Reaching Out

I want to reach out

But I don’t know how

I don’t know how

Or why I want to

In the first place


All I know is that

I have to reach out

Before they pull me in

into the depths of hell

I call my mind




02202017 2208


If Not For Myself

I have to be better, for all the people who love me.

For the people trying their best for me.

For the people who want me to stay alive.

I have to stay, for them; if not for myself.

Myself, who doesn’t do anything.

Getting worse and worse at things.

Wanting to sleep forever.

If not for myself, then I’ll try living for other people.

May my love for them help me learn to love myself.




TW: I Want Out.

I want out.

I don’t want to do

anything anymore.

The cameras I collected

and took pictures with

were in my cabinet,

collecting dust.

The guitar;

I play,

for only about 3 minutes,

maybe once a week

The Melodica I bought

I played for a few days

then dumped it under my bed

Even the loudest beat

of my drum kit

I cannot hear.

I want out.

Out of my life.

I failed.


So please, please,

let me out.

So Much For Trying Hard

I smell of alcohol and nicotine; and the taste of the cough syrup lingers on my tongue.
I don’t want to go on and do another stupid thing. I want to block the voice of my self-injurious demon out of my head.
Or else I would have to feel the horrible – and heavenly at the same time – yet familiar feeling of pain on my wrists.
We never change, do we?
And I thought I was getting better at this game we call life.
Or maybe I was getting better, and here I am tripping down from the thing we call relapse.
Can I really call this a relapse, when I never really got better?
But to be fair, I did get better. Just minimally. Or moderately, I don’t know anymore.
All I know is that it has been one hell of a roller coaster of a ride.

And I’m about to throw up.




12:53 am

Why Not?

How about now?

When you’ve exhausted

every ounce of your energy

thinking about things,

irrelevant ones.


How about we try again,

my dear?

When all that is left

are the important things.

Or so they say.


Enough with the

random works

and random words.

It’s time.


Time to work for the Man.

Time for you to face the enemy:

obligations, responsibilities.


As if the monsters and atrocities

living in your head

are not enough.


It’s all fun and games

until you realize

you’re meant to lose

in the end

with no codes to use.


So how about now

We get it over with?




We All Have At Least One

They are

Not monsters.

They don’t

Look like one.


They are

The shadows

That just

So happens

To follow

You around

When you

Were sure

You are saved

By the light

But then

They engulf you


After dark.


They are

The whispers

So faint

You could

Have sworn

It was not there

Until their words

Ring in your ears


But just like

The monsters

In those movies

Only you can see,


And feel them.




from the lab

So I was finally able to send my exposed films to the lab. I had to wait for four hours, lurking in the busy street where the lab was located. The lab lady wasn’t friendly, either. So the trip wasn’t that great. But! what I got made me happy enough. Hope you enjoy looking through some of the photos I took about one or two years ago.




Luxury I Can’t Afford

The sense of being

is a luxury everyone but I

seemed to have abundantly.


It’s a golden nugget,

mined from within ourselves

in exchange of weary faces

and tired bodies.


At least you’re happy.

And whole.


But what about those

like me, who couldn’t dig

through their layers

nor seek out the stars above

to find themselves?


What do we have left for ourselves?

A sense of longing, perhaps?


If only I could trade it for a

tailor-fit purpose.


Then I wouldn’t have

to walk around mindlessly


trying to fit in

and trying find out

what’s inside of me

that I can offer to the world.


Only then I can live.




An attempt to make myself believe that everything is going to be okay.

Dear Past Self: Thank you for this. This is what I needed to see and believe in.

Somnolent Soul

You know what, you can do it.

You may not do it now, but you’ll be able to do it eventually.

You can beat depression, with your own ways.

You can beat depression, in your own time.

You can beat depression, with or without others.

But you can never beat it without your heart and mind, and your whole being, invested in this battle.

You have to fight with what you have to win all that is rightfully yours: your life.

Kill (depression) or be killed. Beat it or be beaten up (does this mantra even work?)


Don’t be afraid of relapses. Well okay, maybe it’s okay to be scared.. But the thing is, they’re relapses. You’re having relapses because you’re going up. And that’s the important part: the going up part. It means your going somewhere (good). You can’t experience a bump in the road if you’re not…

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Can’t Keep Up

I call it progress,

they call it failure;

failure to pass

what’s due

on time

I call it baby steps,

They call it a waste

of their time, not mine;

so could I please

hurry the hell up

I call it my best,

they call it mediocrity;

a below average

attempt at surviving

so why do I even try

I call it getting by,

they call it giving up

without seeing things

from where I stand

so I guess

I really cannot keep up

at all.