I wonder how many days I spent dreaming,
Of all the things I could never say.
And just when I'd written it all in a letter.
You showed up smiling in front me.
And all of a sudden, the letter didn't matter anymore... (^_^)
Living With A LieYou sit there shaking; emotionally frozen.
You check the time on your watch, despite knowing it already.
The ever-present numbness, the cold feeling which clutches at your soul;
That is what you feel upon the dawn of the lie.
To know its nature, to know its being;
To have it spill upon your awareness.
What words would surmise such a bitter feeling:
Perhaps the use of dejection, p
Looking To The SkyLooking To The Sky:
Sweet yearning from the depths of my soul.
Blessed is my mind that drinks of this knowledge.
Though stubborn at first, rejecting its hand.
I have learned to accept it as my only salvation.
From the streets which have long been my home.
I look to the skies and the clouds above.
Through my skills I shall rise, so I may catch the stars.
Even if the journey might be as heavy as stone.
-Chen Yuan Wen, 16th September 2013, posted by Co-Captain Hayes
DesperationI wonder how many days you've spent feeling lost.
Thinking that you're going somewhere.
Never actually getting anywhere.
You look at the same four walls over and over again.
You can paint them in different colours,
But you know they're still the same.
And you convince yourself that you're making progress,
Nothing's changed, but you're making progress.
Things are getting worse, but you're making progress.
And then you wake up and realise,
That shit has hit the fan...
Suddenly you're forced to do the things you couldn't,
The kind of things that you were never comfortable with.
And you find out you can do them.
You find out that the only reason you couldn't,
Was because you were afraid to try.
It's hard - trying to take that first step.
It's hard - trying to convince yourself to take that chance.
Sweet SerenityI have searched the very depths of my being,
Seeking the essence of the void...
To understand its nature,
To become a part of nothing...
For where else can we be free of turmoil,
Where else can a beaten soul go to rest?
If not in the comforting embrace of eternal oblivion?
Such is what I seek, away from the noise that burns at my ears.
Away from the many voices that drill into my mind.
For these are not the whispers of psychosis,
Nor the delusions of a twisted psyche.
Instead they are the whispers that are heard all around us;
The whispers of the every-man.
He who desires the body of another.
He who desires the fat of his wallet.
He who cares only for self-satisfaction
And He who wishes to stand above all.
Voices, voices, noisy voices...
Eternally spitting their foul words into me.
Even in the realm of fantasy I can no longer escape!
For they are here, and I read their words scrawled across th
Without the IndividualWithout the Individual
Can you imagine a world, directed by a single mind?
A collective conscious, a living hive.
Each time we are born, we receive a part of it
And when we return, we share in the pool.
There would be no fear of death;
No fear of the unknown…
For a thousand souls would bolster our hearts.
We could live—truly LIVE—to the fullest extent of our capabilities.
And when we succeed?
That success returns to the hive…
That success can be shared across the next generation.
We would become an ever-evolving organism.
One with a thousand faces, but a single driving purpose.
Can you even imagine how that would feel?
But…I suppose that you can’t.
For you, as with all humans, share in a single flaw:
The nature of the individual, the ego of the singular man.
Existing in a void of his own thoughts—he has no point of reference.
He is alone, even if surrounded by other humans,
For he shall never share in their minds…
What Are You To Me?What Are You To Me?:
I have walked in this world,
And they have told me of kings.
Of brave rulers who make the tough choices,
Men of example and outstanding character.
But it was then that they said,
What is a king to a God?
What is a mere mortal to a higher power,
One who holds our fate in his hands?
They said he was benevolent and kind,
Wrathful and jealous, magnanimous and selfish alike.
He was the perfect ideal, embodying all things
And we were made in his image...
It was then that I was laughed at,
By he who asked this question:
What is a God, to a non-believer?
One who lives by the truth he sees...
He is the man who acts as per his morals.
He lives through his eyes and is judged by his fellows.
He submits to no higher being, not a one does he fear;
Comfortable with his own conscience...
