I haven't posted much lately.
Well, all you guys need to know is that 1) I've been reading a wide range of literature -- mostly Gothic ones -- and the biographies of the authors of each literary work I read (this is mostly because I'm a Literature major, and my professors are great literary geeks like me which is great); 2) I haven't been going out much, since I ran out of brilliant alibis to creatively disguise all my gallivanting; 3) mom took away the old, unused camera, and my OOTD photographer which is my sister had been admitted to the hospital because of an ovarian cyst O.o (good heavens, she's well) that's why I haven't been able to post OOTDs; 4) my family indeed is a great hindrance :/ ; and 5) I haven't had anything new and interesting to show or write about...
... that's why I'm gonna post another one of my poems here to break the silence of this blog. :D
Okay so, this poem was written when I had problems with my "Traumatic Desires" friends, with my family, about being bullied, and when I had absolutely no one to run to but a pen and a paper. I wrote this 3 years ago, though, so yeah, I was still new to the whole puberty thingy and maybe -- just maybe -- I didn't get what everything was about back then. All that "the-whole-world-is-against-me feeling" was entirely overwhelming indeed. Now that I look back, I seem to see my past self as a masochistic individual: I loved pain; I chose pain; and I wanted to receive pain; all because pain was my only companion those days.
Of course, I didn't want it all at first, but soon, and gradually, it was all that I knew, hence it became a great part of me; to the extent that I made it a friend -- a friend that never leaves; a friend that ironically gives me gifts each day. To think that I already attempted suicide when I was 10, and each day seemed a burden, reasonably made me resort to all these serious, stupid, childish thoughts those days.
Oh well! I've gotten over all that anyway! I'm a happy kid right now, and I try to be easy-going and happy-go-lucky every now and then; I tend to stop taking things seriously and go with the flow. However, I refuse to forget all the beautiful things I produced from my past sufferings, and yes, I'm willing to share these to everyone! ^w^
YES, YES, it came to a point when I started hearing voices and
feeling imaginary touches -- all because of my loneliness and hopelessness.
A cold eventide zephyr seeps
Like a swerving soul writhes past
Under the blackest night sky
This soothing eerie agony is sure to last.
I grimly write with silent screams
For I cannot hide this chaos no more;
Feeding this leechy creature is useless.
I am being consumed into the void,
Smothering sharp claws of hatred pierce me
Though this state is unexplainably blissful
My dark heart is still crunched by
the nothingness of the weak.
Why am I taken to this pit?
Condemned of nothing I committed?
My soul’s death awaits;
I am devoured, glum, and clouded
I extremely deny of deserving all this dolor,
But I somehow wished of such sadism;
Thus my veins carry of stagnant blood:
Confused to boil or to give in.
Is this my end, Sir?
or shall I choose to carry on?
Please credit me, by the way, if you wanna copy all or a part of the poem. Thanks. :3