All of these write-ups / free-verse poetry are random drafts I wrote on my notes. Most of them have no structure to it as I simply kept them as placeholders for ideas to expand upon later. Tread with caution into the world of my bizarre ideas haha!

last time
i remember seeing your face for the last time,
in my life.
no more math shenanigans,
no more making you laugh.
i don’t know anything about you,
and you don’t either.
i wish i had the courage to ask you more about yourself,
but something tells me i’d be cut off.

something i wrote after my history exam
and i thought i’d be fine, checking out from therapy
but you can’t separate the boy from machiavelli
so the only time i feel like i’m really me
the spot’s kinda limited, so there’s only one that’s gonna be
clean out the trash, check out the fad, and welcome to your delusional fantasy

some the 1975-inspired piece
will we never see each other again?
i close my eyes just to keep you inside, my brain.

we had the world in our hands then,
but now i’m always wondering when.
oh, i see you and people that stink.
nothing’s really changed, just making me disappear in a blink.
“let’s take a trip overseas,
the 7 of us, forever and ever
you get the bags, and i got the tickets”
(get the fake IDs, we can’t leave sober)
well, it’s 7 of you and 1 of me,
and i’m just wondering is there is something i can’t really see.
said “oh please, it’s time you move on”
well, i’ll keep rewinding ‘cause i got a vinyl heart on repeat.
a vinyl heart, on repeat.

i met you, once or twice
in the last two years
and i was wondering if i’m the source of all your fears,
a shit friend, a delusional narcissist
a dead lane, no point doing this again
(“can you just move? you’re ruining the moment”)

i tried to replace you with somebody new,
but people that get me are simply few.
and it’s you,
i need back.

dedicated songs
i’ve been a sucker for so long,
dedicating the right songs to the wrong ones.
some songs goes in the lines of
“last night i had a dream about you,
in this dream i’m dancing right beside you”.
but i hated rehearsing
a hundred and twenty things i like about you, and many others.
but as of late,
someone new has been making me dedicate those songs all over.
almost like, none of those memories matter no more.
although this time,
i don’t feel eager to drop a single hint.

heave ho Dhaka
(this was based on matty healy’s “New York” cover)

take me somewhere I don’t like, talking for hours by the streetlights
running off to your lookalikes,
and in every corner of dhaka, the sky is blue,
stay around, i’ll find you.

she smiles // somebody new
her smile,
smites me like a thousand arrows deep into my heart.
i feel like telling her,
“your smile, can i make it mine?”,
oh the way her teeth shine.

her name rhymes with the word “eudaemonia”,
next week can’t wait, i want to see ya.
i don’t want to hear the words you say,
i just want to see you smile.

i’m always smiling,
it’s kind of my thing.
but when it’s you,
it’s different, know what i mean?
i tested my wit with a bad pun,
your eyes curved when you smiled.
i just want to make that smile mine.

well, i wish i was closer to your height,
dunno how many drinks will that take.
i hope your parents don’t mind,
that i’m not a page ripped from vogue magazine.
it’s hard trying to start a conversation,
especially if you’re somebody new.
the struggles, i endure

guess i’m okay falling for somebody new,
but first, can i get to know your name?
and if it’s too soon, believe when i say
i’ll wait a thousand and one nights just for you.
but i’m afraid we don’t have much time left,
so desperate, just to talk to you again, love
my heart, it never catches a break

19
turning 19 is like turning 29,
one more year and you’ll seem old.
just started a vinyl collection,
i’m quite ahead of my time, it seems.
my hair seems to have greyed, a bit.
i snore when i sleep,
and i shave every 2 days.
“should i grow a beard for the hell of it?”
because my teenage eccentricity seems to be fading away.

spent a summer trying to find my soul,
seems like i hadn’t changed a bit.
maybe i should give this a go,
even if i don’t love this feeling.
should i stop talking?
it seems like i could never get the right words,
out of my lips.
“keep pursing them,
maybe someday you’ll lock them”
or as some stranger once said.

am i,
delusional again?
or,
is it okay if i take some time off?
seems like i don’t like being around people these days.
as sad as that may seem,
i feel indifferent to be around anybody right now.
after all,
who am i trying to impress anymore?
seems like everyone’s under the mistletoe these days,
and i’m quite literally at crossroads on my way back home.

