Tag Archives: thanks

No thanks, I’m not hungry.

There’s no one left lying on the second story floorboards
And I’m sure they heard next door, but the bottles are hollow now
And there’s room at the bottom and I would
Take it all back if I could, but I won’t!


There are rumours at the bottom of my bottle

And the windows are filled with hazy complaints

I’ve got a dollar and a nosebleed left in my pocket

Take a rocketship to the right and a bullet to left

Surrogate phantoms take their place in my head

Because the original ghosts left a long, long time ago

I don’t want to find it, so I lock it all up in my chest

My hands tied to the anchor, but they don’t need to know

There are starving liars at the bottom of the ocean

And the metal submarine has a growing hole on the floor

I’ve got a stick of gum and a bruise left in my pocket

Take the low blows when I go and the gunshot wounds to go.


Sit back, get my palette wet
Getting mentally prepared
For the consequences
And you know why
Because the neighbors
Have complained damn near every night…

Leave a comment

Filed under Poetry

thanks for nothing

i know that

i shouldn’t expect

you to be any grateful

but i would expect

at least to feel less

useless and more useful.

Leave a comment

Filed under Poetry

Give the filthy pauper a gold crown

I don’t deserve this, any of this, all of this.

It’s been a spine-crushing, mental-breaking, emotionally-draining day, and I’ve been nothing but empty and depressed, emotionally compromised, and I’ve done a lot of idiotic, harmful things to myself that might get my body to god knows what state, and will surely get me shipped straight to a psychiatric facility if anyone in the nearby vicinity of the household found out. But nay, the troubles did not end there. They carried on all the way to tonight, where I proceeded to nearly give a friend instant myocardial infarction, and most likely ruined the rest of their day by not replying to them for 12 hours, when they probably already thought I was lying in the hospital unconscious, or worse, bleeding out and dead in my room.

I also somehow unintentionally forced another to shove the massive screaming elephant into a contained white room and fucking blow it up with fireworks, leaving a splattered mess of red everywhere that I can’t ignore or clean up. And what did clever old me do? Wallow ignorantly in the viscera and splash around it, as if I couldn’t exacerbate the damage any more than I already have, tasting acrid iron and bitter copper on my tongue, the metallic scent wafting overpoweringly strong, and pretended that the person who lit the fuse was not standing in front of me, and I’m getting guts and blood all over them, the very same guts they had in order to do such a sort of unprecedented thing. I acted like a coward and ran with my tail between my legs in the face of a braver light, and I’m not fucking proud of it.

Firstly, here’s a very much needed—yet all the same sincere—thank you for the scant number of people who know they damn well earned it. Thank you, a disgustingly-overused and horridly-cliché phrase that I could neither express eloquently nor enough. It helps, really, despite the fact that it goes against everything I usually say, about motivation, and fuck, they don’t even know how much it all means to me. It’s just always so fucking gratifying to find out just how much people care, or even just to know that there are people who care, and highly unsurprising to find out how many so-called “friends” simply don’t give a rat’s ass whether you tap dance your way off a building rooftop or contact incurable cholera and die a slow, painful death.

But then again, the fault has always lied in me. I was not built for a sense of human synergy, I have dysfunctional social relationships, somehow I’m too blinded and can never read the actual lines, and I’m too desensistised and incapable in sensing the signs and feeling the atmosphere. I’m not normal. I’m guarded, defensive, cynical, manipulative, a chronic liar, an absolute jerk, and I’m just listing off the least deprecating qualities of myself here. Unfortunately, with such traits, there are always those who I accidentally run over without stopping to see the red light, so it’s always a big revelation to me to discover that there are people who actually stick around with me despite my inane insufferableness.

