corrupted

in silence we sat at the edge

of the night, waiting for the Sun 

no moon, just an outline of your 

shrinking figure, and it was there 

'the world is so alone,' you mused

and watched the prophesy fulfilled

in silence you sat alone, 

and lose yourself in thoughts 

jeopardising, you wondered if you're

still sane, and it was there

'the world is so alone,' you mused

and found company

No longer silent, the serpent whispered

vile and corrupt, things of the world

to you, sheltered child, and your

senses now twisted, it was there

'the would is so alone,' you mused

and he mused with you.

Will you sit in silence again?

and implore me to sit with you

as if the Sun may never come up. your 

skewed perception of 'being there'

'the world is so alone,' as you will muse

and air dirty linen out

Lone souls

It's a painful thing to live and exist, in the crowd full of extraordinares.

The warriors shaken, the vase is broken 

We keep falling into the enemy's snares 

like a cassette tape, that lost its memory

Tragedy keeps on playing over and over 

we lost that spirit of 'dance and be merry' 

And for Narcissus now do we labour 

Twentieth

It is the twentieth and hurrah, a new year. 

Was it a month ago or today? I can't seem to remember but I shouldn't be that obsessed to remember such things. Still it burns my cheeks to remember what I did the last time, and whether you remember, that naught was spoken except your inquiry. It is such a shameful thing to do and I realised the foolishness of it only after you broke the silence and jolted my consciousness awake. I would have said something, I would have waited to say something, or I would have waited for you to get frustrated and even chide me from the other end. I would have, but I couldn't bear myself to accept rejection in adamant retaliation about professionalism and the like. And tis a shameful thing to have even been done. 

And when I hastened away, what I forgot to say, was all I have to say.

Hello, Happy birthday. 

Is that inherent, or nurtured - the art or, lack thereof, of having no conscience or empathy, embedded in narcissism and self-pity?

Absolutely revolting.

10/5/16 and I'm still thinking

When I see you, 

If I see you, 

I think I'll run and hide, 

And try to forget that I still think 

Of improbable possibilities a year 

After you left and you 

No longer remember or know 

Who it was that slid a silly poem (or two)

Who it was that you deceived with your smile and a little nod 

Who it was that you do not care for 

But if I see you, if I see you, 

I think I'd forget to breathe 

I'd turn crimson and my cheeks will burn 

And perhaps croak out a hello

When will I see you? 

Possibly never. 

Noel

I can't find a reason to mend this anymore. I told her, "I can't believe it has come to this."  She said, "I saw it coming." And we talked and he shouted and all I hear was, "Shut up!" 

It was just another crack widening that which was already present. How much more till everything, everyone, falls apart? 

You never fail, do you, to make me feel pathetically inadequate.