i should get sinatra on vinyl,
i don’t feel like going back home this winter.
not that i found a new home,
i’m as miserable as i always am.
as sad as that might be.
probably should do things my way,
“what’s there to not like about you?”
as they all say.

instagram seems boring,
and i just deleted twitter after 114 tweets of slowly losing my mind.
i stopped opening texts,
or sending any.
maybe i’ll just post a picture,
and disappear for 6 months, again.
a few days in,
and my adolescent self-awareness is tingling.

false alarm,
i’m just too ironic to even be true, sometimes.
i guess i love burning flowers,
just to feel a bit of the cold, dark neoliberal warmth.
writing about how shitty a world without love is,
on my $2000 dollar laptop wearing fast fashion with a thousand labels.

i’ve tried, really.
to be friends.
but it just feels unreciprocated,
to the point i overdeliver every one of my lines.
i got enough wishes on my birthday,
seems like i did a good job fixing my shitty reputation.
but maybe i overthought something simple,
it probably wasn’t even necessary.
i should probably lose touch now,
i have no more chairs to throw or any chauffeuring to do any longer.
she said all my memories with her,
are monochrome now.
it seems like i’ve never shut the door before,
i wonder, how does it feel on the other side?
to find a door shut?
but then again,
who cares to open a door that only leads to an infinite series of doors?

maybe that’s the issue,
i’ve never been true.
turns out i’ve never said the shit that really mattered.
kind of ironic,
when you think it’s the chatterbox saying that.
here i go again,
disappearing without a trace yet again.
to my happy 19,
it was long overdue anyway.

3:01 am
ms. enigma called my telephone at 3’o 1,
asking if she could come up to unit 201.
said she’s looking for a new discovery,
and her epiphany bites the midnight moon.
but you think you know who she is,
when the dust settles, she’s the star in showbiz.
the tangent to her never-ending highs and lows
was never meant to be you.
and i know it’s a hard ointment for the heartaches,
boy you’re attached to a storm full of thunder and strawberry cupcakes.

drawing back her lips like a .44 magnum,
she’ll blow your mind into smithereens.
the tips of her fingers lie the sanctum,
refuge inside the divine caress of “the one”.
she pulls the death of me into reverse gear,
the momentary blessing of the happiness of living.
it’s quite alright, i may add.

but you think you who she is,
when the dust settles, she’s the star in showbiz.
the tangent to her never-ending highs and lows
was never meant to be you.

paracetamol hour
glorify,
dependence on painkillers.
i come home after a long day,
only to witness the jester’s court.
i’m no king to steal this privilege,
all i am is the man standing on trial
for nonsensical accusations.
oh, but if they picked you up when you couldn’t walk,
they demand the authority to subjugate you and your therapy bills.
i used to be afraid of the monsters under the bed,
but now i turn on the lights and leave the door open as i leave
mischief yet to be managed.
my magic is to disappear at will,
yet my power lacks the ability to make it permanent.
and we’re proud to be part of one colony,
yet, we all seek the desperation to leave at the dawn of night.
if i could drive,
i would grab your hand and run away somewhere far away.
but all of them are coming after me regardless,
i just want to be left alone, i just want for this colony to die in space.

and i had a dream where it seemed like you grabbed my hand as we escaped,
with hootie and the blowfish on your car radio,
but i hate that i opened my eyes
to the call of an alien from a faraway galaxy.

meet henry
i have a friend,
his name is henry.
poor guy can’t live without horrid flashbacks.
what does he do?
therapy, and the bottle
with an occasional bit of grass.
he says the grass is greener on the other side,
we’re just blind to the riches of life.

lately, he’s been treading on shallow waters
sometimes,
he’s swimming on the floor
or he’s busy arguing with the moon.
when he taps out,
he stares into space.
swearing that he’s seeing the monster he made,
staring right back at him.
he swears he doesn’t feel like himself,
if he isn’t on something.
henry can’t remember who he is anymore,
can someone help me find henry?

henry can’t sleep unless he’s not himself.
he says that his mind is killing him.
but henry has to leave soon,
if henry can’t fix himself now,
he’ll repeat another round of chaos

panic at the coffee shop
i always go to this coffee shop,
alone.
i sit at a three-seat table
because i rejoice in the space you two left me.
but let’s talk about coffee today,
i’ll now digress.

triple shot,
hazelnut,
ice cold latte.
i like my coffee obnoxious,
cold, bitter,
dynamic, and impulsive,
just like how i love myself.
every sip brings me closer to henry,
and two steps away from me.
my brain feels the pressure,
my legs shaking,
i’m breaking into a dance.
pupils wide open, i feel a lot better.

