This is another kind of prison. A self induced one. You are in it with strangers. 

"If I created the constellations and the earth, the galaxy, the clouds, measured the earths foundation...count the clouds and send the lightning bolts on their way.. If I can do all this... What is your worries or troubles or issues that I cannot do for you."

An aggrieved soul makes the body run longer. It produces an anaesthetised effect.

There will be days like today. Where you would feel it all raw and intense. You become so disgustingly delicate, fragile and sensitive. Because your darkness or the fact that you shoved and gave everything the benefit of the doubt, that the doubt decided to cheat and manipulate you to feel the immense sense of loss; making you it's fool. And that becomes the haunting truth of today. It is crystal clear and you are unable to let it go; not today. It demands to be heard, to be felt. 

It grips you like a knife going through your body and you hold on to the person's hand who had just knifed you. One hand clutching the bleeding gap in your body, one hand on the murderer. Your blood pours out smudging the clean marble floors and it soaks the rest of your shirt. The colour red is too red and the warmness of it too warm. 

You look up.

You. 

What have you done. 

"In love's service, only wounded soldiers can serve."

I used to hold a fabric to rule the world. It was comfort, home and sleep. Everywhere I went it went and I was never alone. Familiar and safe. But I let it go. To attain what the world calls it; maturity. Fully developed in body or mind. We were not ready then. On whose benchmark of maturity were we gauged on? 

The wrong thing for the right reasons. 

Today I am aware that she is back. The itch to write, the ache for a cigarette, the silent intentions. 

Who could know what time would show. 

Who could know. 

Louder than anything we ever mention. 

You wish they were dead. You wished they were dead. It would had been easier. All this too seems familiar. The same demands. We need to claw our way out of here, right now. Let us pack and go. Hop on the next flight out. 

Naive. Little wishes to get by. 

Sometimes the music is not loud enough to calm dreamed violence. The shake and shatter of a body. 

Scary isn't it. 

Some form of sadness takes you to places. Alone. 

Rare moments like these. That I am ecstatic. Knowing the impending finality of life is in death has an ultimatum and comforting release. 

Even if it was one drawer left as a weak attempt to own just one thing. Even that little heaven is taken. 

Let it go. 

Don't you forget. Don't. Forget. Remember me when I don't feel remembered anymore. You took too long to feel what the days have carried into the present. So you accept it all in drips and drapes as it comes in waves. 

The loudest shatter is one that you do not hear with your ears. It is clean, crisp and one of the most tragic signs before it's final fall.

You ran back to your books and pages to put it out there in blue ink and black words. Encasing it. Let it all slip away. 

They had a home consisting four walls and a simple routine. Carrying her on her back like a child; she was broken. That moment felt like infinity. She was the centre of her everything. She was spoiled and you were giving. She needed that moment again when she could throw everything out the window. Knowing that you will always be on her side no matter how irrational or unreasonable she sounded. But that can no longer happen. She is not prepared to be forgotten.  



I miss you every time I am not understood.  

Yes you got shot. It was unexpected and it will always be that way. Because these paper shots made the intangible tangible.  It seeps in and nestles comfortable into your gut. Each breath absorbs the impact. 

And I... Don't have a time machine. 

I'm in disbelief. Of my number. Saying it out in the open from my very own mouth does not seem correct, does not seem real. Am I joking? It sounds like someone else speaking in my proxy. 

There are ghosts all around me, where I walk, the walk ways, the train station. How many people have I walked with here and left behind. Do we ever grow up?

In case you forget. You are glad that this occurrence and chance only took shape and cast in reality now. Because you wouldn't had understand any of this during your adolences and amateurish self of self invented disllusion. You wouldn't be able to keep us here. 

Inner words are scrambling like ants, headless all over the invisible battlefield. The same old rugged, well worn out mat, fraying at the corners, it got tugged and pulled off its usual comfortable spot. Again. You could even see its stained marked frame on the floor. The human instincts says fight or flight. Both are release. Do you allow the chains of comfort hold you down to keep you safe and grounded or. 

It is subtle and present.

Your auditions makes you aware of what you can and not do or have. It is all but a shell on that platform, leaving it barren seems less tragic. Your shadows gets replaced, they call you by another name, your face will never catch the same shutter. You do not linger. You became nothing. 

Just because you do not show the world what you have, does not mean you do not have it. 

Photographs have knifes. Not butterflies. This playlist pulls colored memories into the present. Sometimes we remember wrongly, distorted versions of the past. You are greedy and demanding, deceitful and hurting. Because it was easier to be the one hurting than inflicting. 

