nearly 2am calls on the topic of young and reckless love that what was once lost - now found
this love, the beholder another one who shall remain unnamed — faceless as of now
love, she traces on the back of her hand in the same manner he did just the other night
the stars unfolding in front of both pairs of eyes, the ones he put up in the sky for his maiden
refund love, an old flame rekindled by warmth and something more
the lost girl accompanied in the woods by a face she’s grown to love dearly
neither of which will find their way out of the darkness that envelopes them, their presence keeping each other company
young and blossoming love, left grow into something beautiful if untouched by the gardeners

love is such a silly thing isn’t it?

he’s going to shatter you like porcelain in his obvious ways but who i am to comment on a tale just out of my reach?
maybe i’m mistaken, maybe i’m just awake at 3am thinking of a reason, an explanation
memories bottled into pills are hard to swallow when they contrast ever so brightly like neon against the pale reality
of what could be, had been and never will be

don’t get me wrong, i’m delighted for you as you’re crowned in all your splendour as glittering rays of light dance on your skin
you’ll find yourself smearing on lipstick for somebody else as you continuously lose the person you’re staring at in the mirror
like a harsh and bitter bite, your downfall will teach you to never love again


and i am afraid.

it was too dark for me to notice that you were holding my hand ; leading me along the path into the bleakness i thought was all my own
you're lovely but you don't know it
even if the wind was caught in your hair or perhaps the snowflakes were kissing your near-azure lips ; i'd still think of you all the same

i'll light a candle and stay by your backdoor in case you ever need an escape despite the countless times you've told me to stay away
i’ll stay because.
because. well, as bittersweet as it may seem in the eyes of you, you've awoken me from the pits of hell. saved me from the oceans of tears.
the reflection my eyes find themselves watching is much different from the year old pictures hidden away in my closet
different in the good way, in the better person manner. i see light in the darkest hours and yet you constantly fail to realise it.

all you see is the destruction surrounding you and yet you've forgotten how you're the reason why we all still believe
we all still believe in plan b, or an escape exit. because there will always be a way out no matter how deep the trench you find yourself in
you see, you've forgotten. you've forgotten our history, our memories. You've forgotten it all!

You've forgotten me.

and so i'll wait amongst the shadows for you by the door around the back.
the door we both knew about but never used.

baby, let me be your escape plan.

drawn to the street lamps along the road, against the darkness our faces lit up without any recognisable emotion.
deep down inside we were running, we were singing, singing to ourselves so nobody else could hear a sound.
selfish in that odd way, then again could you blame us? every visible cloud nine always seems to collect tears of the fallen.
no, this was our secret haven. it was a little bit too quiet, a little bit too silent but it was ours.
take my hand, indulge in the silence. it'll just be us and that'll be alright. sure, it might be a little chilly, but we've got each other
and this light, this light that we can't contain but yet others overlook. look at those cars driving by without a second thought!
they're all rushing home to their bits and pieces trying to convince themselves that they're living.
we both can see through the fog, we're the few that actually live. the few that can taste the breath of fresh air
empty your lungs, it's good to feel alive after all this while.  even if it's just us, amongst the others.
a speck of  sliver tinted paint against the lime walls,
sure, you feel like you're dying half the time but just take my hand, just for tonight. just for tonight we're alive.

explain to me why destruction is considered an art?
if i were you, i’d find a way to fight it.
as if destruction was an abstraction to describe to one’s self in a physical installation for all to see in a rarely visited gallery
we lock the doors because we are ashamed of the critics marking and making spiteful points as they leave red marks all over the walls
almost as if the surfaces were like a test paper without any attempt of answering or the tear and wear of the skin you bare

it was always war that we wouldn't label with a numeral to go down in the big books. instead, we whispered it under the sheets. we posted our thoughts on anonymous accounts that go hand in hand with a little lock sign in the corner. we used thunder in our words knowing that reaction that resulted resembled lightning.

as if a tattered canvas could make up for your bruised and battered soul

here’s my advice ; leave the doors unlocked just for a day, you might be surprised at what you find

they say you withhold galaxies within you, underneath your skin and interwoven with your flesh
the stars caught within your veins, the milky way found inside your blood stream

they also say nobody can hear you scream in space
so maybe thats why when it’s dark at night and you’re questioning yourself,
the final draw,
the silent hour.

you’re facing the bleak ceiling and screaming, you raise your pitch and yet nobody can hear a sound

you’re alone
lost in space.

only ever caught a glimpse of love off of your windshield
nothing more than a reflection

closest encounter of such was when the windscreen shattered upon intimacy,
leaving these….. bruises i can’t get over

a colour somewhere in between azure and lavender that remains unclassified and unlabelled as of now
things without a name, like majority of the past and various faces.
i’ll admit i’ve lost sight of some.

some i’ve spent trying to recollect in contrast of being haunted by various locations i’ve yet to gather the courage to re-encounter
unavoidable, i’ve learnt.
too many to count using just two hands.


you’ve sewn the teensy bits of sadness in between your fingers
if anything they’re filling the gap that managed to find its way to you
scarred and bruises but darling you look fine, if not better off.

when it’s your time to go, wouldn’t you want the cuts to show?

Listen here sweetheart, you might want to wipe off the excessive lipstick with the back of your hand while tugging your ridiculously short skirt down. Don't think for a millisecond that just because you have a pretty face -- something that doesn't look like the smashed up average and a pity story that some may cry to, you'll get everything you want. You're running around the whole world while thinking it runs around you. You can't just play your cards like that, pretending to be a girl who drinks moonlight tequilas when in reality you're nothing less than a pretentious child, aspiring for a new identity. Don't tell me you're the heart breaker when in reality your hearts been shattering too soon and most probably emptied down the drain. You might have a pretty face but I know better, I know your tendency to break everything you touch -- the child in the candy shop -- much too greedy for her own good. In the words of the boy whose lips are made out of fine china, 'she's poison', he was shattered by you some time ago and honestly I've been staying up late trying to nurse him back. You stand at the side of the street lights, gazing up at the fluorescent lights from below as your choke on your cigarette. The smoky breath so many desire despite the reused lips, the kind that simply won't keep to themselves. You keep forgetting that the lack of clothing isn't going to be able to shield your lack of humanity from the water splashed by the cars zipping by you. The ones who knows better than to stay.