I'm a Chase.

My mental well-being was at stake. And like what we've always said, nothing and no one else matters as much as ourselves. I may sometimes appear to be really quiet. And that is because I am always trying to lessen the magnitude of my emotions outburst. Because after all, I am well aware that I am a very emotional person. But remember this, when I am attack, I definitely will retaliate.

Do not wish to insult or put down anyone in my god damn life because if I do, I am no better. I have seen all these when I was so god damn younger. And sadly, have to do it over and over again because that's how mankind likes to function. Maybe because, I am very normal after all.

Things ended up being so ugly, and neither any one of us could have prevented it. Anyone can hate me out there, not as if I do not hate myself any lesser for not being strong enough to control the way things turned out. Cruelty was what I received for the past week and because of my ever-shouting ego, I just had to put down someone's ego. I knew for sure, which direction those messages would have gone. I am, indeed, quite a thinker. Because if I am not, I won't end up in a psychiatric ward. I am not proud of it, I swear.

Nichol said it worries him that I am fully aware of my incompetence in handling my emotions.

*claps

Melvin did a very imaginative thing by drawing a blue box on the cover of "The Little Prince". He said that in another story, the blue box was used for time traveling. I then went on to imagine about a house on a hill, facing the ocean with no doors. Just cream colored curtains and a red bricked roof. The waves will sing you to sleep every night and the breeze will gently brush you awake every morning. Sunrise to keep you company over a happy breakfast and sunset to warm you and your love.

iTunes: "Des'ree - Kissing you"

P.S It is never my ability to hate anyone. This is just the way I am - silly. If I were to hate you, it'd mean I have never loved you. Which is definitely what you are doing now. You do not fathom. I do not insult myself. There are never true colors to a person, because we are always in a transition and so as long as there are epiphanies around.

There's no such thing as it's in your bones.

Maybe one day I'll learn how to hate.

-

You said, Love.

Do you remember?

You say, Hate.

Both extremes,

thus,

the in-coexistence.

Love,

do you measure it?

What as gauge?

Logical?

It is never.

Never is the word for you.

the scales and the lioness.

a door left unopened,

not ajar,

just closed,

dead as lifeless.

albeit, open it.

open it if you're granted to.

feel the story within,

feel a lost love.

*

what a rapture of feelings,

of pain, hope and raging sentiments.

once,

part of a time,

part of a place,

a crossroad lies ahead,

two took their own.

bade goodbye,

the lioness's heart cringed.

what a sad sad sight,

she thought.

what a sad sad sight,

to see the back of her love.

the shoulders so kin,

the arms she'd held,

the cheeks she'd kissed.

he waddled on,

on unbalance.

he didn't look back,

he chose to see what lies ahead.

her tender lips he'd forgotten,

her eyes once heaven,

"it was beautiful", he said that night.

her tears he'd wiped,

her embrace he'd sunk within,

and slept away many lonely nights.

the lioness cried out in silence,

told herself it's only period.

it was faith she has.

she would peer out to days,

in hope for the scales' return.

what a love.

what a love in modern days.

Ordinary People

winter come,

a butterfly, intrinsically radiant and blime

fluttered its wings for one last time,

a love died.

so it meant nothing.

behind every gesture,

a malicious truth,

out to cut me.

love blinded me.

of every sick ways.

tell anybody,

who's at fault?

90 days of love trial rides,

returned doubled fold of hidden knives.

the gravity behind the doings,

none big enough to shoulder.

the aftermath,

as good as grave.

life-less and cold,

full of regrets.

how should i react?

do i do grace?

who did me then?

god sees all.

god judges.

the only rightful one to.

Drift...

A lazy afternoon,

in our years of 17.

Dirty sneakers feet,

the guitar plucked so softly.

The sun was yolk,

the water at its still.

We sat away our afternoons,

quiet being loud,

idling and dreaming...

...of a same tomorrow.

An invidious affair.

I love baking. To me, baking is a process of understanding yourself. Unlike cooking, which everything has to be fast, precise on the dot. The process of baking involves much patience and meticulousness. From the preparation of the mix, the beating of the eggs, the adding of ingredients, the wait of the outcome, every part of the process, is worth a little fantasy to be aroused, a bit of my brain to wander about. Or perhaps, this brain of mine just requires a little more time to churn, which so explains I can't cook.

I found this Oreo Cheesecake recipe, which I gladly name it, Snow on a Stove.

Later then, I found out that he is fond of Crimson, I then looked up for Strawberry cake recipes, and have decided to name the one I am going to bake, A Crimson Cavalcade, an appropriate name for what has been going around, about us I guess.

I thought everything is within my control. I had imagined the loveliest, and dreamt of magic. To great disappointment of so many around me, I have to confess that I can never be a realist. Which is why, I chose to shun, because I know I have failed. And it's pointless for me to justify, or explain. I don't plan to get anyone involved, ultimately, I know it's only I who has to be answered to. Even if I ended up damaged, I don't want to permit myself to have anyone to blame, but myself.

My ex lover commented how I am such a believer in the whole ideology of love. That I am still living in my own world, and how I can be such a sweet girl if I can be less emotional. I find his words extremely contradicting. Funnily, why would he even want to express his regrets for not appreciating me a little more back then if he thinks I am like that.

I don't know how to feel now. I can't even express how I feel inside right now. I believe there's a jet lag involved, this is such a lame self-consolation. And I like it.

