Melancholies

  The streets are empty, The memories shattered, Your sense of self is diluted, What’s left? Nothing, utter nothingness. Dreams are just that, superfluous perceptions of our life that we have. They are fragile and are easily shattered, and together with it comes a torrent of emotions that just drown you until you suffocate and lay down your weapons, its not worth fighting it anymore.  You’ve been playing a tug-of-war for ages now, rest, give up, its not for you anymore. You're no more man, just an empty shell that was full of hope and happiness. The emptiness is felt only by you, the world will continue looking at you like the weirdo you’ve been.  Funny isn’t it? All the signs you’ve been giving out but it fell on deaf ears, your story would make someone a star on the stand-up comedy scene.  If they were listening, they would have heard the shout for help and the pain. You blast the cry for help out loud, but they think you’re just weird as always, and your tastes ha...

 Aren’t we all just ticking time-bombs waiting to go off? One decision leads to the other, and you’re taken back by previous decisions. The ‘what ifs’ start populating your brain till you are frozen in disbelief, and you ask yourself ‘where is the way of life?’ Life ends with death, joy with sadness, but where does a lived life end?  Is it at the end of an experience, the end of great chemistry or at the douse of a fiery flame? We cross some bridges and burn them down, we invest in these bridges and watch them turn to ashes then we stop living to question ourselves Were these bridges meant to become ashes? Will we tick till we as well turn to the never ending surrounding ashes? We all go off at some point, but do we get to decide how we go out? I am just fumbling for answers but I end up with more questions Should I jump or is it worth walking the darkness? Over and over I am met with more questions. Turn the knob down, pause all the sense, and wait for the implosion to come. ...

 I was a fan of this universe, the glow of the city lights, the colours playing on my fingertips. A flow of happiness that just surrounded me and lifting me to play amongst the clouds. But I have always been blind, I did not see the truth that was in front of me and my senses were just dulled with that sense of happiness. It all shimmered. The smiles, memories and fragrances were like a mirage, shimmering in front of me but always out of reach, just eye candy. Reach out and the colours fade, sit and watch and you can enjoy a fake life. I am curious. I stepped over the edge, taking a leap of faith to see what is beyond this warped reality. And then nothing. A vast, open-ended nothing. Removing the shimmering happiness, I have nothing to bring colours to this grey-scaled world. I am already addicted to the shimmer, I cannot bear looking at the world in black and white...yet the voice in my head ask me to wait it out, have a sip of time and your wounds will heal. So I allow myself, to...

  Well I never would have believed it, I have been told countless time that the viper strikes faster than lightning but I never thought that I would have been struck. I gave him the dagger and bared my chest for him to strike but he never advanced. Once I had my back turned it was another story. He used the opportunity to strike me in the back and revel in that flowed. What I though all that time was that this was the one person that had my back all the time, boosted me to reach new heights in my life but all the time he was waiting for the perfect opportunity to knock me down. If I asked everyone to write down the person they trust, would he write down his name? Filthy as he is, he ought to bring everyone down to his level. I gave him everything that I held dear but he poisoned these thing and just turned them against me. Now I wear my sunglasses to protect my eyes from burning away, yet he appears to me to be that dim light that guides me towards my goals and desire, what f i...

  We all had dreams when growing up, some dreamt of becoming pilots, other astronauts. The rollercoaster of life caused some of us to become chemists, whether by choice or not. Chained to their laboratory, experimenting, and forfeiting sobriety. They play the chemist with dull knives till they are on the floor hitting the ceiling and falling off the cliff, tiptoeing in the void, leaving behind a broken Lego house. Staring from the deepest of the deep end up to the world that others live in, searching for the sun but they meet only with unnatural lights that burn their skins to their bone, sharing their ‘sins’ for the people above to point at. They chained themselves consuming their chemistry, till it’s the latter that is consuming them and dictating their moves. We fight off oppression, looking for independence and freedom but we put to the side those that are oppressed by their alter ego, addiction. Should we not extend a hand to help? The society we live in taught us to t...

 They say do good and karma will reward you, do bad and karma will punish you. But who decide what is good and bad, who deserves punishment or not? How are we expected to live under the threat of punishment by some astral figure?  What if instead life is just a circle of pain and rest and karma is a human construction of a moral code?  The boy lived some hard times, getting his soul ripped slowly away, tear ducts like a desert and the heart going numb with pain. He wishes for it to be over one way or the other, seeking an eternal cure for pain. Then come a moment of rest, where the pain goes on a hiatus and the boy learns to smile again. The smile is so fake however.. What is the use of smiling if the circle starts all over again and the pain comes back and hits even harder, and it will eventually come as we are mere pawns of a higher power. Acting out a play for the sickening enjoyment of someone, or something.  Thus the boy smile not, but close his eyes and accept ...

 Deep under he is scared, scared of what could happen or what should happen. He is always on the edge, trying to achieve greatness in vain. He close his eyes and dream of himself being at the climax of his life, only to open them and realize that he is groveling in the dirt. Life is not a wish-making factory, there is no stairway to heaven, albeit, we aren’t sure if heaven is a concrete matter or a fantasy of a life’s suffering. Trying to carry his weight around on the Earth, he raise his head to glimpse of what he could become, if only he was someone else. Someone said to him “Someday you will take your own life, to leave a mark here in this world” and since then, he is scared, scared of what could happen or what should happen. He walks with a quick smile, a fading one. He jokes to make others think he is at peak shape, he plans his future with his loved ones, a lie in its essence. He plans ahead of what he knows he will not reach. His life is like a lit cigarette, the more ...