Immanuel Wilkins – Emanation,
he is wired to jazz now.
the ice in the coffee ever so melts,
yet the world feels like it’s going very fast right now.
social anxiety has left the dance floor,
he is now in full control.
henry isn’t feeling very horrid, now is he?
see, his guilt has been cycling,
but we all know that.
see, his regrets are flying off the roof,
but we all know that.
see, he genuinely feels bad and could we pass him the mic again?
and maybe welcome him back?
hush, we don’t talk about that!

the clattering of plates, coffee cups,
and utensils.
the voices of people ensnare him,
he starts to hallucinate the voices of those he can’t hear anymore.
before you know it,
henry is now sitting at the very spot he sat three years ago.
the saxophone picks up pace,
the drums roll,
and henry is feeling better.

henry’s eyes start to wander off to the faces in the cafe,
one, two, three, four, five,
six, and the seventh sin,
they’re all in front of him.
henry remembers everyone,
but everyone forgets henry.
tonight henry has plans,
tonight henry wants to indulge in sleep,
and tomorrow,
he wants to have coffee again.

30th of July
do you remember the 30th of July?
the day i pushed my luck, for the first time.
you’d think i’ve forgotten,
but i’m just so different.
sometimes i wonder
if you even remember the days i tried to impress you.

did i,
ever succeed even for a momentary lapse in your judgment?
it sort of felt like that a few times.
we would’ve looked great together,
but seems like you’ve got plans with somebody else now –
after years of being an enigma.
i pretended to not feel a thing,
but a part of me keeps stinging.
so did i,
ever lose feelings?

i remember
you joked about marrying me someday.
i took it too seriously then,
and now i decided i’ll never tie the knot.
it seems quite idiotic i know,
but seems like you’ll get married before i’m done,
picking up the pieces.

my friends say it didn’t mean a thing,
i don’t seem to protest.
after all,
who really heard a single shit i had to say?
said it was an obsession with you,
but then they’ll mark their bodies with the name of somebody they’re not sure of why.
and all i do is,
write about you.
it’s kind of annoying that i hear all these love stories with reciprocation
when i could’ve had a beautiful one, too.

i thought you were cool,
from the very beginning.
i still think so now,
but we’re nothing alike.
you’re like some goddess,
to my nihilistic eyes.

does it,
bother me?
sometimes, i think so too.
but you’re still saving me,
and i wish i had an answer why.
either way,
it’s not killing my sleep anymore.

and i,
still have your birthday essays
on my old phone.
i never felt inclined to delete it,
and i wish i could joke about it with you.
if i could,
joke about my feelings for once
it would’ve been nice, i guess.

so we’re walking on different paths,
it’s kinda lame that i don’t have anything to say.
but if you ever need a friend when you have so many,
i’m always just there.
but it’s probably another fictitious account,
for things that never happen.

but if the stars i saw with you back in January,
align again –
promise me we’ll count the stars together.

cynics on the dance floor
i’ve been meaning to cry for a while now,
hoping the smoke gets in my eyes.
been walking to my funeral over and over,
like some ghost lingering in a theme park.
i wanted to lament about the boy stuck in time,
and while everyone listens,
it’s not the same without them.
and i have lost my two wings for good,
how else am i ever going to fly all the way back to heaven now?
called someone to pick me up,
i don’t even know where i’m walking right now.

i’ve been in hell for so long now, baby
i’m afraid i’m eons away from everyone’s worlds.
if i could flick away all my ghosts like cigarette butts,
i’d be losing my will to exist faster.
oh, if i could just flick it away.

play a record on my vinyl player,
i’m somewhat of a dancer myself.
you set the tone, i handle the rest.
say, “i’m looking for permanence”
while i’m not even sure of where this is leading.
my life is full of puzzles,
and some lead me back to square one over and over.
so maybe this is a sign i should leave,
this dance floor is made for cynics.