WordOfChen

I am a laborer of dreams and I'm building up a pyramid. The ghosts might try to kill me but I learned to always live with it. The fragile thoughts that draw you to the edge of your ill mind; Believe when I say that giving up would be a true crime. The only thing that you should do is plow ahead forward, No stepping back because I got your back and that's a foreword An introductory paragraph to what it means to me, when I have always told you that we are going to be:

You insist that I don't understand--but it's rather clear to me Your practice lies with tainted hands--your mouth spills sophistry and I wonder where this practice ends--the director's calling me A puppet for an angry stand--they call my penalty And I'm naked in this foreign land--don't have a sanctuary Protect this all with broken hands--I'll watch you label me! And I'll live while I am half a man--but you won't cry for me The machine has got you polished then--it's just a cog you'll be!

Enlarge the scales of life tonight--you'll see I'm without; Approaching every end in sight--don't ask me about, The slab that cites this lonely life--it's all a blowout Machine won't even feel the knife--it's like a blackout! And here I am in captured strife--it follows me throughout, It squashes all that comes to life--emotions washout! The Craftsman tries to take a bite--he cannot holdout It's premature but he's done tonight--so watch him sell-out

I wade through the stream where the world had murdered me, Strolling through the streets it's the phantom that I be. Overcharged, supercharged, a ghost you'll never see. Refer to all the scriptures if you choose to die for me. Because I quit all the things that'll make my life blind I quit all the penalties that put my life behind I quit all the remedies current in my veins; Hypothesize the meaning of this life filled with pain.

Planes flying like a fleet... Hilarious enough to make me fucking weep! Decorative promises that I keep, Conductor for a symphony that cuts me deep. Devote yourself to pain just to keep the pearl, Depression hits me hard, shutting out the world. Happy is a myth that I might now create, Hide my occupation with this inner hate.

I've learned to start living with half a heart, It's not quite so bad when you've been torn apart. You learn what's vital and what's deep inside, You learn to let go of little things like pride. And you learn to see how little you matter... And how much others might always matter to you. So in end I'll learn to live with half a heart-- because my world both starts and ends with you.

My words were like a razor, cutting the ice from your inner soul. You might think that you know the saviour, but your eyes are still dead and cold. And every time I tried to save ya, It's not my hand that you wanted hold. Because your personal pattern of behavior, Is the one where your soul is sold.

If I had to be honest with you, this hole inside my heart hurts every single day. Of course, I can easily pretend that I feel nothing. I can easily fabricate a 'normal' existence. But the truth is that the hole is there, and I doubt it will ever be filled... (Now read the title)

My meal today was a tad salty, but I've been doing my best to watch my weight. I've tried to stock up on the healthy things in life, but it's difficult to do the things you hate. Like swallowing the pain and anger inside. Like putting on a smile because everything's 'alright'. Like telling somoene else that you're perfectly fine. While watching another man call that person 'mine'... - My meal today was a tad salty I think...

What was important to me was never her age. It wasn't the clothes she wore or the shoes she had. It was simply the way she smiled for me, the way she giggled and laughed, joked and played. That was all that she needed to 'mean' to me. And as for the future, I guess we'll see...

So Damned AloneIsolation mixed with anxiety All alone in these four walls, Which I learned to call my home; Silence so thick that my breath Echoes and rebounds. Once I had imagined how good it feels To be left so alone; But now the stillness in the air Is like a pall, and death. There is nobody else around. No calls on my telephone; No mails for me to read. No friends, old or new, come by; Perhaps they think that I am dead?

A Sight to SeeReminiscing I wandered the streets of the city1 Like the beggars I have met; So many eyes fell upon me, Until I found  a spot to rest. They all wondered how a fireng2 Had the same fate as all of them. But so I had, and for so long; Looking about for a place to lie, When the sun begins to set. I begged for shelter, sometimes for food; Most gave to me with few words. So I lay back to wait; But no new news had I heard. Then, one day, a friend had said That, if I should move further south* I might find the help I sought. So, I moved. Slowly things began to happen That should have happened at the start. 1. Pune, Maharashtra, India

Fever DreamFor WordofChen Midst the slow, growing burn Deep down, inside my throat, The flesh within turns red; I really have to wonder, Is it my turn? Will I soon be dead? I close my eyes, I try to sleep; But finally, and instead Of dreaming of my getting well, I dream of a fate of torment and of pain In my own hell.

Not My DayWhat a way to spend the Fourth of July! Today is just not my day; Nothing good seems to come my way. I received an eviction warning at my door; I have five days left to pay, Or find a new room in which to stay. And to make things worse, It is the fourth of July. Don't count on my embassy in any way. Just be good enough And stay away.

Never nocturnal, yet the yore lingered in dark. Perhaps the pain, eternal. No scintilla of spark. Neither spark nor a glow. Just the void beside. Nor a facade, in view, behind which I could hide. Possessed oblivion, but nihility. But a sole pen. Helpless and feeble, without a single friend. Pondered if my life was worthless in a blink. The saviour from the agony: just a speck of ink. The darkness provided the light for me. The verses developed the fight for me. Each line, each rhyme, each word an anodyne. Vented the asinine, heeded by the divine. Intended not for fame, but alleviate the pain. Against the devil at every level of life's hellis

Come and watch this pyre burn, flames of bright bright red. Come and listen to stories told, when the darkness descends. From truths birth tales, what do you think fuels this fire?

How’s it feel, always being second best? Just a step too late, always. You couldn’t save anyone, not one single person, always a second or two late. You’re never in the spotlight, but so close you could feel the heat. Second best it is.

Here I am in front of my laptop once again… Trying to construct poems for my well-being But it seems I can’t think straight these days I can’t clutch new ideas properly, oh how annoying! Not to mention my inspiration kept slipping away… I can’t seem to think why I can’t grasp a new concept Must be from all of the activities that forcefully choke us? I know that, but what else? I kept making assumptions… Maybe because of all the adversity I had to clench on? Or maybe my emotions draining like blood from a cut? Or the thought of trying to breathe despite difficulty? Or maybe due to the idea of looped si