It seems writing has become my last resort to salvage what's left of my sanity. Gone are the days where I write just to feel. Everytime I try to run away from something, it catches up with me. I'm so tired of this impending sense of lethargy, this compounding ache for something different. I'm so tired of feeling physically drained from absolutely nothing. One day it is just the emotions that way you up inside, you tell yourself you're okay and people tell you you're fine. So you pile such immense bullshit on top of the emotions, you keep piling it until suddenly you realize how worn out you've become. How physically fuckin draining it is to pile all these false sense of recovery over brokenness that now it seems to be too much of a mess to even figure out where to start. People lie to you, and you lie to yourself, that everything turns out to be a huge fuckin lie. But we never learn do we. We're always looking for someone to love us, to help us make sense of this cruel place we live in. But from my experience, it has turned into a much dreaded place from where it started out to be. 

Sometimes I want your beautiful eyes

To lock again with mine

And just for a second reverse the time

Back to before we knew each other yet

Back to the second right before we met

Before all the passion

Before all the pain

Before you whispered 'I love you'

Before I knew your name

Before I heard your voice

Or you tasted my lips

Before I felt your warmth

And you made me fall right in

Before that time you lied

And I reluctantly let it go

Before you said 'let's try'

But I never saw you show

So, today we act as strangers

There's no need to reverse the time

It's like you never held me in your arms

It's like I never called you mine

Coming Home

Forget all the analogies, the poetry and rhymes, the cliches of writing and perfect vocabulary. For tonight at least. I just need to write, eventhough I somehow can't seem to. The past few days have been an utter blur, it felt just like how it used to, the routine I'd go through that I might as well kill myself but then I think back and realize I've been dead inside this whole time. I can't go on this way anymore, I've said it one too many but something inside me believes this is my last straw - I'm so tempted to make a pun here but I'll skip lol. I need to feel alive again, more than a need it is a want. I'm so sick of this lifestyle, of being disconnected with my soul. What I am experiencing is life, not living. And I want to live badly. My mind has been such a foggy, dense forested destitute that sobriety sounds enlightening for once. I could have been wiped out off the face of this dimension a long time ago, heck even the past week. But there has to be a reason for my existence up till now. I have so much to say, endless it seems but I am surrendering my dance with the devil and I no longer desire an altered state. This place may seem cruel and sobriety may just be a word we use to accommodate our minds' to the possibility of recovery. But anything is better than being strung out and hooked unto the idealisms that someday we will win the war on drugs that have been fought for centuries. That someday we want the world to believe that gambling our lifes' away with narcotics is not being frowned upon. For some of us, life has been a blessing for the most part. For others, it has to take dying to awaken our senses to the beauty of life. And for the crazy ones, even dying couldn't save us. Perhaps it takes a constant ringing to finally wake us the fuck up. To realize that if I had just 24 hours left on Earth, the absolute last thing I would do will be to get high. It is an absolute tragedy that we choose to live this way, to fathom the reality that I could've died before even saying goodbye to the ones I love. There's so much that is unpredictable and living recklessly is just a camouflage for stupidity. It took a hundred moments to bury me down the rabbit's hole, and a hundred more to actually enjoy it down there. But only one to realize I'm not Alice in fuckin Wonderland. 

Words

"I am a woman of words

But oddly enough

Those I never needed from you

I needed

Kisses on the forehead

Hands that stayed

Smiles that touched

Grips that staked claim

I needed you

When words don't count

I needed the silence 

Of your love

Darling you see

I never needed words

But those were the only ones

You ever gave

And they turned to be

Nothing

But lies."

OI don't know why it took so much for me to open up this page again after 2 months now. Maybe deep down I knew that if I did carry on I'd just be draining myself out. Or maybe I'm afraid of all the cliches, of opening a paragraph with the same old stuff instead of something original. But this block I'm having is preventing me from writing from my heart, there need not be originality in that sense. All I want to do is write, but I don't have the energy to. Everyday I come up with the things I would write about, but I never seem to get them down.

I Am To Die For

"I wanted him to crave me like cigarettes - one glimpse of my technicolor clothes and the distance between his body and the store window would seem like miles.

He'd be hesitant, looking over his shoulders the whole time, but when he feels the smooth of my plastic skin, I'll be the only thing he'll want. A couple of dollars and some change is all it takes for him to buy my whole package.

He seems happy to touch me again, he can hardly wait to pluck me from the box I've built to shelter myself from exactly this. I can't remember how long I lived in that dark place, but he seemed to pull me from it.

He shows me artificial light, synthetic warmth hiding blue undertones. A glow he has no intention of nursing. A light that always goes out as soon as it gets too cold or starts to rain.

I began to mistake his short-lived burn for the flaming passions I've read about. Yes, he lit me on fire when I hit his lips, but it wasn't worth the numbness I felt when he put me out. And I guess I was his nicotine, because it always ended the same.

