Almost

Tore the skies to be with you for one more day.
But there are no more days left.
It’s all over.

Hong Kong Madness

Sometimes waking up completely hating myself, in this self sabotage mess. They say the artist and architect are one and the same. The addict and artist, they are paradoxes. I am addicted to my emotions, but sometimes they do not serve me. They go haywire and threaten to undo all that is done. It drives my thoughts wild with illogical faculties.

Maybe I am just pushing myself too hard.
Or the traveling is starting to cause my fatigue.
Maybe I am doing too much in a short span of time.

I can feel my aliveness and deadness at the same time, my push and pull. My swings. They consume and eat me. I am a fcked switch. Light or darkness, I don’t know. They are eating eating eating, working working working, fcking fcking fcking. They are driving me mad!

Hong Kong is increasingly making me moody except for the fact that Milk Tea exists. I hate Hong Kong. I gota admit it’s not the best place for an introvert. No space, stuffy rooms, locked windows. Screaming kids, blaring advertisements. Snacks, consume, Buy, advertisements, MORE. Spend it all.

Get me out of here. I need some oxygen, I need to feel inspiration. The creativity, the life. It is all missing. I am being suffocated by fifty stories high buildings on all directions. The skies are not lighted by stars but golden windows. Those golden windows, eating up the earth resources.

But time kills, and time erases… time… is the real enemy.

Our time is running out.

Snuffed Broken

Another stupid night that my pillow is wet again. Why can’t I just snuff out my tears like a candle? It is pouring like the rain.

How I feel – sometimes I can’t answer that question. I feel so distant so dissociative so third party point of view that it is hard to relate with any empathy.

I feel so despondent. The hopelessness equates more than the sadness. Or maybe it’s the sum of the whole equation because sadness is not even felt when hope has been blanked out like how liquid paper erases ink.

Hopelessness.

Is a more accurate word for how I feel because it has come to a point there is no longer sadness that I feel when my tears pour it’s like just an mechanised fountain of tears without a stop button and nothing more.

There are no more emotions left in my voice except anger. Maybe a sprinkle of désappointement. My keyboard is going haywire with français. Trying to join a series of disconnected parts as a disjointed whole. Mending the shards of of a glass case with super glue. That’s what I am – broken.

Broken.

Maybe before I die I might see the clear blue sky at the cliffs again. And the laughing children at the playground by the beach. That renewed sense of wonder and amazement of what life could possibly be.

But of course it never happened.
That happy ending seems more and more
Elusive with each passing day as I drift
Further and further away from feeling
Anything but nothing at all.

Hope.

I really want to hope. Like how a child believes fairies exist – I want to believe in the smallest of sense that hope exist in a fairytale world we could have created together.

But of course it is all gone now.
All empty. Now, I do not believe in fairies
nor hope.

It has been too close
And forcefully removed
Too many times

That it is only after so much times
You begin to lose the faith.

And maybe being alone
With no hope of the future is a better outcome than
having any faith at all and being disappointed once again if it all doesn’t come true.

My diamond has been cracked.
Into shards that only reflected mirages.

I offer no hope
but only pain and pleasure.
That’s all it is.

That’s all it is.

My Final Words

You turned my advice into your own device. 
Finding yourself in your own arrogance 
Feeling it all when there is nothing at all
A poet who has not been in love you are
Naive. foolish. young. minds.

Hole

Low. and low. the gnawing feeling in my chest, hunger, yet, full. the milky taste of dark chocolates, melting, into my tongue, imagining the kiss of lovers, when i look at lovers, imagining, I am in the heels of the girl, receiving his touch. imagining, my happiness, imagining my loss. feeling my sadness, that, that girl is not me. appalled, yet, contradicted with contentment, knowing you are happy.

Moving towards you like gravity, yet pulling apart before the waves hit the beach. Screaming in pain, beyond all redemption, beyond all hope. The disappointment, the disappointment of a dreamer, a dreamer who believes in transcendent love. A believer who has lost hope. The critique that glorifies suffering. A passion that is burning dry, without air, there will be no fuel for the flames of desire. There is nothing left, except a sinkhole, that one can ever crawl out, the more you struggle, the deeper you are sucked in, like a trap, that has no escape. deeper and deeper, into the rabbit hole….

at breaking point. at the lowest point ever, and the extreme pain that eats from inside, intensified with the most severe of disappointments. Its only forward now, we can only try to change our circumstance can’t we? Why cry, when the trees can’t hear you crying. Why weep, when there are worse crap out there. Why have hope, when there is only hopelessness left?

why bother, when no one else bothers. why fly, when no one can fly with you, or even, watch you fly while they are below? why even try, when it does not make a difference, big or small, it is still the same, we are just … human. our achievements are not forever, its only temporal. why laugh, when no one sees you laughing, why be sad, when you can be happy. maybe, our emotions are lying to us, that it is all an illusion, a temporary illusion, that will go away, with time. all that we had fought for, will be erased, with time, our lineage, and heritage, to be replaced with the new and modern, our world is no longer ours, but someone else, we all play our parts, as actors and dancers, but the real puppet master, is the one behind the veil.

why try when trying is futile.