But all three, I beg; I ask ye this:
For what is a king to a God,
A God to a non-believer,
And all three of them in comparison,
To the madman who watches the world burn...
Just Smile...Perhaps I should confess to you,
That I am trapped within this box of crushing insecurity...
Screaming as I shatter my nails against the wall.
But I'm sure you'll tell me to just smile and wave.
Song of RaineShe scatters the seeds with her tiny hands.
And pictures the sunset in a distant land.
She dreams of places, where she'd be free.
With clouds as far as the eyes could see.
And there she'd dance to the song of the rain,
While I would watch from my window pane.
With a smile befitting such a lovely girl;
The daughter I lost, to a cruel world...
Listening to Voices...Lazy to read this? Scroll straight to the description for the audio narration!
The moon tonight is brilliant, for it casts an eerie-looking shadow upon the moss and the stone. At times I find myself wondering, is that me that I see? Or is it merely another side of me, one that hides amongst the shade?
Ugh, that horrid moaning! That evil rattling, rasping noise! It's driving itself into my skull again, like an annoying repetition that I can't seem to quiet. It screeches at times, like nails upon a chalkboard. It buries itself deep into the recesses of my mind and fills the hole with rot! A fetid fungus spitting serpentine venom from the eyes of a fox!
What? What are you saying? What do you mean! Tell me god damn it!
Ha...Ha...I can hear myself breathing; barely through the fog. The sound is far away, like the deeps of a bog. I can't believe that I'm rhyming, what the hell
What's Left Behind...Some days I find myself staggering from this hovel;
To stand with shaking legs upon the window ledge.
I look down at the tiny world below, wind rushing before me;
And I wonder if I'll be able to fly tonight...
The caress of the wind, so gentle upon my skin.
One step, one leap and I'd dip myself into the eye of the storm.
But just before my courage sends me;
Just before I take the final plunge.
I find myself looking back, at the world I'd leave behind...
Stacks of paper and a pot of ink,
Reams of stories too precious to burn.
Ideas and fears both rolled into one;
And pages of poetry left undone...
It always leaves me smiling...
For these were the treasures so close to my heart.
They are the wealth of my mind; my soul, my art.
And I could never ever leave them be,
Where another might burn them, without thinking of me...
"Apologies father, I cannot join you yet:
For in this world, a treasure still exists.
A treasure tha
Being A Good Person is a CHOICE!Now, imagine this situation for a moment:
You are a good father, a wonderful husband.
You go 'pray' every Sunday, doing a wonderful lip-service.
You've taken your kids to soccer practice
And you are ready to enjoy your Sunday.
Tui bu qi, ni ke yi pang wo ma?
You turn around and see an old Chinese lady.
She can't speak English and needs assistance.
You pretend you cannot hear her and drive away.
Smooth-stuff dad, you should return that #1 mug...
To me however, there would be no question.
I was late to a part-time job, it would actually cost me money;
And did I mention I can't speak Chinese either?
Instead I communicated with gestures and signs.
She wanted to go to the train station, as I later learned.
With your car it would have taken five minutes.
But we walked and that is also okay.
To be honest, you might think you've done more good than evil.
You might think there is a welcoming committee for you at the pearly gates.
I regret to inform you however, that
Screaming at the BeastHow many have I had? Why would you ask such a question?
I've had--only three! Yes, three I swear.
What? No--of course not, what are you suggesting.
Those: I can't quite see them clearly. Oh! Oh dear...
No, you, you must understand this was--just a bit of relaxation,
A little sip to help me sleep.
No--No, don't cry, I'm not going back to those days; I'm not!
I swear it was just--just a passing shower I...
It's just been hard...
It's been so difficult!
WHERE WAS I SUPPOSED TO TURN?
But it's not your fault, I know that.
I suppose I was simply looking for an excuse...
I was drowning you know, in the icy water.
Cold enough to freeze the lungs.
I stopped and simply drifte
You've suffered enough...My dearest child, do not weep, for I am here to wipe your tears away. Come, let us be free of these blankets; let us walk from these dim halls.
