To G

WHY ARE YOU READING THIS? 

"Distance never separates two hearts that really care, for our memories span the miles and in seconds we are there. But whenever I start feeling sad, because I miss you, I remind myself how lucky I am to have someone so special to miss." -Anon

I miss you i miss you i miss you i miss you i miss you i miss you i miss you i miss you i miss you i miss you. And i spliced.

Until then, i will always

love you.

I dont want t think of you.

I dont want t think of you;
Your eyes; your smile; your scent
The way you walk;
Or the little times when your hand touches mine.

I dont want t think of you;
How everytime I try t close my eyes
only t be replaced by yours-
Dark glistening crystals that have long melted my heart.

I dont want t think of you;
or occupying people's thoughts, the way you do.

I dont want t think of you;
of a beauty no doubt
of a life, a future without.

I don't want t think of you.
But I do.

Best thing about tonight is we're fighting
for reasons we firmly believe in

And this boulevard that we've come t past
turned t lust
turned t trust
turned t dust

Fingers on the cold transparent surface
Because fingers get cold
and people get old

Best thing about tonight is we're not fighting.


because we can't anymore.

Starless nights

Nights like these
drive you crazy;
when even starless skies
mocks
reeking of solitude
and runs away with the moon

Perhaps.

Hello world. Pardon my disappearance for a couple (months).

Blogging was never an obligation for me, and i say that with apologies, for i doubt it'll ever be. Maybe it should (though i don't see how), but perhaps in knowing my posts live on a certain something for its existence, would aptly explain the lack in its frequency- 'inspiration', they call it.

However with that said, this post is none of inspiration nor motivation; just a mere case of fatigue, frustration and the unfortunate lack of a listening ear.

My life, (or school life rather since there's all there is t it now) has been going downhill. My job, school, dance class, table tennis.. t be entirely honest it'll take superman t cope. And i sure ain't no superman. My mom's making me quit the job at GV. "You can't cope", she says. And perhaps she's right.

Perhaps she's always right. Perhaps I'd prefer t have this honourable gift of thought taken from me- this inquisitive nature t question; t find a reason for everything. Perhaps sometimes things just are. Perhaps sometimes it's okay t follow; t conform; t not stand out. Perhaps it's fortunate not t be that one in a million (that everyone aims t achieve). Perhaps heroes have it hard (and never recognised only till after their deaths). Perhaps regrets are excuses. Perhaps prevention isn't better than cure. Perhaps it's not death that scares us, but the life after (or the lack of). Perhaps t get more, we should expect less. Perhaps all it takes t do more 'Right's, is just t do less 'Wrong's.

Perhaps.

Pet pet.

Hi, this is zhihao's turtle typing (trust me i took a month t figure out how) , he's dead so send your condolences. Cash will do, but we do accept cheques, visa, what not.



Says Aver.

And i dont know you anymore, or perhaps i never did, before.

Who was i t think i was different;
Just a page boy- nothing more.

The page boy- the silent role
someone he chanced, a heart he stole
but heart's a heart without its soul
a mere organ you can control

and here he falls, t his knees
this heart he so yearns t please
'No, no' he hears it scream
is it the heart, or is it a dream

Dignity and esteem thus low they lie
how much more before they die
Roses wither for carnations deep,
carnations, carnations, those he'll keep.

But torn away from his grip
carnations removed heap by heap
and with it, a void of anticipation;
an anticipation of a beeping sound
an anticipation- never found.

and here he falls, t his knees-
this time not for a heart t please
but rather a realisation,
a surge of indignation.

Still filled with love
of love and sore
here's an actor that's played out his act;
like an informant that's served out his purpose- wanted no more.

Thrown, stepped and splattered,
all over this cold hard floor,
this life- August 14, 1984.

Who was i t think i was different;
Just a page boy- nothing more.