It was easier to forget. 

You have known. Always known. That this day would come. It came. And it hurt. 

Dark is the way, light is a place. 

There is much truth to it. Hands blindly tracing the walls. I find myself stumbling and hitting out at the darkness. 

Clearly I remember. I need light. Just a little. 

"Is it normal to feel this exhausted all the time?" 

Say you are awake 16 hours and you only get 7-8 hours of sleep (or less) per day, mathematically speaking it does not sound unreasonable to be exhausted. 

Every action or movement we take we are burning away. A constant loss in exhaustion. A constant loss in living. So make it count. 

My last thoughts to end the year. 

Afraid. To be scrolling life away. Passing by these fences, within lies a probability. Have you missed the signs or misinterpreted them? Roll the dice and let them fall, move your piece. In sliding doors this would had two scenes playing out consecutively. Which is like you? Is there nothing after? 

That is how our generation sends out a flare of distress. A shot into cyber space to vent the unmindful ever wicked carousel of thanklessness. Could the weight of our efforts be satisfied with the mere click of an icon or comment? Are we all just looking out to scratch a mark on the surface of existence so that anyone who could recognize the need of that recognition would pause and give away two seconds of their life. To like. Or comment. A job well done. 

Desperate times. Desperate. 

All you needed was one set of undisturbed footprints. That is the hour you knew that a section of the structure has just experienced its first tremor and change. It was subtle yet brutal. Maybe that is how buildings fall apart. They get stripped by layers and then collapses inwards. It knew. 

When you stand alone, do you feel a little more brave? 

They will always kill the messenger. 

A thankless job this is. 

The remnants of yesterday lingers. It is a gapping hole that refuses to be denied of its existence. Patiently in the shadows it sinks it's teeth into your vulnerability to remind you the demage accompanied by the phantom scar where you frequently run your fingers across to feel the uneven edges. Defeated. Why not, not. You must feel the whole pendulum of the equation to know what is missing. 

"He finds a lot of wrong pieces. Then he finds the right piece. But then he leaves it behind. Then it ends." 

I have read and found myself dying all over again. Leaving a mark. 

Layers. You were a layer. And the many you's to come. Playing a single track while adding in the rest of the instruments piece by piece. How we recorded it all in a storeroom, that process was already learnt. The only change you could possibly make is to re-record over it until it satisfies. 

We are the victims of our own sloth, putting off the things that meant everything and yet they became nothing. You were the best memory. The early mornings, disheveled hair, pencil marks on paper, endless matching of words, going at it again and again till it fits. A kind of peace that descends once it is complete. 

"I remember the day that saved us. 

Do you remember this. 

This is never goodbye."

-Juliet Simms 

"I have written over it. I have recorded on top of it. I have reprinted it. Life is layers, fluid, unfixed, fragments." J.W 

I've not forgotten. This is where I started; creating stories out of moments and scripts out of memories. That is how we move on. You stop. Write. And go. 

When you decided on something, it takes you to places that you were not prepared for. You adapt and make required changes to be and live. Conditions are less backwards now. Despite the increasingly intricate compulsion to sustain this frontage. 

Candidness will not prevail this time. 

Unspoken friction for each new conquest.. A touch of seriousness, a chemical magnetism, the way two pieces of a child's puzzle fit together. The normal prelude. 

We started as pixies and in time we become human. Within a small space seated in shadows who would have thought it could change the present windows. If we hadn't allowed our feet to take us to places. Fingers with their whimsical fancy. Which doors would you had missed and entered, wide eyed and waiting.      

You

In the break of dawn, i watch the bus give chase to an empty train.

You learn to look at signboards as places where people come together.

There shouldn't be casualties in the pursuit of space.

It all boils down to gestures. A slide and hit regime. And that is how we end each day by sending it across time, erasing it from the present, double checking that no ghost remains. With the final touch of placing it in invisible folders that is not threatened by moth or dust. It is an act to be less because you are nothing but helpless.

When you start making every scene yours by conceptualizing it into words, you are made vulnerable. Because you are well aware of the blurring lines of your emotions and the character of each sentences are the source of your pain. You find yourself lingering on the same page and song, it is hard to let it pass. Not today at least.

For to write, it is to hurt tragically.