There lies what once was your body, fevered and eaten by disease. Your lips are cracked and bleeding, your arms are both thin and sallow. Do not fear them now, for they are long passed.
Come away now, for we must say your final goodbyes. Here to the mother and father that came to your bedside each day. Here to the brother, who shall honour your name. Do not be jealous of them, my dearest child. For you are simply moving ahead; you have not fallen behind.
“But why, why does it hurt so much?”
Why? Because the memories are still carried within you. Your attachments are still strong in this world. That which you didn’t achieve, that which you haven’t done. All of it is carried as chains upon your body and they will stop you from
The Righteous Are LiarsThe Righteous Are Liars:
I find it funny, at times,
In this reality, of mine.
When the heroes fall and demons rise.
In the fight for freedom, filled with lies.
But such is the nature of the templar divine.
With righteous chains, they'll keep us in line.
Afraid to face the true demon he fears.
He'll punishes the public, for their rightful jeers.
And thus ends the "hero's" tale...
-Chen Yuan Wen, 3rd November 2013
I Am The Mighty!I Am The Mighty:
I remember this tale, from a time of brutality; from whence I would have gladly murdered a soul. For the fragile seek to transcend their pain, but ever are they poisoned by it.
This man I remember had called himself ‘Mighty’ and I watched from the stands as he delivered his speech. “You are the fools!” he cried to the audience, “for even as you mock me, I am whole. Through tragedies I've suffered, through pain I persevered. I am a greater man and your words may never hurt me.”
Fool, is what I thought, for he seemed to take pride in this display. The crowd cheered him on, patting him on the back, but to me he lacked conviction. For I saw through the sham in his boast and I knew that his demons would haunt him again. This time a little earlier than needed.
“Yes my friends, I am a damaged man. I have been broken before and my spirit shattered,” he continued to ramble, as I drew close to him.
Things I Do When I Feel Down :cThere are times in our lives,
When we hit the all time low.
When the second-hand serenades no longer cut it,
And when simply 'letting it burn' no longer works for us.
We roll upon our beds like a roly-poly collection of rolltastic things;
And we lay face up toward the ceiling, slaying monsters on our portable consoles.
But that my friends is when inspiration strikes!
That is the moment when I rise up from the covers,
When I take a marker pen in my hand and use it as a microphone.
When my neighbours wonder what the bloody hell is going on,
Because I've started singing songs by Nightwish.
And when I get bored of that, IRON SAVIOUR,
Heavy Metal never dies!
Marylin Manson, The Beautiful People.
Red Jumpsuit Apparatus, Your Guardian Angel.
Because truly when I see you smile,
Though tears may not run down my face,
I would never in this world replace:
The feeling of a success, and the smile it might brings
When I entertain you, with the way I sing.
And if you've gotten
This is for the UnderdogYou know what it's like,
When your feet touch the bottom.
You wish you were like others,
But you know that you can never be.
The glam and the glitz,
The sound of a thousand people cheering you on.
That's not for you,
That's never going to be for you!
But you know what,
You've got something else inside of you.
You've got something else,
That no one who sits on a lofty throne could ever have.
And that's pain...
You're in pain, because you know this is bitter.
You're in pain, because you've been denied something better.
But you take that dose of bitterness
And you swallow it like it's god-damn medicine!
Because the king expects you the crumble,
The king expects you to lie down and surrender.
So play dead if you have to,
But when you rise again...
Make sure you tear out their god-damn throat!
Twisted Up InsideWould you ever know the feeling,
Of being twisted, over and over.
Much like a string of high-tension cord;
Ready to snap at any moment.
You are barely controlling this swell of emotion.
Keeping it taut, lest it burst from the surface.
A plastic smile serves as your only defense;
Witty banter, to stave off a deeper inquiry.
You hide the signs of your sickness;
Quickly easing the pressure.
Whilst appearing to adjust the suit,
You move through the crowd like a fading wisp.
Rushed, sweating and just barely contained.
You duck into the shadows, so you might breathe again.
-Chen Yuan Wen, Broken World Series, 13th November 2013
BriefLife is full of fireworks;
a brief moment of art
imitating the stars -
They are not stars.