Bored or just inconvenienced, he'd step on whatever spark was left in my frail little frame. He'd leave me damp and crumpled and confused and believing that, like a cigarette, I was the one who was toxic.

After allowing him to inhale me so quickly, to reduce me so frequently, after forgetting myself in the wind far too often. I decided I would never be someone's cigarette again.

I decided that I am heroin. I am cocaine. I am ecstacy. Your second thought after hello will be how much it will hurt to say goodbye to me. I'll be hard to get, but you would do anything to earn this high. Even if we never met, you'll always be a little curious.

I am much harder and worth much more than cigarettes, I am not to be thrown in puddles and extinguished. I am to ache for. To pine for. To itch for.

I am to die for."

Time Warp

I don't know why I haven't been writing, and it's affecting me. I can't do this poetic shit, I just want to write from my heart. But nothing seems to come out. Here I am - drowsy from meds, having a smoke. And it's starting to get to me, this abusive relationship I possess. I cling to what solves now. My chest is starting to tighten, and I wonder why I do this to myself. Why do I hurt myself this much, this can't be good. A solution from medications can't last forever, and if it does. I might not be here for long. I don't get it, but it seems to be the only thing that puts me to sleep. I can't seem to get an eyeful otherwise. The sun is rising, I hear the birds, the engines of a school bus. I hear the start of what should be a beautiful day. But it isn't, at least not to me. I'm stuck, trapped within the walls of my mind, consuming me everyday while the world goes by. While people go on with their days, goals to set, dreams to accomplish. And here I am, in a time warp. Wishing I could go back to a year ago, or maybe to when it all went wrong. But that too, seems to confuse me. I just want to escape this place, my mind, my thoughts and emotions, reality. One last time. Maybe after that I wouldn't be here, reality wouldn't be what it seems perhaps. But until then, I am here. At the world's disposition in my hands, but trapped within the crevices of this cell. Consumed by all this chemicals. 

My mind is an overgrown jungle

And your axe blade won't help you at all

Because the vines of my pain are too thick here

And the thorns of my sorrow too tall

My mind is an overgrown jungle

There's no entrance to let you inside

In fear that you'll cut down my branches

And find the feelings I've worked hard to hide

The vines tie in knots in my jungle

To form a rooftop that blocks out the light

So the sun may be warm on the outside

But the inside's as cold as the night

There's a house made of thorns in my jungle

I've spent years making it feel like home

I can do anything that I want here

To take my mind off the fact I'm alone

Because the problem with overgrown jungles

Is there's always more vines that will sprout 

And I know that it's hard to get in here

But it's ten times as hard to get out

Don't mind me

How do you deal with an impending doom that compounds daily?

Maybe I could never squeeze all these thoughts into a single writing, it seems too much. Even to handle. 

I shut my eyes and the world drops dead, I think I may have made you up inside my head. After 16 hours of comatose, I open my eyes to be greeted by the darkness of reality. I stare at a blank wall for what seems like 15 mins now and ask myself, "why am I awake?"

This loneliness is getting too much it's almost nauseating, literally. It's weird how by this time usually, in such a situation, I would've written as much as to fill up a storybook. But I just can't, it seems my fingers have become a mechanism that hasn't been oiled, it's gears are spoilt and I can't seem to drag them around this keypad. And this antidepressant, it's a suppressant. It suppresses my ability to react to all these thoughts and emotions that would've attacked me by now. I fee like I'm stuck in this bubble, watching everything fall apart. And I don't have the energy to do absolutely anything about it. Is this what depression is when it finally spirals down the vortex, out of my control? Sleeping doesn't satisfy me anymore when I know I have to wake up to this living hell, to a place where I find comfort in nothing and no one. I wake up to loneliness, I wake up to this feeling that makes me want to puke. Can't I just go to sleep forever? I don't have the energy to do anything, I can't get out of bed, I haven't showered in 4 days now. What scares me the most is knowing one day I may not be writing from the comfort of this bed anymore. One day all of tis will be gone, everything. And will I look back and regret anything? But I can't seem to do what's best in any situation. I just want to shut out from the world. Or maybe I don't have a choice. Sometimes I feel like I beat myself down too much, perhaps I deserve an indefinite time out. Other times I just feel like I'm just taking everything from granted, that all this is just an excuse for being a lazy fuck. Sometimes I just don't know what to feel, what is right and what is wrong. It seems no matter what I do, I always end up back here. And I'm gradually losing hope in everything around me. I am just left with this impending feeling of discomfort within me, an absolute shit sensation down to my guts. A feeling that never goes away, and it's driving me crazy. I just want to rip my heart open and dig it all out.

I haven't gotten out of bed for 4 days. Like I'm bedridden. Honestly, I am. Bedridden in my fuckin mind. 