Could a crack be so silent
Those notes are all I gave to you for company
I watch my shadows chasing shadows
As I finally broke down at the top of an empty hill with no soul
Alone I sit unable to let this song pass
Like a mantra trying to convince yourself that this is the last time and you will quit this
Concern became suffocating and breathing impatient
How did you get here under this starry sky
Knees to the ground
Hands on wood

Delicate thread that holds these cards
Tighter they stand with each knot and pull
So we threw darts at walls to watch them fall
Credulously you thought this game would be your call
Funny how those wicked intentions found its own replay when you shut your eyes wanting more
Intentionally you let it run in loops unable to let it resume
You knew it was not enough for you to be on your way

She said you became a drug at my expense. So I thought the day would end without a chance of that occurrence at the abyss. It was like today, as I waited for the morning storm to come, the leaf twirling its last dance to the ground and all I wanted was a fraction of a second to what that sparrow felt as it halt in mid air. I forced my lungs to take in air and my legs to synchronize, even if it hurts I won't allow myself to remain at this same spot. Like how you beat at your chest to spread the pain and clutch your fist waiting for this episode to subside.

Do we all look at her the same way? With questioning eyes and unkind thoughts? So fragile and thin with only enough skin to cover bones, neither elegant or graceful, just awkward and peculiar. It was the same path to everyone but eminently laborious for her. Bravely she runs on and I solemnly watch her silhouette.

"Every second the city gets smaller and smaller, only you feel it's really you getting smaller and smaller and lonelier and lonelier, rushing away from all those lights and that excitement at about a million miles an hour."

"I can’t live here
In my body, I mean
I can’t live in my body all the time it feels too much
So if I ever feel far away know I am not gone
I am just underneath my grief
Adjusting the dial on my radio face so I can take this life with all of it’s love and all of it’s loss"

Silently you carved a box out of the remaining block of wood you have. Making sure the edges are even out you measured the depth again just to be sure that it will hold all your contents. Yes, a time capsule it will be, to be buried in the earth, away from the sun till it is time to be uncovered. Fondly you stroke each artifacts and said your goodbye. "I can't look at you now. Not now. So I will see you then." Driving this distance it only had been hours, passing this location it only had been weeks. All this too shall pass.

So I picture it to be this way. Subtle and clean as I start with the first brush on this portrait, a bold strong stroke is the first release. These lines are so fine, so much so that I catch my myself holding my breath, gently, not to shake or shiver so they wouldn't know the intensity of all that was held back to produce this piece you tenderly call art.

"Dance my pain away."

I like how the bus water the plants along the sidewalks especially when it rains. Intentionally accidental. I smell the rain and watch as they take cover, yes, today is Wednesday. It has been days and you wonder has anything changed with absence. The graves points in my direction and I feel death for a brief moment. Pranks; surprises and revelations of many layers, a twisted mash up of seriousness and anticipation disguised in fits of laughter. That is what we do best.

Will they call you mechanistic or organismic? Which is it that makes up your structure? What if we are designed like that.

We find ourselves stuck at this round about. Waiting. This moment. Right here and now... It is familiar. That's how everything started. With words. And ended with words.

I should do the same.

You recognized this fear. The glass walls are temporary, you know what they were built for. The first shatter is the loudest and the rest is just noise. We struggle with humanity and religion, always second guessing. In a perfect world, all of us would not be here and memories would not hurt. It has been awhile since your honesty is questioned.

Necessary interests in the common good. She said.

It felt effortless. The anticipation of watching if it can commend. How much strain to exert and draw. Vaguely those familiar moments before the kill as the adrenaline tugs at your heart strings telling you that it is the causation of this direction and theory. Yes, now it did sting. Who could know what time could show.   

And I was trying to disappear... 

But.  

You are still the song on my breath...

You are not easy to forget. 

Things happened, leading to precautions, hence, the inconveniences. It takes an accident to evoke a change striking everyone in its path.

Three minutes before time shaken awake... The present eagerly pushes ahead with no signs of slowing down. Thoughts of yesterday still lingers as one self gradually ends.

Her last words etched in memory; Necessity is the mother of change.

It is no longer the same. Something just clicks from within and you could match the similarities in frames. It did not go well with your fantasy. Maybe I am the ghost that lingers on your page, but what difference will it make in knowing? I have nothing for you to take nor give.

How long can I travel like this? Empty trains on cold mornings, faces plastered on with little warmth.

That great urge to embrace you, the compassion to reach out to you to tell you... You are not permanent.

You laid your traps around, waiting with sweet anticipation for me to taste and see each possibility. Gently stroking my fire, drawing me into your flame. When the walls finally gave in, you took a step back and watch as I free fall for you. Turning your back, you threw the keys into the crypt and never came back.