Stars are born, they burn,
Fireworks are merely
promises made and
When a fleeting time
of light and beauty
that the darkness is not so.
Do not be ashamed of who you are.At one point in your life,
you didn't mind being a girl.
It was only after you met
her that you thought, "Maybe
this isn't the right fit." Because,
if you're being honest, she
deserves a knight in shining armor.
You are not Atlas, my dear.
Your shoulders do not
merit a world of troubles,
but instead love-lined clouds
that whisper, "Do not be
ashamed of who you are."
A woman can be a
champion whose heart burns
with more gold than a king's
castle holds. Perhaps if
you had more faith,
you might find that's just what
or maybe it actually is.this
a love poem:
this is not about
me and how i hate
the way realism tastes.
this is about you.
this is about how you
are one too many shades arrogant,
how nearly every night you
try to forget that time has
left you behind. this is
about your laugh and the way it
whispers "i can't remember
what i was like before i
became this." and,
if i'm being honest, this is about
how i will never see your too
cocky for your own damn good grin that
makes me go weak in the knees.
this is about you
and how you're not real and how i wish
to god that i wasn't either.
ShyIn my world there's fun and adventure
In your world I'm quiet
In my world when I talk, I don't hinder
In your world I hide it
I've got so much to say
I think of talking, but wont
You won't hear me anyway
I try, but then I don't
In your world you call it Shy
I want to come out
truly I try
but I hold back, no doubt
I just want to be friends
and make people grin
The WallI punched the wall.
The paper broke, a split lipped frown.
That was the thin veneer of joy you painted over my cracks with.
I punched the wall.
The paper bloomed into a paprika tulip.
That was the rusting screw in your jaw swinging off its hinge with your lies.
I punched the wall.
The paint broke into a smile
and I chipped out its teeth. They were the over polished hopes of our future.
I punched the wall.
The plaster spluttered out a storm.
Smooth and sleepy; I scratched at its eyes for promising to look out for me.
I punched the wall.
The plaster coughed hard again.
My anger was a consumption and its tendrils spasmed out from the source.
I punched the wall.
The plaster caved into a hole,
reminding me of all I'd given you and would never get back.
I didn't punch the wall
When the dust settled and its small red brick heart lay exposed, vulnerable, afraid,
You punched the wall.
Sixty-one SecondsIt took him sixty-one seconds to die. I counted.
The beach was only a walk away from there, and the sun was beating down on our heads and our hats. We hid under the trees and laughed. We were in love, if that's what love meant. We hugged each other, as we walked down the burning pavement in loud flip-flops and ripped shorts.
We were so close. I didn't know that that would be the last time I'd ever see him alive.
I was nervous when I told him, that if we were really in love, we would be together forever. He giggled softly, and told me forever was a long time. I knew that of course. It was too good to be true, I thought. He told me not to think about forever, and we sat on the park bench, overlooking the beach. I leaned my head on his shoulder and I felt his smile light up above me, and I smiled too and closed my eyes. Everything was perfect, that moment there, it felt like forever, a good kind of forever.
We didn't notice the shouting. We were too in love.
Love can do that. Love is blin
I tried.I tried.
I tried to save you,
But you kept falling.
You wanted to crash.
But I tried.
I tried to protect you
But you kept escaping the shelter.
You wanted the disaster.
But I tried.
I tried to keep us together.
But you kept running.
You wanted to leave me.
But I tried.
I tried to do everything to please you.
But you didn't accept it.
You didn't notice it.
You didn't appreciate it.
You didn't love me for it.
You didn't even care.
You wanted it your way, more than you wanted me.
But I tried.
His queen, my muse.Pomegranate seeds
have the most
bitter of tastes.
She is more
than a myth,
There are more
flames beneath her
skin than in all of
Hades. With every
breath she takes,
winter cries out
She is magenta.
A maiden of
jasper and agate;
lily eyelashes and
locks of supple ivy.
a hyacinth among
weeds and sweet
One Like WaterWe speak.
We all live.
We all die.
So tell me again.
make us so different
from each other?