220387.
the sun, the sand & the sea.
politikal analyst.
digs rock, raves, elektronik danze musik & fun reads.
4/22/2008 10:34:00 pm, Tuesday, April 22, 2008
waiting/ how long can you stand/ for the plane to crash/ or the birds to fly/ as the hours go by/ today, tonight/ what is the point in my life?/ where i may lay down and cry/ to think back and reminisce/ today, tonight/ drugs don't seem to numb/ my head spins still and nothing can be done/ work is piling,/ i am drowning/ slowly but surely/ am i dying?/ today, tonight/ can i imagine all the people like me now/ streets a-barren/ cities a-lit/ yet in the busiest clubs of downtown/ music can't drown out nor block/ the sight and the sound/ of many a broken crowd/ dance dance/ smoke smoke/ inhale, exhale/ drink drink/ kiss kiss/ love/ drugs/ sex/ where does life factor in?/ where is the meaning?/ in the end despite what they call them/ the only real stars are those/ up in the sky in the twilight.
©Sophie Ng 2005
4/16/2008 07:08:00 pm, Wednesday, April 16, 2008
the beat starts up, the lights dim.
it feels like home,
my head starts to pound.
drop after drop,
it burns inside,
i feel the pain dissipate.
the music picks me up and sets me down,
i sweat, and i'm surrounded by sound.
bodies glide, and stick-
strands plastered to my face,
empty bottles litter the floor.
held hostage to the ache,
it all ends when i wake.
4/13/2008 01:00:00 am, Sunday, April 13, 2008
mockery killed the bird/ who sang when she cried/ lies sheltered inside/ sing a lullaby and die/ her heart was as heavy as stone/ love and hate both weighed it down/ none could make her come around/ his love would kill her/ but he wouldn't stop/ so she threw herself from misery/ and flew the ten floors to the ground/ welcoming concrete and splashed blood/ graffitied the white/ his love would kill her/ but he wouldn't stop/ her pain suffocates/ mockery killed the bird/ it sang while she cried.
4/12/2008 10:20:00 am, Saturday, April 12, 2008
faceofsadness embellished&imprinted painstakinglyetched mournfullyacknowledged throughtheartist'sshakinghand onparchmentsothin itshattersunderhertremblingtouch.
futility.fragility.edgy.despaired.mad.pained.
him:'so why poetry?'
her:'so i may express my pain beautifully.'there are four deaths. one, when you're born; two, when you fall in love; three, physical death; and fourth, when you're forgotten. i'd like to slow that down because i don't want to die. therefore i write. like paying people to care about me. to know how good i am, i have to run away. when i have to explain things, i feel like someone else inhabits me. and i hate it. lie in fiction, and i'll fix you like a stick-pin in a song. the moon through a window becomes an indoor moon, the way light through stained glass gets tainted divine.
4/10/2008 10:08:00 pm, Thursday, April 10, 2008
silly girl what makes you cry?
it's been so long
what made you change your mind?
you can tell the world what you want them to hear
i'm up for the little white lies
it's easier said than done
can't say that we tried
only 21
so much more inside
you and i,
we can see the world,
and fall in love
don't hold back
on what you couldn't get
i see you broken inside
and you throw up from the fight
all those countless sleepless nights
don't you think it's safe?
or how much do you wish you'd gave?
in the end,
it's only you left to blame,
for holding on,
when it's cut you so
and oh,
only 21 but you've grown so old.
4/09/2008 10:13:00 pm, Wednesday, April 09, 2008
it shouldn't sting, i know it shouldn't.
the scars remain, but the wound is healed,
it ought to be by now.
every day is a new one,
memories take their turn,
and then to the past they usually return.
her lies also serve to hide,
perhaps what she thinks is real.
or maybe all that she doesn't know for sure.
but she doesn't know,
miles away, it stings.
scratching at the scars,
digging for the wound beneath.
she doesn't know,
how her story of love and woe
flies beyond air and sea
and hits me deep in the soul.
she doesn't know,
how it stings,
like a needle through my skin.
i cannot breathe.
and briefly the triangle re-appears.
but it shouldn't sting,
no, not anymore.
it won't sting like before.
4/07/2008 07:38:00 pm, Monday, April 07, 2008
i am sleepy.
it's hard to concentrate when faced with a tough essay topic, about the invention of traditions and nation-states.
40 winks won't hurt.
i just need 40 winks.
still, i can't decide. a can of worms, no doubt. but closure lets you not turn back. and then sometimes, unresolved issues are better left unattended to.
4/06/2008 09:35:00 pm, Sunday, April 06, 2008
so where do we start/how do i begin/this, trying to speak,/trying to tell.
the memory of how we met/and then how we fell/down into that/in the end only i
only i, remained./the watercolours stained/and i tried to save/i tried and i waited/
in vain./and years after,/pick up the pieces/and i see the end/of the beginning which/
i'd tried so hard to retain.
two years later, and you still amaze me.
4/05/2008 10:16:00 pm, Saturday, April 05, 2008
quite simply it was that,
the times of sadness and the times of glad,
it was all a whirl, a walk in the park
and the kindness of the silent dark.
it was black and then it was grey,
it was colourful and then it was May.
it was all i couldn't see.
and thinking back,
i remembered my call,
looking up at the stars and all.
the empty paper with its white,
i remember it clearly like how it's night.
the poet that forgot how to write.
the hourglass that wore its way,
the bell that could not play
quite simply then as it were,
everything was naught,
i was the poet who forgot.