The Show

It’s a show and you’re behind the curtain. You’re the lead character of this show. You’re deluded into thinking you have a say in your script and the freedom to improvise. My dear, you do not. Free-will is just an illusion. This show is not yours. It’s only yours because you’re under the spotlight.
Dearly beloved, you still haven’t met the director, but you’ve felt His control over you. However, you’ve met His right-hand, fate. I’m sure you’re familiar with fate, probably by how way-ward it is and by how helpless it makes you feel. So, is fate to blame? Is it the force that makes your feet move towards a certain direction or is it the path itself? Is it the light at the end of the tunnel or the blur keeping you from seeing it?
My dear, fear not, as your audience is most familiar to you. Front seats are reserved for your dearest of all, your mistake and sins. The middle seats however are a less beloved audience to your heart. They’re what you see when you look in the mirror, what’s beyond your eyes but lurking beneath your skin. Your insecurities and fears. The tears that run down your cheeks ,crying over the boy you love and your crooked smile after seeing him. Finally, it’s a chaos in the backseats. Your angels and demons just won’t get along. They are causing that noise in your head, that distracting devastation.
Hold on my beloved, the curtain will open now. The spotlight’s are on you. You start speaking, moving, walking and even running. Be careful, be mindful, wake up. These aren’t your words, those aren’t your actions. Don’t look up, you have no strings attached to you, you’re a puppet of different kind. Don’t try to fight His will, don’t try to employ what’s His, all will turn against you. You’re not in His flow; He is the flow. You may stop the show every now and then to silence your demons, they are what’s bothering you much. But dear, don’t be so harsh. They consider themselves your children.
Are you tired? Hold on, it’s going to be alright. Give in to His flow. It’ll make you feel less helpless. It’ll give you a false sense of control. It’s as close as you get to the real thing anyway. Give in, give in, give in, your show is not over yet. You’ll know when it is.
You’ll hear the silence, you’ll see nothing but darkness. You’ll feel numb. Yes my dear, you’d be back to the nothingness you came from. Apologies, your audience will not applaud you. You will not get your standing ovation. You won’t see the curtain closing. Your helplessness will finally end my dear.


Friday night.

Writing to me is an act of bleeding. When in pain, I find myself tumultuously outpouring words. I guess that’s why my writings have never been all flowers and rainbows. I guess that’s also why it only appeals to the broken. I don’t know if it’s healthy that I find myself in pain this often, if this is the right outlet for my turbulent emotions. But I’ll keep doing it, as long is it works.

Tonight, a war is waging within me. And I’m defenceless against my own mind.

Memoirs of the Fallen

Remember me.
When the sky is on fire, moments before the sun sets on the ocean.
When your knees feel weak, trembling in the face of a hurricane.
When mayhem prevails but your eyes see beauty, despite and beyond.
When your mind is incapable of substantiating your own thoughts.
When logic and rationality are present, yet all fails to make sense to you.
When the thrill flushing inside your veins is too much but never enough.
When the more you run back to a memory, the quicker it fades out.
When you’re touched by a person that loves you, but all it ever does is remind you of your scars.
When you’re worn out, yet still desperately grasping for something to fight for.
When you look up and try to reason your helplessness with God
When your lungs still feel empty no matter how hard you breathe in.
When the word ‘almost’ does more damage to you than anything else.
When you call someone else by my name and feel bitterness down your throat.
When you seem to dance with your demons better than your angels.

And tell them.
Tell them I’m the woman that could handle a pen and a paper, but not a heart.
Tell them I bled words for my lovers, leaving nothing but holes in their souls.
Tell them my fire burned too strong, burning myself and all around me down.
Tell them I’m the maddest sane person you’ve ever met.
Tell them I’m defined by my restless heart and relentless mind.
Tell them I stare blankly into the eyes of fate as I fearlessly self-destruct.
Tell them I have a knife in my heart,
tell them I’m on the other end.
Tell them I’m the one who is forever in chase of her untamed imagination.
Tell them I live in days that never happened, in places I’ve never been.
Tell them I’m strong if strength meant surviving the loss of a lover that was once the best part of yourself.
Tell them I numb the pain by huffing a cigarette and dancing the night away.
Tell them I’m often a living, walking paradox inside the flesh of a pretty girl.
Tell them I’m the rebel in shackles,
the neutralized riot.

You’ll remember me when you feel hollow.
And you’ll tell them I drained us out.


It hurts to be lonely.
It hurts inside my head.

It hurts to be loveless.
It hurts not to belong.

It hurts to have a broken heart.
It hurts time is not fixing it.

It hurts not being home.
It hurts home is a person.

It hurts to be lost.
It hurts he can’t find me.

It hurts to be indifferent.
It hurts I’m not numb.

It hurts I bleed words.
It hurts my words are for no one.

It hurts to be weak.
It hurts to be faithless.

It hurts my light is gone.
It hurts seeing the stars,
knowing I was once one.





I mourn

For the numbing pain of drained minds,
weak knees,
absent sanity.
For the loss of souls, once sweet, violent and brave.
For all anchors in human form.
For feelings as pistols,
words as triggers,
actions as bullets.
For silence into screams,
screams into deaf ears,
rainbows to blind eyes.
For all destruction and disappointment in the name of love.
For the desperate search of reasons,
justifying anger,
For all effortless departures, with light feet of lighter weights.
For a reality, seen from a broken kaleidoscope,
lived in duality of reeking paradox.
For my gold into dust,
dust in the wind.

I mourn.

Risk and Return

Whether you were a business major or not, you’re probably familiar with the concept of risk and return. It’s a simple notion actually, ‘the higher the risk, the greater the return and vice versa.’ The reason why this particular subject is of matter to me is because this trade-off is something we all need to practice, much often than we do. Which brings us to the parlous subject of courage. Courage, is key. We need courage to achieve, to conquer, to acquire, to venture and sometimes, it comes to needing it to be fully alive.

Nothing is more horrendous than thinking ‘what would have happened if I did/said that?’  That’s exactly why courage is required to take the risk. To do what you’re afraid of doing. To say what you wanted to say. To delve into the precarious unknown. Little do we know, that word we hid inside, could have changed everything. That one thing we abstained from doing, could have been a game-changer. Now, is it worth that one moment of courage? YES.

Here I am, at 3am in the morning, telling you to take the risk. Dive blindly. Indulge passionately. And most importantly, liberate your mind from all constraints.

A Proposition Of Escape

High, I hold you up in your own prohibitive space..

My coruscating star, my pendant light..

Within those eyes of lustre black, I found my solace..

Take me by the hand and let us go out of sight..

Me and you, we do not belong in a world where sin is feared..

Vanish my strings, allow me to free fall into you..

Tell me you know, that here, our fusion is not revered..

Take me away and lets perpetrate something we can’t undo..