You will make a way. Through the tears and joy, I will trust in you. Even without forming sentences you already know. Somehow everything will lead me back, I could wander the world and yet be back to where I started that is to be here with you. Even on this bus ride you could bring me to tears.. So hold onto my heart and don't let me go. Love me for the imperfect soul that I am.

Guilty. Of over thinking. It is not all about you and what you do not have. Even with a piece of cloth we can go on living. By believing in truth and love, that took the world so far. In order to save a stubborn men, with that reason alone could stir this mad mad world to stop and lay down. In just three hours... Everything changed.

The most damaged people are the wisest. After discovering the threshold of our souls, there is really nothing more to surprise. We measured the furthest distance in life and it was death. Initially we thought it was marriage but reality speaks volumes of separation. So you never really loose someone as long as you don't forget them... If you wanted in, there will always be an invisible thread leading back. I'm glad your reading.

I hope to read about you to the extend that when this page refreshes your words will magically appear. But you stopped. It feels like it has become a one sided routine. This ride is long and dark... I stare out into the sleeping world.. I am still here.

A strange impending feeling of a change that could cause a tremendous rippling effect again. Like you know... You are going to hurt someone and yourself again.

When the books leave me, will I leave with them too?

To be unhearted all over again. I fear.

I've strayed too far away from your light. Not by my strength.

Your first sentences were never about me, just you and your demands. Funny... I always knew that death was a bonus. The exhaustion is seeping into the bones and breaking out onto the flesh.

These lines... I wonder.

How do you give up something that is good for you? Just for the norm or to please someone else's idea of a life? You can't just quit and start over in a snap. There is no witch hunt to find the cause but how it was allowed to happen in the eyes of the maker. If it was bound to fail it would had. If you were meant to crash and burn you already would. Keep walking. One day. It will all make sense.

I chose to believe that you were right and I was saving you from hell. Giving all that you need and desired to feel better. Everything stopped making sense and all I could do was give. Even when things were cast in stone and you will never be mine, I created a space for you to come back. Maybe the idea of holding onto this last line of connection could justify that you need me still. Maybe when I have read enough of your lies and pain could I tell myself that this is enough. You are not allowed nor entitled to move on before I do.

Do you remember I searched you out
How I climbed your city’s walls
Do you remember me as devout
How I prayed for your calls
I stood still, it's what I did
Love like ours just never fits
I stuck around
I did behave
I saved you every time
I was a fool for love
I was a fool
Then you blame me and block me out
How long did you think I’d last
Then you disappeared for weeks to pout
How many times could I pack
If you’re worried that I might've changed
Left behind all of my foolish ways
You best be looking for somebody else
Without a foolish heart
A foolish heart
But stand still is all we did
Love like ours just never fits.

It is always darker before the dark. I followed you in and was left behind. You traced circles around me to justify your failed reality, so what we did was wasting time. There were others that bought your story and gave you options. All you needed was an excuse, a proxy for your release. I leaned in closer to the flame and laid down on the ground. You didn't come back for me. 

It is here that we pretend nothing happened. 

I was your vindication. 

Scratching the surface of paper, staring at the screen in front of me. I'm hollow. Pathetic. Really. Replaying each scenes in my head just to let you linger, replacing sentences or trying to catch a glimpse of signs I had missed. What had I done wrong. Why didn't you choose me. Want me. Pick me. It was you and me against the world. Now, I am just out of your world. A shadow that you seek to look behind from afar time to time. How could you ask that of me.

Texting on a night like this when your body is next to another and maybe underneath yours in a second. Does it make sense when your telling me not to reply? Stop. What is left that you have yet to break? No. I will not give you that privilege.

You are a sin to respond.

Your picture sealed reality forever. Lies. You are made up of. Should I say congratulations now? For the part you have played so absolutely well, amazing performance of being the victim. But you forgot to bury a body in your backyard, I can see her standing at your windows walking in circles. I guess running someone down with your car is forgivable nowadays.

No, it was not your fault. I was too sincere.

You didn't tell me you were leaving when I left. So you waited when I was thousand miles away from you before you departed. How do I move on from here? Even with her by my side I know she is not staying, unlike you. It was my excuse to say that I was accompanying you for dinners, but it was me who needed your company the most. I spoke freely and laughed harder with you and my weekends are no longer the same. I sit in your empty house, a desolate shell, I don't feel you here. Staring at an empty space I see our ghosts playing out a familiar scene. You have gone to a place that I can no longer follow. At least, let me dream of you. One more time. I miss you.

Never mix business with pleasure. This statement haunts me every time. I had taken a barrel of oil, poured it over every score sheet, floor, heart, fingers, beliefs, hope and instrument. With a match I set everything ablaze, collected every fragments and placed my ash into an urn.

