Month: August, 2014

Empty Stage Behind the Curtains

Like a ravenous dog

You consume empty materialistic possessions fanatically, blindly

To pacify your sense of need; a fleeting myopic emotion

Like a thirsty dog you lap at dry entertainment, censored media, reality TV

To free your soul, to bring you to another place

To get a whiff of adventure, to a live a life not yours

Just because you were too scared to act out

You came close to the glass

But did not muster enough courage to put your fist through it

Only to leave the fog of your breath behind

And in the showers you sing a lullaby

To lull yourself into a false sense security

The melody from your head

Your brain bathed in the sound of your own voice

One drowned out, not vocalised

But it was you, you

You did it

You made a choice

You chased the dream which was not meant to be chased

You ran the road while the sidewalks were inviting

“Come stroll along me” they said

“Why are you running in circles, trying to run ahead of time?”

You wore the ink of other people’s thoughts, their desires

Probably not their own

But you chose to give in

Now tattooed on your skin

You scrub at it in the shower

But it’s not really ink

They are thoughts, formed by words

And words are more permanent than ink

They come from ideals, values

Whether lack thereof, it is not their concern

You went down the same road, the wrong one

And at the end you realised

You were cheated

What have I accomplished?

Life has cheated me

But life didn’t have a chance to live

You did

But you wasted it

You filled your time

Devouring social media

Fussing over immaterial problems

Rousing unnecessary emotions

Playing the melodramatic act on the stage to no audience

To make yourself feel important

A plastic self-worth

All the palavering, all the commotion

A balloon; an inflated a thin layer of facade

Vaporised easily

Gone as easily as it appeared

All boiled down to nothing

But you don’t realise it until it actually happens

And the bass of your thoughts pounds your cracked mind


The sounds are coming in

You try to keep them out

But no, no

You can’t

They are coming in


They can’t be stopped

Who? What? How?

You crumble to your knees

Press your face into your hands

Feel the contact of your own skin

Trying to sink into nothingness

But there is no such thing

It is nothing

Never was anything



I feel the steel bars cutting through and out of my heart, devouring the organ in its entirety. Like the roots germinating from a seed, a seed that was planted inside me by words; by indoctrination and subtle messages.

My heart is now a mass of dead metal. But it is still hungry for more, it wants to widen its grasp. The metal crawls up my gullet, slowly and insidiously. Covering every mucous layer with its chilly surface, suppressing the life force beneath. It comes up through my throat, but there is no gag reflex. It is an unnatural process but one which my body falls prey to. I am desperately vulnerable. How do you defend against something from within you?

It crawls out of my mouth and spreads it reach over my head, covering and filling every orifice with relish. My mouth goes dry. My ears, deaf, as if at the bottom of some unthinkable deep ocean. I feel my irises become taut, or perhaps dead for a more accurate description. They are now inanimate objects which do not fulfil their structural purpose.

My heart is supposed to be racing, but it now too is lifeless. Stripped of its simple purpose by the oppressor.

I feel the metallic elements seep through the pores of my skin, clawing their way out from the inside and overflowing through the external. The pores in my skin expand excruciatingly slowly, and the fibres of my skin stretch to give way to the metal. The metal flows over every remaining inch of my body and covers me in its stronghold.

I am now…

I think…


If I Had One Superpower

I would want to be able to communicate with the dead.

To draw their unspoken words from their dusty tongues; the words which had rolled about in the back of their throats but failed to leave the edge of their lips.

Words which had been full of colour and vibrancy, formed in the crevices of their minds but were deprived of the opportunity of life; which were not breathed into reality.

To hear their silent thoughts with my soul; to have a conversation without the exchange of words, the use of words. Because what else communicates more effectively than the language of understanding?

To feel their emotions with my fingers and caress their weightless souls.

To listen to their thumping feelings with my ears before their bodies turned cold.


In loving memory of the wonderful Robin Williams

The Unprotected, The Unknowing, The Frail

The air was heavy and dark with fear. Sunlight failed to permeate into this realm, whether due to the canopy cover or a lack of Sun, I do not know. It was as if someone came and turned down the switch, dimming the lights.

It was an experience so harrowing, it seemed surreal. Supernatural. Maybe the incident didn’t really occur, but the violent concoctions of chemicals in my brain roused such a vivid imagery, I couldn’t distinguish fact from fiction. But really, is something true only because we have lived through it? Why are our thoughts any less explicit compared to spoken words or executed actions?

The trees towered over me. I don’t remember looking at the leaves directly but somehow I knew they were palm trees. Odd. There should not have had been palm trees in that region but then again, what is truth and what isn’t?

I was in a car, controlling the machine behind the wheel. It was a regular car with the generic rectangular body any toddler was capable of drawing. My foot applying pressure onto pedal with surgical precision, pivoted at the ankle where I felt the tension rising. My hands carefully steering the wheel, as if holding a rifle, just about to pull the trigger at a wild animal.

I turned the wheel millimetres at a time, causing the car to move accordingly. I imagined the steering wheel connected to an intricate chassis, linked to every other part of the car, an incomprehensible network that was meant to be used but not understood. I was accustomed to the outcome of controlling the car by the steering wheel, that by turning this object in my hand, the car would follow in similar fashion. But what if the car had a mind of its own? What if one day it chose to disobey?

The wheels traversed across the bamboo bridge gingerly. Each minuscule movement elicited a creaking sound from the bamboo poles which comprised the bridge; a cry for help or a shout of warning or a taunting laugh.

Sweat found its way through the pores of my skin onto the steering wheel. Every action was fraught with danger. I was dizzy with nervousness. One wrong move could have sent me down into the unfathomable depths; what lurked there is beyond me. It was a darkness, a void. I’m not sure what was worse. If there was something down there, or if it was a complete void. Do humans rather die in the presence of another sentient being, or do we prefer to rot alone in nothingness?

My heart raced inside chest, screaming to be let out, to be freed from the agony. I could not give in however, as much as I had genuinely wanted. It was not my choice to make, it was in the hands of future, of time itself. In the grasping fingers of the nature, the fabric of destiny. I was an immaterial occurrence.

Where am I going?

Are the struggles worth fighting?

Or should I let go?

Do I lose control?

If I loosen this stronghold

Or do I gain more?