I finally took a shower, after 4 days. I'm having the worst gastric and I can't even stand for more than a minute. I feel so faint, perhaps due to the fact that I haven't eaten or drank anything today. I'm literally waiting for 3 minutes till it becomes midnight, before I take a sip of milo that's right in front of me. I waited 3 minutes so I could say I went a day without liquids. Am I crazy? Alright it's 12.

I've decided to unleash the gates of hell tonight, that is my mind of course. Have you ever made a discovery whilst you were high, only to discover it has already been discovered when you're sober? I swear I saw a hundred shooting stars, or stars were just moving about the night sky. A wish upon a hundred shooting stars couldn't save me though, I'd rather just shoot myself. Speaking about shooting, I've been dying to know. Wouldn't it be morbidly intriguing if I overdosed whilst in a nirvana shirt? I'm not sure where this is going, I was supposed to be deep as fuck. Maybe I can't, maybe I'm not ready and I don't have the energy. 

I feel an immense surge of discomfort each moment I am awake.

All I wish for is to be asleep, I cannot face reality right now. My head hurts and I am nauseated. The break of dawn, the rising of the sun makes me want to regurgitate. I dream of nightmares and I wake up into one, there is no escape. We deal of a vicious cycle that is life, there is no getting out. Maybe death is the same, we are only surrounded by dead people then. I want to rid myself of this disease, but then I realize that would involve

Me trying. And I don't want to try, not anymore. I don't have the energy to get better. What comes after that? Nothing. Absolutely nothing. 

Leech

What a waste of a stanza I composed the other day, it somehow got deleted. Perhaps it was crap anyway. The past week has automatically been categorized in my list of Top 10 worst weeks of 2015 so far. But I'm over it, I mean physically.. I mean for now. Emotionally still buried 6 ft underground but what's new hey. And what better way to start a new week by writing... Yet another depressing post.

To summarize how low I felt, even work couldn't open the door to my sanity and salvage what was left of it. I was shackled by a chain of my thoughts (pun intended) and strangled by my insecurities. I've learnt a few things though. No matter how much you try to shield yourself from the world, or sedate your body and mind. Your soul only starts finding its way back when you get the fuck out of bed and move on. Why do we torture ourselves so much though? Why do we create wars and fight undefeatable battles with ourselves, only to come out bruised further than we were before. We spend all our lives finding for someone to love. But beyond that, we spend all our lives finding for someone to love us. To love us for the person we are when we are drowning in our demons as soon as dusk falls, or waking up hungovered from a battle we miserably lost when dawn arrives.  All because we simply can't love ourselves. 

I used to ardently believe that I could never fall in love with someone truly if I hadn't fully loved myself first. Isn't that what they all said? At least that's what I grew up being told. But as I got older, the capacity of my mind widened to a world I never knew was out there, one that sickens me if I may add. And I'm not sure about few years ago, I don't care to know either. But 1 year ago got me realizing what a fuckin lie that was. Don't believe what they tell you. I found someone who could love me for everything that I was, even when I couldn't love myself for everything I was not.

But the problem is, right now I hate myself even more.

I'm not sure why I can't comprehend how someone could love me this much. But the human tendency has always been fight or flight. Maybe when we can't fight the demons that feed on our fears and vulnerability, we find a way to run away from what is real. We find an escape, anything that could take us away from a foreign place we always wanted to visit but never fought our wars well enough to. We take off to a place we are all too familiar with, wherever that may be but one that is horrible. Sadly, a place we think we deserve more than anything.

I'm not sure where this is suppose to go. It's 4 in the morning and I'm alone. But 4am always knew my secrets, and all I want to do is write from my heart, and this is what my heart tells me;

If you are ever lucky enough to find a soulmate who could love you for all that you are - your baggage and your flaws, your insecurities and your demons, the war you are fighting and your vices, and still look at you at the beginning and the end of everyday to tell you things will be okay, then don't let go of them. This brings me to tears because I am a walking contradiction. But it is only because I can't understand myself, and maybe I need help. And I wish for the past too much because I am a hoarder, and i can't let go of what was once so magical. Perhaps because I had an escape from everything reality tried to drown me with. I was always one step ahead because I figured how to swim. But I can't move on because I don't know how to pick up the pieces, and nobody seems to be able to help me. My demons have been dragging me down in a sea so black, tainted with sins and regrets and grime. They weigh me down with anchors and pull my limbs endlessly, digging into my flesh over and over again, tainting the sea further with my blood, which goes subconsciously unnoticed like that of a routine. I try my best to stay afloat but some days I am too weak to resist. My screams are muffled further each day and there seems to be nobody there. Perhaps someday I will give up the battle and take my last breath before I sink willingly and disintegrate into a whirlpool and integrate into a new home for my soul. Perhaps someday somebody will hear me.