I read somewhere that tears are like water that doesn't know the sky.

Raindrops which are lost and ended up on the face.

I wonder if thinking of tears this way will make the pain less apparent. Because I'm not crying. This is just water that has forgotten its origin. So I'm not sad at all. I'm fine.

There are times when the pain gets so bad it feels as if it travels up and crushes my jaw. Even if I wanted to, I can't speak of my pain because every word spoken is punishing. All I can do is silently stare at the drops falling on the ground.

My mind goes blank, unable to process this pain.

"Shush. Don't speak of your pain."
"But it hurts."
"Then seal it in a box and forget about it. If you do so, it's existence ceases."
"What if I find the box?"
"Then you must never open it." 

Saying this will probably get me hated by some females but I've lost too much weight.

I hate being too thin cause I don't want to look like some undeveloped girl. I don't like the fact that my butt is almost non-existent now. It looks so bad when I wear shorts and stuff. Just not womanly at all..

The thing is that every time I feel stressed, I just lose my appetite and when I eat, there's this sickening feeling of emptiness in my stomach. No matter how much I stuff myself, I'm never truly full. This mentally induced emptiness makes me want to puke, though there's nothing to puke out.

My brain is moving like a block right now. I don't know how I sound. My sentence structure is probably degrading. Okay what the heck. I'm just like type type type..

I'm tired, but there's always stuff to do isn't there?

I'm annoyed. I really want to go on a holiday nowww :(

Been in a pretty weird mood lately. I feel frustrated for no reason? And when I'm frustrated, I get into a state of not being able to focus on my work. Okay, I actually know why I'm frustrated..I just feel as though the effort that I put in might mean nothing at all. I just feel so disheartened when I think of how some people seem to be able to get results without putting in much hard work.

I can't help but feel scared. What if all my hard work is for naught? Everyone says that its better to have put in your all than none at all but that's not enough for me. I really need the results. It's not an understatement. At this point, getting results is a necessity. And I feel as though I keep stumbling along this path of achieving results. In the first place, I don't even know if I've been running towards it. Or have I only been trudging along?

I don't know. It's really not the time for self-doubt now but I can't chase these annoying feelings away. 

The road has ended.

I stare at the path dumbfounded.

I can't understand it. Am I dreaming? Is that why the road has ended? Have I come to the end of my dreams? If so, why can't I wake up.

No matter how many times I shut and open my eyes, the scene doesn't change.

Hysteria rises inside of me.

Thinking that I am the Shepard, I strove to lead the way.
In truth, I am merely a lost sheep.

In the dark of the night, he sneaks a peek from the corners of his eyes. He measures each breath, making sure that he carries the rhythms of the shadows. The soft moonlight falls over his love's bare skin. That lovely skin gently caressed by sheets that could never compare to his love's purity.

Even in the shadows, he ensures that his gaze never lingers. If he lingers, his love may awake from that sweet slumber which so escapes him. Ah if only he could move in closer. Just a bit more and he could leave his fingerprints on that canvas of white. Just a bit more and he could break the fragile boundary he created.

Oh why does his love torment him so? Those lips that tremble slightly with which intake and release. If only he could take those lips as his own. Yes his own. Why is his love not his own when there is a gaping hole where his heart once was. Was it not enough to give all of him?

The moonlight turns from shades of silvery grey into the beginnings of sunrise. Sensing the change, he slips out, taking with him the tears which can never fall.

Only in the darkness can he safely peek, knowing that his love roams in realms he cannot reach.

I can feel it,
The hot gaze which shakes in fear.
Shall I tempt you more?
Oh yes, if only I could make you twist in never ending misery.
This pleasure runs like heroin up my arm. 

There's a lonely toilet roll stuck at the back of my loo.
The roll and I share a fact, and that's how it fell into those depths
I should have picked it up I know, but the roll avoids my outstretched palm.
Now one might say its laziness, though I call it postponement.

Just a poem I thought of when I was in Australia. I was too free haha. 

The voices get louder and louder. The argument escalates into a competition of screams and neither party even knows what they are saying. Does it even matter? In the midst of anger, words don't mean a thing. All each party wants is to throw fuel into the blazing fire. Accommodating each other gets turned into the idea of putting up with one another instead.

Putting up. These two words can make anyone feel like a burden once these words slip out. Its the same words people use when they describe how they deal with constant pain in their body.

The frustration of not getting through turns into tears and a game of self-blame. Each one is a victim and each one is the tormentor.