shook you non-stop just to find out they were minutes late. Your siblings didn’t just lose their wrestling opponent, but one of their idols. That one person they always look up to. Your best friend would sit in tears upon the announcement in school. Even that seatmate who used to kick your chair just to annoy you? He’d be devastated. He’d blame himself. Your teachers? They’d think it’s their fault for not being enough to make the school comfortable for you. You think no one cares? Your family does, your friends do, the people around you, too. Someone right now is thinking of you. Because I do. I may not exactly know how you feel but I know how to feel so f*cked up to the point that I thought ending my life is the only answer. But then I remember, this world is also f*cked up, anyway. Even steven. So let’s all be f*cked up’s in this f*cked up world and LIVE. Might as well witness it. After all, real life is tragic but it’s perfectly worth it. That’s the most optimistic speech you can get from someone pessimistic like me. But please, if you reach this point in my long arse plea, please continue on living your life. You’re never alone because someone will always care. Please don’t die. Trust me when I say, without you the world might not stop rotating and revolving but I know it won’t ever be the same.

Colours

You warned me anyway

Your favourite colour was black.

And you explain awhile back;

Just like your soul, you said.

But when I’m with you,

My cheeks so red.

‘LOVE,’ it is what they say;

No more of these thoughts so gray.

But then your soul came in the way.

Proving you weren’t here to stay.

The purple sky, I look up to

As you left me and my feelings so blue.

        

-fin-

     

(featured image courtesy of robertmills.me)

Gravity

And yes, it was a universal force,

Something natural, physical.

It occurs to anyone:

To you, me, whoever really.

And as Newton formulated,

what comes up must come down.

There I was up—way, way up

On Cloud Nine.

But just like the apple in the tree,

Not too long will my stay be.

So let it do the job.

Leave it to gravity;

‘Cause I’m actually not afraid to fall,

I’m just afraid you wouldn’t catch me.

 

-fin-

(photo courtesy of keyword-suggestion.com)

Surrender

When the body begins
To be swallowed by the dark abyss;

And the mind ends up

Being conquered by the beasts

Of the past which claw

Their way to the heart 

That strikes like a dart.

It starts 

To bleed like flowing tears.

Similar to what my eyes fear

They couldn’t stop.

Don’t blame me when

The odds made me give up.

(For I am tired.)

      

-fin-

(featured image courtesy of gaiaonline.com)

Love

no one realises

how powerful it is

until he or she

feels,

experiences,

or loses it.

      

it can either

make or break you,

that’s what love does.

strengthen

or shatter

one’s own heart.

        

but there are

indeed times like this,

where love could turn

one

into 

a writer.

          

there are others,

many others out there:

they tend to turn 

passion

into 

prose.

           

there are others,

many others like me:

they tend to turn

pain

into

poetry.

   

-fin-

(featured image courtesy of tumblr.com)

Done

I used to think you were the ying to my yang.

We were the Jekyll and Hyde; Tweedledee, Tweedledum.

But where were you? When I was on the brink, at the worst—

I was at the rock bottom down on my knees

saying, ‘please, please somebody out there be a dear, be a friend.’

I lent my shoulder for you to cry on, my hanky is for your tears.

When you need somebody to listen to you, we both know I’m all ears.

I would totally cross the ocean for you; but you couldn’t even jump a puddle for me.

As it is my time for a friend, I couldn’t help but think. 

I know that friendship should be unconditional—

but damn, it is so hard to just give and give until my all is none.

My all is given, my all has been taken for granted, my all is gone.

Call me selfish, call me a hypocrite.

But I’m out of here; I’m so done.

-fin-

(featured image courtesy of tumblr.com)