Going double
It spells trouble.
Son of a gun,
They call it fun.
Evil is love
Masked as a dove.
Twisted fate
And undying hate.
Left at the end,
A broken heart to mend.
Mere.
She only speaks
Of what she fears.
He only seeks
What he wants to hear.
Darkness forgets
Whatever held dear.
Perhaps when the sun rises
It’s when it all turns clear.
Leap.
Grabbed some gin,
And tobacco by tins.
Going for a spin,
After an awful din.
All I wanted was to win,
Gambling was my only sin.
Lost it all, not even a lint
Left for me, no hopes to pin.
I leapt – all I saw was blue and green,
“Drink like a fish,” says Jim Beam.
Forgetful I am, of yesterday’s dreams
I’m now just a fish without a fin.
Desperate and unable to swim,
Repaying my debt, my life cost a mint.
The last of my grin,
Now gone with the wind.
Love for Gold.
Toward atoll she will roll,
For a gold for the soul.
A requirement for bravery,
All she will touch be lined silvery.
The heart bleeds as it yawns,
For she will never settle for bronze.
Fake.
He said I’m cold,
But he made a mistake.
It’s a blow,
The things said were fake.
It has taken a toll,
The past has been raked.
I don’t know,
How long it’s going to take.
But don’t let that doubt grow,
For goodness sake.
I’m not cold,
And I’ve no hate.
Please let him know,
Before decisions are made.
‘Cause when I go
Through the exit gate,
It’ll be three hours or so,
To the relationship’s wake.
Liberation.
I like a song very much such that it’s been one of my ringtones since 6 years ago. It gave me a sense of an ideal evening. With the sun setting, pale blue skies. Orange light casting harshly on the white walls. It’s the most beautiful time of the day.
It meant reunion to me. Reunion to a loved one after work. Reunion to my passions and hobbies after classes. Reunion with my bed when I’m busy being with myself. It’s also the best time for hugs, cuddles and romantic afternoon teatime. My sense of romance, though, isn’t always gushy and showy. It’s an afternoon with cakes, tea or coffee. Holding hands across the table. Smiling and basking in the presence of one another, having conversations about our silly life problems. Romance to me seems to be a series of comfortable moments. Delivering over with packed lunch because food just suck at workplace canteens. Sending each other their favorite songs which are not played on mainstream radio. It’s kinda simple, yet specific.
This song is Santa Monica by Savage Garden. Mainstream but gold. It spoke to me in its tune and lyrics. And now I thought, it’s not only on the telephone line I can be whoever I wanna be. In writing too, I can be whoever I wanna be. I can write stories, I can write about love that didn’t happen. I can write an emotion, a thought, or describe the most perfect face I’ve ever encountered. I can be however I wanted to be. And with that I can now preach this quote,
“…everything in life is writable about if you have the outgoing guts to do it, and the imagination to improvise. The worst enemy to creativity is self-doubt.”
– Sylvia Plath
It is now that I finally attain the outgoing guts to do so. I used to be so afraid, insecure and couldn’t put up with being misunderstood, as well as explaining to those who’ve misunderstood me (especially if they mattered to me.) I figured now, that I don’t really need everyone to understand, because those who truly matter, eventually will. I feel liberated, it’s nothing to be afraid of anymore.
Be weird, be strange. Embrace change.
Escapist.
There’re some things
She wouldn’t tell,
Places with him
Where she often dwell.
The darkness of his eyes,
Was where she fell.
She never knew
It’d be living hell.
It’s in silence,
She’d chose to yell.
Anxiety.
You make me complete
With one text,
You make me anxious
With one lapse.
The least I want,
Is to be pest.
I dare not ask,
To be on your chest.
I really really need,
To get some rest.
But this note,
To you I wish to address.
Distance alone,
Will not make me feel much less.
Because in my world,
You’re already the best.
Dimension.
If there was a 5th,
We would have met.
It’s where the souls live,
No matter placement or time.
It’s a world of its own,
With its own rules.
One that stores,
All our spiritual states.
If there was a 5th,
We would have met.
The realm where intense minds live,
I’m sure you know that.
When we dream,
No matter day or night,
We escape,
And that’s where you saw me.
Eyes met,
There’s likeness in us.
But something felt different,
And you were scared.
Unable to face your own mind,
You left.
Doubtful of the very next step,
I saw you leave.
If there was a 5th,
I could feel you.
There’s no lost though you’re gone now,
Because I’ll always be here.
It’s a world I need to fill,
It’s a world I need to feel.
If there was a 5th,
We’ll always meet again.
Inexplicit.
Do we know the existence of fear because of the existence of love?
Or do we know the existence of love because of the existence of fear?
How do we know the answer,
When we don’t know the definition of either?
killgwen 