Purple Guitar

G chord for starters. Let me sing you a song today.

It’s about love, like how all good songs are, for you, of you.

It will tear you apart and touch your heart. You will beg

and plead and cry. May mercy be bestowed.

Maybe not.

E minor to spice things up. Let us go on a ride to space.

You shuffle amongst the stars. They burn so radiantly, like how all good stars do,
  for us.

You flush with the envy of success, wondering
the intensity of enduring pain they mask to feed the fire.

The molten stomachs that do not churn in the face of fear.

The evaporated veins that do not bleed emotions
but empty promises once made by self to self, aged twelve.

The crumbled bones, shrapnel from war, with nothing left to break,
leaves no trails of cracks.

Yet, a 7^th, you flush in the vacuum you stand, for the vacuum they are within.

You crave for the constellations, trophies of achievements displayed
in the palm of your hands, bright red and searing.
Your artist speaks for yourself.

You drink through your windows, savoring each sip,
never letting cherry lips taste a drop of iced gold.
Your masterpiece of failures built on failure speaks for you.

See, you feel. Feel, you hurt. Breathe, you live.

The ticking at the corner has no meaning to the girl dying inside.

Time stops only for the poor unfortunates to cherish regrets.

Hear, the critics, yourself, muted, so loudly.

Guts twisting to the scribbles pending pen.

Embrace the moon, reflection of your light, as time pauses.

Stars too brilliant implode to massive darkness.

Hold on to yourself, do not get lost in the cadence.

D major.

Drink Up!

Never been happier for color vision;

never been happier for coloring in a bowl

for it represents regaining life or the lack thereof.

And I've never been so glad for pain.

A day ago, sight was depressing

The moon mocked, the stars gossiped, the

bed disapproved, the table reminded, the food

stung, the drinks smug, the pen whispered,

the paper scorn, the people bled.

And I wept.

And I wept

because I needed fluids that sweat won’t cut.

I wept because of the act that I did, that I

consciously did, that was common and normal and

perfect in almost every other context than what I was in.

I need a drink.

My lips were cracking but I couldn’t care less.

My pair seemed to be fissuring as I was careless.

So hydrated before with his drink yet now so desiccated.

Thank god for water.

Yes, thank God.

I have no religion but I prayed.

Desperate? Yes.

The only things that got me through was his faith with me

and my faith in Him.

I pled for my ancestors to look over me and I saw no angels

with wings but I’m glad they did.

Of course, this could all be in my head.

But if anyone is up there, here is a toast.

Love you, thank you and let’s drink up!

Oh yes, make it red wine please.

My Heart

My heart flutters.

Not like a dainty butterfly,

but like a buzzing humming bird.

It’s so obsessive it’s irritating.

Yet it keeps me afloat as I taste the sweet

bitterness of life,

as I wonder beyond the blue openness

and set my sights nowhere.

My heart pounds.

Not like acts of pent up emotions,

but like a covetous husband with the rhythm of ardor.

It’s so possessive it bruises me.

Yet it keeps me grounded as I taste the passionate

acidity of love,

as I wonder beyond the red openness

and set my soul nowhere else.

My heart skips.

Not like the rational lady I try to show,

but like the silly child he brings out.

My heart bares.

Not like the insecure girl I try to hide,

but like the brave woman he sees.

My heart loves

because of him.

My heart loves

because of what he is.

My heart loves

because of what he does.

My heart loves

because of how he loves me.

Foreign

It's squirming in my tummy.

Revolting little brat!

I clobber it with fists of fury

to remove the regret.

The constant reminder of his face

resides deep inside.

It sickens me that his residue, his waste

is filling me tight.

What was I thinking?

My brain clearly on a break

and it took over with speed of lightning,

laughing at my sake.

A moment of carelessness, that

was it.

Our eyes, we met.

Church bells ring.

I punched it hard. Get out!

Get out!

The promises I vowed,

now doubt

but it’s all too late.

Its life; my life.

No time to wait.

I dive.

Like quicksand, it consumes me whole.

It screams in my ears; louder as it grows.

It clouds my head with unique frequencies.

Never such a phenomenon. What trickery is this?

If only I knew how to stop the love.

