Sunday, October 21, 2007



Yeah, after advice, I've realized that it's only responsible that I make my blog private, especially with it's emotionally-driven content.

What if you knew something. Something that you couldn't tell anyone, something you were scared to tell anyone. What if this something could hurt people. What if you can't control that something too well.

What if that something makes you hurt your friends, to keep them safe? A small prick, to avoid the scythe.

grandfather in hospital now...dad staying over there with him. mum's trying to look ok but I know she's been crying, her eyes don't lie. and i blogged about death on thursday.

yes, these are tears.

there are some things that a 15-year old teenager should not go through
there are some things that no one should go through
never ever go through.

some people crave power
some people wish they were psychic
some people desire the ability to control reality
some people covet power over others

and some just wanna throw it away.

I found one person tonight, someone that I could talk to. And looking back, perhaps I shouldn't have. it's changed now, it's changed. and for the better or worse, i'm not sure. but it's definitely changed.

like my junior told me today.
wasted tears

we bathe, the cold water takes away heat.
we cry, the tears take away unhappiness.

are tears ever wasted?
perhaps. perhaps. perhaps.

to the left to the left
it hurts

born into a world
not meant for me
too many differences
too different from me

they say we're different
that's why we're unique
god's wide cast of moulds
from which we were picked

then what was my mould
from what was it made
mud stone earth clay
gold silver bronze or jade

was the mould too weak
was it heated too much
was it flawed in structure
mistakes of such

my first faux-poem. my urethra exclaims with glee.

am i happy. or am I forcing myself to be happy.
because
because
because
because
because

there's the bridge of trust between us. i can see you, and you look like you're welcoming me, encouraging me with arms wide open. but why does your hand glint with the shine of steel. my back hurts, and my hand draws blood from it. i look down, and my hand holds a knife. i look back at you, and you turn around, your white shirt bleeds too.
the bridge is stained with blood, and the bridge corrodes as the acidic blood burns through it. can wood feel pain. the bridge remains, but it is shaky and unstable. below is a deep chasm, one with no bottom. 'it's safe' you tell me.

and i take a step on that bridge. it snaps and i fall with it. there's only one thing to do, and i jump, reaching for you. my hand is outstretched. will you grab it and pull me to you, or will you let me fall, together with the broken trust and acidic blood.

that part has yet to be written. so let us see. shall it be written with a happy ending, or shall it be written in blood.