So there, I’m sorry. I’m sorry I never speak about my problems and what’s bothering me because I don’t want to bother anyone else, then expect you to give a damn about my superficial issues and pathetic angsty dramaticness, like you don’t have enough of transgressions of your own already. I’m sorry I shut everything out when things get too sentimental. It’s not because I don’t want to show weakness and expect you to do the same, it’s not mainly because I don’t know how to handle it, but it’s because I just don’t deserve it. I don’t deserve your trust, your comfort, your honesty, your sympathetic words, I don’t deserve to see the deeper side of you that no one else has dared swam into. I’m total fucking arsehole, douchebag of the year awardee, and if I get abandoned, it’s not like it wasn’t coming for me anyways. You really don’t have to exert effort and emotion on someone that’s not worth your time. You have better things to do. You have other things to change. You have your own chaos to arrange. You didn’t have to. You shouldn’t have to.

Despite the outer façade of shallowest self-pity, I pray and repeal on the contrary. These are nothing but stupid little realisations and actualisations that I believe, assimilated and programmed in my clouded, shitfaced, oxygen-deprived brain after extensive hours of overthinking about it. I don’t deserve good friends. I don’t deserve cheering up and ice cream and bunnies and rainbows. I’m undeserving of absolution. The suffering, I was truly asking for it, but not even God should grant me the peace of mind I don’t deserve. I’m not meant to be fixed. I can’t be. That much, I know.

I’m too selfish to deserve selflessness.

Leave a comment

Filed under Prose


This hasn’t been your year. Matter of fact, not a single year in your forty plus years of living, minus a several tenths for when we didn’t exist yet, has been quite too fulfilling. And understandably, it’s been a rough ride. You’ve been flying this journey Lindbergh solo for five years and counting now, and you weren’t always locked and loaded, and the machinery was not always all systems go, and the weather was not always clear. We’ve been ungrateful bastards who act like sweet-smelling pink roses intertwining around you with pretty innocent smiles, and then we bury our lacerating thorns deep in your steel-plated chest until we hit flesh and you bleed. We’re irresponsible lazy creatures, we get that, we refuse the simplest of chores, saying no to refilling the water bottles after downing the entire one litre liquid in one gulp, or slam dunking our filthy dishes in the overflowing sink and then denying appraisal over doing the washing-up. We grate on your nerves at the worst time when they’re already stretched to their limits, and we pull at them until you snap. We’ve been disappointing and apathetic, and you can only scream and reprimand so much before your worn-out voice and the fingers you crossed breaks. We’re no good, and vexingly frustrating, and annoyingly juvenile, and seemingly hopeless and futile…just like any other stupid nose-picking kid out there who needs guidance and care in the gentle yet sturdy hands of a parent. You simply wanted the best for the worst, and some due indemnity and pride, and to set your wayward children on the proper path, not into the ocean horizon to drown in sovereign failure, but onwards beyond the sunset to discover the way and amass all the lights in the sky. Someday, that’s a promise to be fulfilled. But for now, we remain your stupid bumbling companions, building bridges to last longer than London Bridge and making memories on a photo album (or selfies, as the cool millennials say or whatever, since you seem to be more connected with my generation than I can ever be). I feel faintly terrible that after all that you did for us, for me alone, I wasn’t able to get you anything decently celebratory or did anything to make this one hell of a day, except for a greeting card written with a dying marker on used tissue that says ‘congration you done it’, an IOU written on paper ripped off carelessly on the side of a notebook that entitled you to an entire day of my silence (valid on May 14, 2017 only), and doing the aforementioned chores which I should be doing on a daily regular basis anyhow, so I can only offer with what I do best—getting drunk. Oh no wait, that’s a different thing innit, that’s rubbish. I meant to say writing (although the best is not even good, to be bluntly frank). You out of all people needed a cheer upper and a break, and I out of all people should be the one giving you such things. So, here it is. And despite you begrudgingly commenting it several times today, no, the universe does not always conspire against you. Sometimes it’s me who does.

