A-Symmetry

I wish your eyes would dim and your teeth rot How else would I stop staring at the spark in your eye when you look at me knowing it is not meant for me but it is just the way you look at the curve of your lips and boyish grin knowing that your smile is just how you smile and nothing more I want to destroy you, but just enough for me to be beautiful to the ugly you that your foolish mind would think me witty and bright and mysterious that your weak heart would pound in your chest when I stand close to you For you to stand in my place and I in yours because we both don't know things I don't know how you feel: soaring high, observing a

the car drives us along the highway and the night breeze is relentless the sky a deep, deep, hypnotic blue yet starless, barren a slow, forgettable love song plays stirring a strange rhythm within me with the insane fantasy of romance unable to coexist with the purr of the car's engine, the cool air and its humid touch, your hand not holding mine the ache of two immiscible threads: one in the muffled murmur of a love song and the other right here in this car; reality

It's late at night and I'm sitting on this ice cold bench at the park. All these stars are circling the sky, making sharp, silver slits across the dark, leathery canvas. It's almost kind of a beautiful way for nature to present death, having all these great, blazing dots bleed everywhere. I fidget with my friend's cigarette box as she and her boyfriend sit a distance away, having this romantic Valentine's night. They keep laughing and smiling until their faces could split in half. I can't stop fidgeting with the cigarette box that she'd passed me earlier that evening. I've never had the courage to smoke, you see, even though I so desperately

19.10.2006 Hey hi. Exam's 'round the corner and I've hardly even studied. I drew some mind maps today afternoon but I don't know if that's enough. 03.02.2007 Hello, I'm back. Somehow I don't see the point in living anymore. School prepares me for work. Work prepares me for life. Life prepares me for death. Isn't it all the same? Isn't it just all the same? 05.05.2008 I'm so exhausted, I can't take it anymore. It's the MYE (mid-year examination) now, yet I can't focus. Here I go again. 24.03.2009 I think dreams are purple. Nightmares, sweet dreams - both. Purple is threatening yet calm. Purple is poisonous yet dreamy. Purple is not blue and

it's always there that wisp of cobweb that groan of rust hanging on my mind refusing to be ignored. but all the words just can't string together to play a tune and the empty paper weeps for solid ink. the punctuations don't make sense and the patterns are undone. -- what if our hearts could be connected like constellations? someone else's words lingering on my unfaithful tongue. you fill up my senses, like a night in the forest. someone else's song tangled in my desperate vocal chords. find our secret hearts, young mistress. a cry that echoes my own.

Dreams are dangerous. They whisk us to places we would never dare to visit and present us with the serpent's fruit. All they ever do is sing of romance and risk and things we never knew of and make us want to play with Prometheus' flame. Then, when our skin burns and melts, we have no one to blame but ourselves. Ever wanted to know where Love stood? Between Life and Death, the Chinese said. Love is born of Dream. Now, tell me where Dream stands. Above Them all. Now, exalted over life and death and love, Dream stands proud and tall, mocking: Sell me your soul for a whole new world. Trust me. You see, if you dream for the moo

the daydream perches on my window sill, singing its pretty melody, eyes closed, with an entire summer sky stretched out behind it. all i hear is last night when the other one was here. the harsh wails of the dark haunt that pierces me deep in the night when i was still tangled in angry dreams. i am sure the yellow-breasted bird knows this. it knows that all i can hear are the broken strings and that my skin can never feel its soft feathers the way it still remembers the vivid nightmares' black, blood drawing claws and all its raw scars so somewhere in its song there is pain perhaps fresher than those on my skin. but who's to

the world now: if someone found a mermaid we'd all say in one breath: it is a lie. romance now: if a flower petal falls to the ground, a couple whispers 'how romantic' the rest murmur 'ah, decay'. glory now: if heroes and villians tread the edge, hand in hand, we'd all think that death walks there too, just two steps behind. me now: if i lied you'd think it's the truth, and if i told the truth-

It is silly how ballons can deflate so quickly. How a prick can drain all our anger and how a hole can bleed our hearts dry.

It does not stand for death. It is clear that all of us find pain in light - however bright - and warmth in the dark. Their thorns belong with the black satin unlike other coloured roses whose thorns seem cunning, hidden amongst the happy petals. It could be a night sky barren of stars. If it is, and the constellations truly are falling, I hope you catch the stardust.