There’s a kind of thirst that doesn’t ask for water — it begs for freedom. The kind that urges the mind to wander untamed, where imagination flickers like a fire long before it ever catches flame. That static tension in the air, invisible yet electric, waiting to ignite.

There’s no room for caution here — not when vulnerability teeters so close to boldness. The hesitation, the second-guessing, the protective shell of embarrassment… all feel like barriers to a more honest yearning. Let them fall.

It’s strange how things unfold. The words unsent, lingering on the edge of intention. A voice not yet heard, but longed for in the silence. A chuckle — small, spontaneous, unforgettable.

And then there’s touch. Not just skin to skin, but the magnetic pull of wanting to be wanted.

No more reasons. No more brakes. Just an unfiltered, unedited desire to step fully into it — to let go, to feel, to burn.

Would I be ready 

When I hear that 

Would I say 

It’s time 

Maybe it was a passing that lured the recall 

A piece of it was made up of cuts and smoke 

That night was life’s turning point to anchor the beyond

Many nights

The earliest of all

Under the yellow streetlights I could still see the shadows driving away

At the window hyperventilating, gasping for air, knowing in that space something changed

Behind closed doors muffled whispers

A hole and hands

The rage met a neck

Eyes open meeting a smirk and the haunting avalanche that chained itself forever  

 

We create to embody the moment 

Despite everything moving forward 

The endless change and tide of things 

The different sides of us we conceal, reveal and share 

Never a full picture 

You find yourself surprised by little unknowns that are only discovered or made known now 

Standing in front of the light we can’t see what’s really there 

Rushing to the next moment made you missed out what was right in front 

You want to be more present in the next moments 

We fear being left behind or forgotten 

But believing that we have given and left pieces of ourselves with each encounter and goodbyes aids in moving on 

You have given yourself away to each person and memory 

A silent modest mark you left behind 

And it will be triggered 

Somehow 

Continuously in time 

Today 

Tonight

I’ve decided 

I’m done 

Not going to fight 

That’s it 

No going back 

No what ifs 

No regrets 

I’m exhausted by this daily loop 

I’ve sighed too many times 

I’ve tried my best 

There is no harvest just fears

Always a snow

Finally at the edge

Exploring paths that do not exist 

Just keep walking 

Keep the songs playing 

I know I have done wrong 

No excuses just leaning in to what ever that needs to be said 

Only sorry that I broke me in trying to save 

That the vessel was no longer holding 

And the need to feel an escape like time is not running out 

Maybe selfish contradictions smears all justifications 

There is concrete works in progress 

How paths changed and maps do not sync 

I walked the in between 

It is loud. 

I think a part of my psyche was hurt 

And my own assumptions or misreading came into play

Logic I grasp but can’t internalize 

There is consequence in not thinking

The cost of thought, I now reflect.

The worse part of me took over for a spin

Unleashing pure unchecked rage and spite 

In that instant I’m scared by who I became 

So this is the price I pay for being too close for comfort 

The more we jump these lines I burn at the stake 

I can’t keep up with the act 

I’m done.

You do this thing; leading up the garden path and ultimatums 

You are winning at this and I recognise that I can’t surpass you 

Taking more than just an embrace and that is fine because you do not discern and I disregard 

How convenient all this is, isn’t it? 

The things you want are dangerous 

Because it means you jump the lines and I pay the price 

As I see the end I will give you my goodbye 

Leaning on this cold steel, she deserved it 

Who is this tearing on the train after talking about imposters 

She is and she knows it doesn’t leave after all this time it really hasn’t 

But it would had been a comfort to hear it from you on what you had to say 

Either she will laugh or roll her eyes it just isn’t the same if it’s not you 

Putting out fires as she held her breath to fight it while taking in the smokes 

Knowing the end of it would be a reward that made it worth going 

But she wasn’t prepared for company not now not this time 

All she wanted; was you. 

The steps the walk was longer 

Maybe stumbling is not walking 

It is just not the same 

Putting a foot in front of the other was heavier 

Unable to go faster without falling off the edge

So yesterday was an indemnity  

Not knowing you needed saving 

Honesty became a scarcity

How could she save when she needed saving 

How did I come up in your mind when the music played or when the words hit your mouth 

Did you see me in the screens or it felt like a familiar scene 

When the wait lingered longer in our minds and it was special during the in between 

Did it felt the same where you are in the moment and only one that comes to mind who would get it at the level it hits

Would it be safe to share this or would you implode like back in Millenia how it all unravels differently where my response would be another chaos

But I hope it didn’t wreck the image of me if I left you with songs and that is how you remember me by I guess it wasn’t so bad after all. 