I took the time to write all this down because (besides the fact that I am equal amounts bored and sleep-deprived, which is like 95% of the time, but whatever) despite all the bickering arguments and thermonuclear meltdowns and endless disputes we’ve rivalled against, we’ve also had amusing stories and extraordinary journeys together and silly banter over cups of freshly brewed coffee, and I would like you to know that there’s still someone who cares, that this anxiety-ridden, book hoarding, show obsessing, loud satanic music blasting, three AM screaming, rebellious blue-haired loser with the problem child attitude, a death stare and eyebags thicker than Billie Joe Armstrong and Gerard Way’s eyeliner combined, the general behaviour of a mental patient diagnosed with schizophrenia and severe ADHD, and having the irritating tendency to not reply unlike a complete rhetorical sarcastic twat without getting allergic to formalities, is, insert dramatic Psycho violin chord here, surprise surprise! A sentient being capable of being a sappy little bitch (you may proceed to gasp and wipe away your tears with my greeting card after scolding me for using an expletive). My particular thorn in question is a raging problem that has left a scar tissue in your heart more times than the other roses you’ve cultivated, and still you don’t water my roots with poison laden concoction and shear my stem off ruthlessly with my own disturbing scissor collection to off me and get rid of the nuisance; instead, you spritz my face with more fertiliser, tentatively remove the weeds that stunt my development as it chokes me, and you help me continue to grow. I’m beginning to stop making sense here, and this is getting too sentimentally personal, and you would most likely whale on me the next morning for staying up late because we have to go to school tomorrow to clean up or some crap, so I’m very sorry for all my tribulations and for a million sins (yes, the fact that I decided to tactlessly blast out Mama on full loudspeakers on such a particular day included, whoops), and a thank you, more genuine than pirate gold and your signatures in the excuse letters I forged, for being here all the while and being a total headstrong badass about it. Okay, no, I can’t say the god forbidding L word yet *shudders*, but maybe I’ll save that for a later, less awkward prospect (what is with all the excessive L words in that sentence though?!). Here’s me paying my side of the dice. Thank you for everything and a gazillion virtues, and then some.

Happy mother’s day.

Leave a comment

Filed under Prose

Nostalgic Reveries

You take the verboten words I never have the viscera to say

But often feels like a bullet shrapnel lodged within my mind

And you confess out loud, in full colour, that entire gory story

Of the thorned ivy vines with which my heart’s intertwined

Laughing melancholically about our ancient glory days

When the heavy graphite clouds don’t disrupt the haze

When our kaleidoscope eyes had verdant hopes to tell

When this entire planet and everyone else can go to hell

Candy wrappers and earphone cords make life sweeter

And for once, I indulge in a meal that doesn’t taste bitter

And we vent in juxtapose, transgression side by side

But glad to see that we’re still holding on in this crazy ride

Yet father time is thread worn, glimmering hours nascent

Every liquid drop of scintilla minute’s drizzle feels heaven sent

Oh, I sorely wish it didn’t have to be this way, my old friend

But our homes are wayward, I wish this day would never end

Yet lost faith may be rekindled opalescently whenever it kills

And all of you make me believe in credence that there is still

Something in this puerile, damned mess of a deformed world

That’s worth raising my sword for, that it’s a game worth fighting for.

Leave a comment

Filed under Poetry

Laconic Retrospection

Please keep chasing me
Your Southern constellations got me so dizzy
It’s cold but you pretend that you are warm with me
Before I get you home you’re nearly frozen
But I’ll never let you freeze without me
Oh, no…



I’m a taciturn molecule

Who offers my articulacy in slight

Yet I’d wish to assure

My thanks for the delightful night.



Step in, step out, left leg and right

Pick up the pace, don’t lose sights

Footsteps faster, you’ll make it son

And if it all fails, break hell and run.



Listen to their laughs and aspirations

Watching exaggerated gesticulations

Why are you there? The answer is nil

A chariot won’t run with no third wheel.



You can lead me to a bucket of words

But you cannot make me drink

The same way I can lead you to a brain

But even I can’t make you think.



Amy and Ken, sipping their sodas

May’s ice cream is melting in fast

Sue’s popping dimples in hysteria

Ten sat thinking how long it’ll last.


Leave a comment

Filed under Poetry


Your efflorescent bloom

Air shyness of carnation

Light up planetary gloom

Of my fickle dissolutions

When my number’s up, fly

And my quill trickles tears

You dispel them and edify

An emollience of my fears.

Leave a comment

Filed under Poetry