Deafening silence

From a mother's diary about her deaf child

Tick tock. Tick tock ring.
Ring. Riinng. Riiinnng!
Yawn. Splitting headache.
Riiiinnnng! I jump to my feet,
Rub my eyes and wipe the
wetness on the ends of my gown.
Birds are chirping outside, mocking
me; mocking her and her lack of sound.

She sleeps peacefully beside,
a smile on her face.
I use one so often, it's a tool
just a hand stretch away.
I stroke her hair and carcass her cheek.
I smell her scent; she smells
like the soap I use. I listen to her
breathing, as sweet as church bells.

She used to be special, not abnormal, until
her certified protector went insane.
My ring represented his promises but
now embodies her suffering and my pain.
I regret the first push that gave her
life. I regret the final push that took
it. Her piercing scream; her last word
eloped with my ability to look
through dry eyes. Sniff.

I snapped out of my daze. Riiinnng!
A myriad of noises all around me.
Yet, her silence is most deafening.

My path

Move aside and get out of my way.
I don't need you guys to destroy my day.
This is my life. I make the decisions.
Stop experimenting on me; stop making incisions.
You have the best in mind, but that ain't an action plan.
I know what I want; I do what I like with my own feet and hands.
Yes, you gave them to me. I'm grateful to you.
But a gift, once given, can't be returned. You know the rule.
So stop interfering. You ain't know nothing.
My mind is a secret. You're not allowed near it.
Maybe one day you'll learn what ears are for.
You've spoken so much while my words you ignore.
I am still vibrant. I want to see the world.
I'm not an old lady or still a five year old girl.
You've got to understand that I have been trying.
So stop budging in and leaving my crying.
These tears just make me stronger and I'll show you I can live.
I have my own list of chores I promise to finish before I leave.
Patience is a virtue. All I'm asking is for you to wait.
When I come back here, believe me, soaring is what you shall spectate!

Seeing Her Future

It was a party in that room.
The male guests never stopped coming
There were females too:
One bound to the bed, frightened,
Another at a corner- sitting.

The guys prowled, dirtied the sheets
And protected her like how her clothes did.
They came in large packs.
She fought hard, the bed screamed.
The other at a corner- sitting and watching.

The last guest arrived and the party ceased.
He scoured the room. He was hungry.
She was a greasy smoked chicken, well-done.
Smiling, an appetite was worked up.
The other at a corner- sitting, watching and crying.

They left the party house
With their tails between their legs.
He had fun, she had trauma, she struggled
He finished the job.
The other at a corner- sitting, watching, crying and next
In line.

2011

it's 2011 already,
so i thought i'd pen down some words.
damn, it's A level year. it's time to study;
time to start acting like a nerd.

a new year, a new begining
forget about the past
got to think ahead, embrace the present
cause time flies really fast

don't know how i'm so grown up now
when i'm still a small kid inside
problems to face, more stress to take
need my blankie to hide

no no no. i wont escape
running away wont help
going to unleash my strength, my burning passions
yes, the difficulties, you shall melt

ok, let, not get a head of ourselves
and forget about reality
but, seriously, not kidding at all
i will triumph this time, i've got a feeling

Picture Perfect

the stars shinning bright,
always forgotten when next to the moon.
a reflection,
the reflection of the lonely sun.
i took a drop of red wine,
a sip of blood fell into my art palate.
beside my brush, a knife lay.
the world turns, spins, whirls unmovingly.
the masterpiece, a mirror,
splattered with drips of my inner maroon.
haggered shrivelled lips.
disconnected eyes.
a smile of yours.
my picture perfect.

The day you called to play

I remember I once told you
On the day you called to play
Do not make me lose the game
And feel really sad one day

And yet you decided to triumph
By not speaking a single thing
Put on yr crown and laughed out loud
“Ha-ha, I am the king!”

A block of wood, I thought you were
And still I’m thinking that now
I am your servant, I am your slave
“Oh hail oh hail” I bow

I thought about the unplanted kiss
How foolish I had been
And yet I feel so lucky
Escaping troubles unforeseen

Your image, vivid in my mind
Has lost, though, all its color
It feels so empty, black and white
In that lonely parlor

You’ve not yet spoken, I don’t understand why
It’s your way of gloat, I guess
And yet my heart, you’d taken away
Still loves you no other less

Oh haul your majesty! Oh hail oh hail!