I like how I can escape being me even if it is just for a while

The little unknown mix of vices and play 

The revealing yet holding back 

Looking back at night while moving forward in the day 

A contrast to everything and yet nothing at the same time 

Maybe we need to sink a little to swim. You held me down to breathe through the pain. 

What is this, are you the fool; fooling yourself. 

You catch yourself holding your breath under water a little too dangerously long. 

This sudden drop with other intangibles, like impulse and punches. Maybe this time, time broke and why not. 

The questions and soundboards made everything interestingly curious. There’s nothing but just my mind scripting downplaying. 

Take a walk and don’t stop, it might just be the only way to keep going on. The need for the lungs to gasp, the heart to not arrest. 86 billion traffic between my head. It’s too loud. 

It isn’t easy. 

Don’t tell me. 

You thought those won’t be triggers anymore. 

You thought it won’t hurt anymore. 

But it does. 

And today. You’re not ok. 

How could you think; you of all people had sacrificed and done it all? 

You who had your hands on my neck. 

Some days. 

Like today. 

I feel submerged under water. 

And I can’t breathe. 

Or maybe it has been like this for the longest time. I can’t seem to get out of this spiral this time round. 

 Do you know what hurts? 

When you ask for things like a mandate. 

Leaving no room for discussion and your needs demanded to be met. Regardless of my input or questions. Questions that came from a place of brainstorming for solutions.  

Maybe you weren’t taught. 

But you always have a way to show hospitality to strangers and their conveniences over mine. 

The only calls I get from you are self serving. Never about my wellbeing but yours. 

My prayer? 

To be loved by you. 

And not be your consolation. 

 I used to write songs.

But they were prices I paid in my human attempt to seal a little piece of me in time. Like Voldemort. I get why he did what he did. 

Even if I do not fully understand it now of what it was that I was trying so hard to keep. A reminder of a scar in time that I had lived. 

 If I was brought back to 2013, what would I want to flip? I couldn't bring forward an event that I wanted you there. I wouldn't be able to save you or keep you here longer. What could I change? 

Recently, we talked about time travelling.

Would I want to be 7 again or would I want to know how and when I die. 

If I cannot control the uncertainties or deviances going back to 7 and if any change in my decision might remove the chance of meeting you then I rather not risk it at all. Now that I am older, I believe things that were bound to happen will, it cannot be avoided or delayed too long, it will hit the same spot in time again. 

So, no. I do not believe that I can survive it all again. I choose to know when and how I will go. 

 

It’s the first time I missed a year. 2023.

I’m still here. 

The recent health scare shook me. 

For the first time in a long while, I felt the long shadows of death looming close behind. 

I thought this is it. This is how I will go. Cancer. 

And suddenly wanting to live was the only thing I wanted. More time. I wanted more time. To do all the to do’s, I will do it later, next year, or the following, next time; all those invisible list we earmarked for the future. But why and how were we so certain that THAT future consist of us still being there? 

What audacity. 

What a fool. 

This year. Today. Now. I’m doing them now. 

I think a lot of people have forgotten their words they left behind on the web 

Little spaces they created, sometimes revealing too much of themselves or too little

I found links to cyber tombstones where there are no virtual flowers for me to leave behind

Maybe my visit will leave a ping in their stat 

Suddenly 2008 seems so far away now 

Rewatching shows from the past triggers many childish decisions and statements made  

But it was the only coping mechanism available with the limited resources on hand I had to deal the best way I know how 

Everyone was using something or someone, because youth is wasted on the young and we were all lonely in the real world. 

Reborn again 

If that was possible 

I would take on those roles and immerse all emotions and physical body into that art 

With each script who I am changes 

Creating behaviours and moments to fit the character 

Would I have met a stunning piece and be blown by their charisma 

Would then the lines be blurred 

And you fall into a dangerous credit 

How I wish I could reach out and be different from the 10 million

Thinking that you would reach back 

And maybe have a conversation while laughing over a bottle 

Then the day ends and we are back practising for the next scene 

During the readings, with blood rush into cheeks moments because of the night before you wait for the next encounter to lap up the electrifying tension 

 Songs are personal to the writer

They tell their truth 

Each string of sentence 

Without revealing names and detailed plots 

You only get the hits and misses 

Scratching the surface of pure speculation 

But you don’t know exactly who or what they are referring to when they wrote what they did 

The whys 

You will never know