Wednesday, April 29, 2009


Sometimes I stay home all night
Waiting for your senses to come back
You walked out and left me with your Louboutins
Did you think I'd chase you in my Agent Provocateur?

It's been two days and already I'm crazy
I miss the way you kiss
And I miss the way you walk in that dress
Won't you come back, baby?
I'll open a bottle of '78 Latour and
put Funny Face on the flat-screen
Won't you come back, baby?
We need to re-up our lease!

(Cameras follow our every move,
Secrets and lies told and posted to the world
You can't hide nothing from me
And I still love you, baby
Walk away all you want
We're lobsters, baby
So... sorry for ruining your life)

And sometimes I go out on platonic dates
Loving the company and attention
You call and I come a-runnin'
Did you think I'd have no alibis ready?

It's been a year and god forbid, you're still my girl
I miss the way you fight me
And I miss the way you let me catch your tears
Won't you come back, baby?
I've got strawberries and a ton of Cool Whip
Won't you come back, baby?
You know you belong with me!

(Repeat Chorus)

Walk away all you want,
I'll still wait for you, baby...

Monday, April 27, 2009

Is It The Same For You?

The sadness was apparent only in her eyes. Memories bittersweet and beautiful linger behind her gaze, an air of loss and setlling wrapped around her like an aura of flickering auroras. She cannot change what has happened, the moments that have passed, the opportunities she has missed. So she wonders wistfully, musing about what could have been. Thoughts of the costs she has had to bear plague her like a subtle companion trying to poison her contentment. At a loss of alternatives, she is helpless. Fow what she wants to believe is love; for that sake, she hopes. She takes is on faith that it is as it should be. But she cannot avoid the sadness weighing on her. A blanket of sober tears is the only comfort she can depend on, the only proof that the past was not meaningless.

Is it the same for you?

Sunday, April 26, 2009

The Named



Thursday, April 23, 2009

The Forever Room

Buttons, perfume bottles and printed pages were scattered across the floor. The room was vast and beautifully chaotic. Everything arranged and otherwise, possessed individual stories of secrets, happiness and hope. The sound of tears and laughter echoed within the decorated walls, making love with each other, creating the most bittersweet music.
My bare feet cautiously guided me, navigating me around that room blooming and almost bursting with history. I lingered in that room for what seemed like one-one-thousandth of a second, an eternity.
As I perused the items occupying every surface, I touched the materials that sang back to me, touching me back.
There were wine glasses from Paris, tea sets from London, spaghetti strainers from Rome. Boxes of memories from all corners of the world. Books, antique and read, newly-published and ignored. Fantastic, seemingly random pieces of stuff.
Smiling softly as I allow the past to serenade me, I whole-heartedly appreciated the chance I had been given to discover again what I had forgotten.


Understand this: I do not know who I am.
I'm probably the vaguest person I know. I sum everything up in beautiful poetic pieces of prose, describing it in such eloquence that I miss the point entirely. This way, I trick others into regarding me as an intellectual when if stripped completely, I have absolutely no substance.
So many have fallen for my trick and are disappointed when they look beyond my mask and find a phantom instead of a princess. And they react accordingly, slowly retracting themselves away.
And I get stuck with abandonment, rejection and a haunting sense of loss.
I replace what should be my own opinions, passions and stands with what I assimilate from others.
In other words, I'm a million pieces of a billion people all wrapped in one shiny package with fake sparkles I pick up randomly to shine behind my eyes.
Not many of my 'friends' understand this about me; my struggle with identity, and the gorgeous masks and facades I paint over the confusion within. Those unfortunate enough to see the scared little girl shivering underneath are astonished at finding her, and they feel an obligation to help.
And of course, being a scared, jaded little girl, I rebel and refuse their help.

This is my story. This is how I am where I am now: alone, confused, alienated. I have pushed away those who love the parts of me that are essentially ME and I'm still doing so.
So that's why I'm changing.

My mind needs a revolution.
It's been too complacent, revisiting the same cycles of shit.

My heart needs silence.
My poor, wretched heart, twisted into complicated knots; knots I caused, knots others tangled within it; my heart needs a reprieve, the relief of silence. Its beats need to be of its own accord, coming into existence naturally.

And what do I need?

Tuesday, April 21, 2009

Happy Pill

We don't talk much or often
We don't meet for breakfast, lunch or dinner
We don't have any pictures together
And we don't think of each other all that much

But there are times you make me so happy
Like the world is beautiful and
Everything's possible

(You don't call and I don't write
You're laughing with someone else and
I'm crying over another lost love
You sing and I listen,
I'm your biggest fan and you know it
I love you and I know it's not always enough)

We don't have exclusive memories
We don't have much in common
We don't really know each other very well
And we don't think of each other as much as I'd like

But sometimes your voice brightens my day
Like I was sad and ignorant of that fact and
You're my happy pill

(Repeat Chorus)

This is about Teddy :) xoxo

Sunday, April 19, 2009


His music leaves me breathless,
Helplessly caught in the perfect noise,
My mind ceases to function and
My heartbeats are erratic and dictated
Bass beats and electric guitar riffs,
I can't explain anything
And if you ask how I'm feeling
I'll come up empty.
Pockets full of change and nothing else,
Pupils dilated with ecstasy,
I'm tumbling in love once again.

Sunday, April 12, 2009


Photographs scattered the floor, myriad of moments. Emotions captured and showcased. Memories accessible at a glance.

Somehow it all rang hollow to me, echoing emptiness.

"What's your vice?" he asked, his voice like velvet, soft and lilting.

I try my hardest to meet his gaze and convey some form of truth from behind my eyelashes caked with days-old mascara, dust and dried tears.

"You tell me," I answered.

His beautiful face fell, disappointment clearly etched onto his immaculate features. "Don't you think it's time you speak without political influences? Just drop all the vague ambiguities and indecisiveness and show me who you really are. Just show me who you are, baby." He was pleading, hurt and hopeful.

Thoughts embraced my mind in a storm of images, stories and justifications following the waves undulating within my selective memory. I have hidden away for so long. Avoding the light of truth, diclosing my imperfections under a cover of lies, fallacies and illusions. I do not know who I am, who I really am. And it's all on me. I cannot show him anything that even remotely resembled myself. The extravagant masks I've donned for so long have become like a second skin to me, clinging stubbornly to portray the shit that I am in a flattering manner.

"I'm sorry," I gasped.

And I fled.