How do I begin again. I can no longer speak or write the same way. Stay up late with a pencil, paper, inspiration... Give it back. Everything. I want it back.

Don't get me wrong. Your no longer mine, just like a disease that I want nothing to do with. The clicks will get lesser and you will be washed out from all the gaps.

Haven't I told you before we started pain makes people change and look what you've done, I'm changing again. You never knew what you want, when all I wanted was you.

Do you know what is cruel?

Standing in the crowd staring at flags, clutching fist, holding tears. Gripping the wheel in an empty car that will never carry your scent. Heart flinching when I pass a familiar place, hand reaching for heart to hold it in. Breathing yet suffocating as the lungs refuse to believe its inhaling, hammering at my chest to take in air.

I will. Quit you.

What you don't know won't hurt you.

The times I've clicked and searched your name just to get a glimpse of life without me. All that was said and done, in the car where we spent the last hours of our push and pulls, you didn't fight for me.

Was it not worth your while or have I been taken for a ride. Head against the pillow, my body is brutally bruised and in shock. I choke and gasp demanding myself to recover. I shake and shiver. It's burning hot but I'm cold and dying. Heart in hand, free falls and hits the ground.

You. My murderer.

Sitting in the dark I looked out into the sleeping world. This will become a part of me from hereon, in the break of dawn.

No longer seeking out a face, yes you hungry eyes, nor dancing in circles in the crowded room, nor sweet intoxication of smoke and sound... I have walked out the back door of that life and never looked back since.

And now, I walk on into another life.

For a brief moment, their hands met and it all felt so familiar. She rushes in for the embrace... And it was gone.

You have gone to a place where I can no longer see.

Parallel universe. In another life.

There were instances when all questions seemed like windows but then again not so.

The speed of change is taking its spin again.

Strip those titles and lay them down. It is peaceful at this level, no one sees nor expects all the could be.

He walks through the stares of the everyday without taking a glimpse at the mirror. The reflection would be much more excruciating than the damage itself. It will put you to shame and diminish every tribulation. His weight lies on his cheeks, what we bear pales in comparison.

Turn your grief to grace.

Realization; Scrolling down those snippets, getting glimpse of what life is, who they have become and who stands by them. Packed belongings misplaced on foreign grounds.

If everything had a tag and each tag had a date.

We would prepare.
To expire.

You fought the space between your ears to believe that.

Please forget.

Dreaming of butterflies or did they dreamt of you. Beautiful red flutter into a portrait.

A whole stream of questions and answers, is there a need to gather for that script?

Life robs and gives. What you thought was the end of the line wasn't worth to be drawn. Things just happens the way they have to, it is impolite in nature and unexpected like the wind.

It's not the end.

She wonders through the hallways which echoes her laughter of freedom and secrets.

Collecting names and setting fires to our insides.

They lined up in straight lines, gathered at the entrance knowing that this is goodbye. Didn't they whisper into your ears before you walked through the gates?

You never come back from that goodbye.

Let me run before the rain begins. The only time you hear yourself clearly, out of breath.

Trying to imagine life without school, trying to recall what was our last conversation and words...

Maybe in the lapse of oxygen to the head I will remember.

This is the first post into the new year. Remembering life in death.

If it wasn't no. That driver would have taken a journey into the paid unknown, no more red lights on just a routine drill. The door clicks open into a four second mystery with solids plastered against walls and the rise and fall amplified. Beyond reach desire escalates as lights are useless with cards never making their way to where they belong. Shaking hands and force triggers a rocket absorbing gravity, intensifying speed and resonance for the final shatter. A swift deferral before hitting the ground.  

Magical mixed tapes. According to fluctuating moods. I picked sleep and weed, an attempt to drift away for just a bit. We connect because we relate to words and music.

With my ears plugged I walked through a world without sound, strangers with their mouth open wide and gestures of expression. Neither stopping nor offering any contact.

Happily lost in a whimsical world of my own.

No longer looking for spectacular. Just plain ordinary. Like the unwritten pages of notebooks.

Another title to begin, another role to fill. Doesn't speak volumes nor any relation to what was. Just a way.

Maybe problems four years ago are still relevant.

That look and gaze. Sunlight streaming through the window she leans in and disappears.

It's this tingling... Small warmth of happiness that tells me it's all okay.

From black to grey, a different pace and another life. You built a little island of heaven which I now understand. Away from me. Because we live better that way.

Give yourself away to the keepers.