Ayumi Hamasaki – BALLAD

(translated lyrics)

I woke up in the middle of a dream
My eyelashes were wet
The words I remembered are
“I beg you, please don’t go”

This growing feeling for you
Never changes
My respect and adoration
Are always unshakable

* The red sky at sunset today
was tender like you
I shouted that it wasn’t a dream this time
“Please don’t go”

The memories don’t disappear
But neither increase
The words I’m allowed to say are
“I beg you, please stay with me”

Maybe, I can no longer hold on
Just by pretending to be strong
My love can’t be removed
Just by being held down

** The moonlight tonight
Is the guide you gave to me
Your back is too far and I can no more see it
“Please stay with me”

* (repeat)
** (repeat)

“I beg you, please, just for now”

Anti Hero

In another place, I am a super anti hero, that kills the good guys and saves the bad guys.
I don’t wear a stupid suit with a logo or wear a mask to hide my identity
I don’t save the day or whatever, I just save who ever I feel like
If I think someone deserves to live, I let him live
If I think someone deserves to die, I let him die.
There will be days, that I will wake up a heartless bitch.
The bloodshed, that will wash the city in a scarlet red.
Only the strongest, most intelligent, most street savy will survive.

In another place, I am a super hero
I will wear that stupid suit, and save the dumb good guys
The world will be filled with complete idiots, who are fools
Who are generous and kind, but yet, weak to the knees like tofu.
That will irk me so much, that I will just kill them at the end anyway.

That is why I ain’t no saint or sinner, just a lowly human, crawling on fours on the surface of the earth, trying to fly like a eagle, but falling into the mud like an beast, trying to be evil, but to end up sleeping with a stranger, and waking up to be HIV Positive.

Trying to be great and almighty, but realising 6 decades is all I have, so wtf. Why bother, I am just a piece of dirt, a piece of dirt in the ground. I am like dust, a speck of dust, in the universe. Why bother when we are all going to hit 6 feet under, in 6,7,8 decades, or earlier? In this meaningless of meaningless, of ego driven securities and insecurities, it is hard to fathom the meaning of life – if there is one, at all.

Yes, yes, I know. There is love, and there is art. There are still redeeming traits of humans in this disgusting world of capitalism and unlimited wants. You can earn everything in this world, have all the fame, money and power… but there is one thing you might not have – love. Only through relationships with other humans, there is some tiny-bit-of-redemption left, in the human race. The unspoken, silent power of love, of passion, of the raw force of emotions, that drives men to lose their lives in battle of fighting for their ideals. With love.. there is art. Art is probably the only non destructive thing that humans could possibly create other than love. (our other indulgent hobbies are consuming the world resources, at the expense of creating the extinction of millions of other species and pollution, in the name of progress). Granted that with Love and Art, comes with music, dance and poetry. Hey, isn’t it getting beautiful? Yes, that is why I decided to a super hero (although it is lame), and have given up on my anti hero ways.

My faith remains in the name of love.

The Romance of the Last Dance

Why do I see behind your wrinkled eyes
The sadness of a young girl who was once beautiful?
Now bounded to domestic chores and rearing of children
Your fragile hands becoming thin
Your health diminishing
as your vitality of youth
seems to fade
as the fences around your home
seem to lock you inside

Your husband, who pursued you
with promises of security and comfort
Now, in another land of male chauvinism
The dollar sign in his mind as his eyes avert you
His eyes preying at the skimpy dressed girls in the night club

You remembered, not so long ago,
The familiar tune fills up the dance floor
As you turned and swayed, hands in his
your head in his chest, listening to his heartbeat
The romance of the last dance

You awake from your fantasy
As a vast empty room greets you
You look at the gold clock
That stopped ticking long ago
As you continue your routine
around the home, while waiting for him
to come back once more.

Grey Fields

A young girl in a white dress
standing alone in a grey field
in a mirage of war torn buildings

Lost from her parents.

Her screams cracks the skies apart
It pierces and chills
all souls into dust

Desperation. Isolation. Despair.

She lifts up her hands to touch
the bright glowing light in the distance
as it came nearer and nearer towards her
she ran forward, and forward,

Leaving behind the shattered life once so beautiful

She ran to the rising sun of dawn
On a tall cliff, a thousand screams from the darkness below
Her feet bleeding from the stones, her skirt tattered into shreds
Her hands, stretched out to touch the glowing light above

A final step, and she falls into the valleys
Her eyes still fixated on the sun
Her hands unable to touch
as she falls further and further
deeper and deeper

into emptiness.

Tear me to pieces

Tear me to pieces, like a broken doll. Take all the parts of me, abuse me, kick me, hate me. She is not breathing. Tell me you loved me, you desired me that you wanted all of me. No, you bastard, you killed her. She is no longer there no more. She is smiling in the clouds above, far from the cruel world – for death is the key to peace. No more nightmares come at night to haunt her, no more demons to rip her clothes in the middle of the night – she is in eternal bliss with her brother on the stairways to heaven, hand in hand, where they finally unite beyond the veil of this world. Where he can protect her and bring her to safety… to paradise and beyond.