thse are not words to wake up to.

I tried my best to not write another poem about heartache and social decomposition, but it failed, just like my flatline.


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I remember my heart at 8 years old, a little gem of Gold. We all see our own evil, even when we glimmer like crystal cuboids. I promised myself I'd never kiss a boy unless I loved him - I can't help but admit I loved my self then. Not at the time, but with the whispers of reality I hold in my exposure now.

I promised you - I promised us protection, but I miscalculated by a long shot and forgot to tell you about the Asian thunderstorm that crashed upon our door. Do you remember Mum when she told us off? Lines came across her face and her eyebrows furrowed. I can't help smile at her insight to my thoughts, those days when she could read us. But now, it's destiny's enemy who concludes our ending. I swear I'm afraid of the ingeneous.

I'm frightened Lord, if you exist will you compose a symphony with little words and many rhymes?

I can't help looking at tears and wondering why they're shed, beyond the physical - is my soul bleeding a career of conviction, she doesn't even know she has yet? Is this the moment I can't help but breathe through my lips and know this is the last moment my life will make any sense. I don't care, as long as some sense is made.

You can't understand my willful words, then you are merely unreligious, unfavoured and unbelieving.

Just like me, but I'm willing to pretend. If God will believe in me then I promise him I'll favour him til the end. I never was one for believing in the obvious.