I can't help but wait. As long as I wish to surrender my heart, to see you, for what you really are. What can I do, or rather what am I supposed to do. I keep coming up with arguments to resist those which has been ringing endlessly, time and time again. Simple yet, provocative arguments like the handing of the numerous prized possessions, the look in your eyes the day I walked away, the kiss. Is my naked heart sensing what I only want to feel? Or is this self-delusion that intense to blind me of the crystal clear truths? And am I wrong at all to express my doubts after everything that has happened which propels to question my own confidence?

I have been told that I am a mystery novel myself. I so wish to be read like an open book. Turns out, I got caught in a suspense thriller.

A beauty;

of the ethereal side,

materialised a baleful vision.

plunged a devious kiss,

thief'd the doleful soul,

a bottomless perdition;

I hereby dwell.

where do I land my pride?

She recumbent awake.

Flickering flames she eyes,

her mind is somewhere far away.

Dressed in her favourite black dress,

the belief of being black,

yet her heart's painted white.

Distantly, she hears hymns.

Alas, in her heart sings a requiem.

They have gathered, for the feast.

A soul held repose.

She whispers,

"Now that your rose is in bloom,

a light hits the gloom on the grey."

Downward to darkness on extended wings.

I attended Miss Fingeryou's funeral this evening with Mr Fingerme. Couldn't help but to notice how pale Mr Fingerme had turned after a two months' disappearance (he shunned the camera). We laid Miss Fingeryou's still body down a coffin measuring 4cm x 1cm, threw white roses and had angels sprinkled loves all over her. Cause of her death: Lovesick. But who hell did she fell in love with? That Finger must be somebody.

I do not enjoy the way I am feeling right now. I lack the feel of significance. I smirk right now, because Leo Chrisma is mocking at Cancerian Chrissy. Clashed? I know it is. I find myself diagnosed with bipolar. And to KL and fro back Singapore, I chose to sit all by myself on the coach. I gazed at dead stars and whispered far too much to them. Doubt they would hear me. They are all burnt out. I hate myself. And I don't look like anyone now, not even myself. I should make my own trip down to the zoo tomorrow and sit by polars for the day.

I am an enigma.

I keep writing. I wonder when leaves glide in the wind, will I rust? If I manage to rust, will I corrode? The trees have left, why am I still standing here? If I escape to another world where no one would recognise me, where no one could hurt me, where I can just sit alone by the lake or river and while days away, and forsake every fragmented memories, would I be able to return to innocence and call it Heaven? I need a place where there's only me and myself, to take care of and to be bothered with only myself. My soul is drifting right in misty mid air, wandering and seeking a cave to rest. And the only solace I would ever find comforting would be that little house which chose to shut its door behind me. I stood by its white stripes painted window, onlooking in these days.

The brutal reality slaps in that when we try to seek our value in the people we want to make our worth, it always turn out to be a big fat zero. Why is that we can never have the best of both worlds? Why must things get to the way they are today to forcefully propel me to leave everything all behind? Am I weak by nature or am I just cowardice to remain in this black box to face it all by myself? Where was I this day two years ago? And where would I be at this day two years later? Would I leave you all behind? Or would you remain asleep somewhere down the dark side of my heart, remaining as a wound no remedy could heal?

My comfort zone happens to be a black box.

If you claim to know me, do you really understand what I am going through or how I am feeling right now? If you do, pardon me for saying that 'nonchalance cruelty' happens to be your middle and last name. Pardon me for being an assumptionist for pardon yourself for not filling me in, the slightest twisted emotional alteration at your every ticking perishable hand. Just when I thought cliché Life is unpredictable, you turn out to be a bewilderment. And like any other, there's no explanation why I feel this way towards you.

So I thought,

I'll tape my clenched hands together tonight,

pretend to fill the gaps and voids.

Pray; close intervening spaces.

While I drift away to a lonely planet with no familiar faces;

no pain.

Self mutilation shall all begin.

Red.

A trial; uncalled for; designed by Life.

Two cracked lovers on each's grey; one remained guarded; one fighting to penetrate.

She's frail without him; her faith swayed with rumoured wind.

She fights on still; day seventh's beaten.

The light she shines fickled; she burns ferociously more.

Mortal love is flawed; she's with epiphany.

Time is an endless tool; make him enemy not.

His waves churn; he lost his way; he sees no light; he thinks he's done for.

An ethereal smile; she gives.

You bowed in the name of Life; your own puppet.

Easy on yourself; Nothing! you'd achieve.

The hands painlessly tick; perishable is time.

The past is all but mere memories dried.

O' why M'Lord; leave it all behind.

For now I take my leave; left traces of me.

Know that it exists.

little black cloud.

Realised there's no white wings.

Am I weakened without strength?

Would you save me?

Fragments laid sprawled and scattered

Through clouded eyes I see

Feeble; I gazed

At every little bits and pieces

and laughed uncontrollably.

"It's too late." He whispered.

"Who would save your soul if you won't save your own?"

take the burning temperature away from me.

I ran to the highest peak and stared death right in his face.

It was a nostalgia.

A million faces.
Their hastened pace,
Who would care if I'm afraid?

Would you stop?
Are you genuine?
Would you stay?
Or are you the millionth face?

I listened to chasing cars a thousand times.
Finally. And at last.

Believe in me.

I will lay with you and just forget the world.

But do you see all that you are, all that you were, in my perfect eyes?