Archive for the ‘Weirdness’ Category

In Appreciation, I write, not in remorse.

To and for a time so timeless,

Sentences, scattered in structure, disrupted in its sense of sense, yet humbled by the feeling that triggered the urge to write in the first place.

I write,

Till I’m drained empty.

Till the words squeeze into sour juices of meanings.

I write and write,

Till the heaviness is gone, shedding layers of me within layers of paper, squirting blue ink of my royal blood from a loaded pen… That still drips

And I still write,

Dispersed letters, grouped only to be distorted upon a thought, that reforms then dissolves…

Into canals of clogged memory lanes, superimposing timelines from different times.

And the pen still drips,

What lips failed to speak, of the relics a crippled heart keeps…

Onto papers,

That never really existed.


Flow into me.
Let the words seep as deep as the depth of myself allows.

One word. Squeezed of all the meanings possessed, drained into the vessels of my heart. Collected, clogging my escaping breath.

There it stays… Somewhere within myself I never knew still existed; lost and forgotten.
There it stays… to unconsciously sow the seeds of a feeble life, buried underneath thick, filthy layers of myself. To refurbish relics of a collapsed being.

There it settles; for the meanings to diffuse, to give way for some warmth, to trigger…
A thought, a feeling, and a life.

Intense, this infusion of sentiments to be felt for the first time in a long long time grows.

A weak spirit, beautiful in its pale demure yet so insecure in its fear, awoken…

upon the turbulent  impact of one, and no more than just one, honest word.

Sentiments are pathetic, really. I haven’t completely turned into a psychopath yet, thus I am still ought to at least acknowledge the feelings as they rise; as they exist and persist only to add to the irritation.
Through the following, I hereby acknowledge a flamboyant state of unexplained, and certainly unwanted,  nostalgia that surfaces as reminiscing involuntarily imposes…
Emptiness is no longer a valid state when reminiscing still purges memories into oneself. And how could one be so vacant when nostalgia compensates for the void within?
There’s a memory that never fades, that no matter how quick one heals and how perfect the wound seals, it remains so vibrant, so poignant; so significant that it soon mimics the presence of what’s been absent.

There was once a feeling; now crippled, if not dead. And every time your heart craves it, your mind slowly flourishes a memory, that revives the corpse of how it once felt; to be alive.  And it soothes the soul, because the intensity of what pours into one’s mind is so drastic that it dramatically flips everything upside down; turning the vacant full, and the absent present.
So close…

So close it becomes to how it was once like.
The beauty of a world once created now crumbled and collapsed. Its relics shrank into a memory, its realms bound by the premises of a mind that apparently failed to comprehend what it is like to forget.

And the more you push yourself to forget the more your mind squeezes fertile visions of the lagging past that overlaps its present. A blurred mind, an impaired heart; soon they both embrace the warmth of remembrance rather than the ache of fighting it.
And how could one not remember when what it was is nothing like what had ever been nor anything of what will ever be?

So unconditional it came to life, so peaceful it grew, so blind and reluctant it was mislead…
So innocently it withered away.
Missing you is a right I have ceased to attain.

I am where I was once scared to be, but it’s not as scary as the image I once coupled it to within the depth of my imagination. Far beyond gone, I’ve been.
But I owe it to every memory I behold within myself to remember.
To forget is yet only another sin only the ungrateful are to be accused of.
To forget is yet only another tag for insignificance I’ll unfairly label you with if only I happen to forget.

Useless is a painting that doesn’t squeeze the feelings out of your heart.

I don’t know what this is, and I don’t want to figure it out. I wasn’t really painting, but rather thinking, speaking… reminiscing.

I don’t know what this is. All I know is:

Trust your feelings. Paint.


Softly, it creeps next to me. An aura of warmness that slowly structures and reforms itself as it grows into a fading existence, a subtle creation of my restless subconscious. A substitute to ease my burning desire, to bring the ache to an end, and to revive a memory once abolished.

Softly, it crawls into the abyss within myself. A temporary sense of living lures; A heartbeat. An extended breath that goes deep into the pits of pierced lungs. My subconscious revels in the ambiance of a once relevant atmosphere. Pampered with the lust it feels once again. Tarnished feelings reborn.

Softly, it embraces me. It slides over my skin, soothes the twitching body,  fills up the spaces between my fingers, presses over my feeble hands, sucking the pain out of a vulnerable me. A presence, I can’t see. A presence that grows potent and significant towards my side. Provoking.

A rush of cold air blows, as though the ghost of my everlasting memory blew a sinister breath that evoked consciousness whining in remorse. Aching in remembrance, rendered helpless to pathetic reminiscing.

A sigh escaped. A tear followed, as the relics of an existence my subconsciousness put together was vaporized into nothingness. Sheer nothingness. Vanished into thin air.

The memory subsides.

An organized mess of mine


Am I allowed a moment; just one moment, of weakness? Am I allowed to give my cheeks a break, stop smiling and let my lips curl into a desperate puppy face?
Am I allowed to feel tired; dead tired, if not exhausted? For I am, really.

Am I allowed…?

To run to you, to crash, to talk, to embrace my worries by your thoughts? Am I allowed to let my usually boosting energies escape me? Then fall by your side; sit down, barely alive?

Am I allowed… ?
To wish, to crave, to long for and cherish your subtle existence?

Do you mind if you grant me the right to?

Do you mind…?
Being there? For a little longer than just a moment? For quite longer than a mere chit-chat? Do you mind, if I stumble upon you? If I slip into the cozy pits of your mind? If I wander, together with your thoughts?

Am I allowed, to ask, do you mind?