What really matters
What is
Pain?
Pain is loss.
Loss of skin.
Loss of blood.
Loss of limb.
Loss of heart.
Sad, is it not?

Pain.
We all feel.
It is competitive.
You feel,
I feel,
He feels,
She feels,
more than the other.
So, addictive.

We cannot get enough of it.
Pain.
To mope
To grope
No hope
Almost ENJOYING,
Pain.
How, sadistic.

Matter.
It does not.
Whether people say it
Care it
Mean it
Feel it.
Alone. You decide.
How, selfish.

But Why?
Should it Matter?
That loneliness
is a drug
in a mug
that you chug
to feel, better?
Except you don't.

Hence,
my dilemma.
Alone I feel
and want to remain
But if I continue
I will go insane

I must
talk
Let go of this burden
Listen to what I say
the secrets that I've hidden.
But no, I. am. afraid.

Afraid to hear the echoes of my pain.
Afraid to hear what matters and what doesn't matter.
Afraid that pain will consume me again,
filling me with loss,
at no extra cost,
but a few pints of beer.

So you see?
The only thing I fear is fear.
The pain, it matters.
At the end.
When you overcome it.

Serendipity

Serendipity

 I once met this girl from Bandar Utama

Who showed an interest in me

She said she was drawn to my flamboyant charisma

And kindness that few people could see.

She came to me one day, with a grin on her face,

I was eating my maggi goreng,

Her words came out fast, like a horse at a race,

She jemput I pergi dating.

I choked on my maggi, with a wheeze and a cough,

The shock proved too much to me.

My mind drew a blank,  the switch was turned off,

But my heart told me, maybe.

So I took a great leap, without thought or deliberation

And I said to her that I would

She threw a big smile and jumped in celebration

And said that she would meet me at midvalley at 3. 

I did something bad today. I made her suffer. I dragged her along the past of time. I wanted her to see. I still wanted her to see, the pain that she caused me. But she would not see it. She did not. So I took her new boyfriend's car keys and ran away. It was sneaky. It was mean. But I wanted her to come back. I wanted her to come back. She came back. With him no less. I made him listen to me, as an old man telling a war story to his grandchild. About her. About the wretchedness she put me through. How she stole my heart. How she stole my best friends. How she stole my first kiss. How she stole me. He listened, I doubt he understands. I think he thinks he can do it. I wish him all the best. But I have a feeling he will fall, just like me.

I do not question pain anymore. It lives in me. I know how it feels. Down to the very core. Down to death's door. I try to stand. And I will. The pain will go away. I surely will be stronger. I do not need to tell anyone about my pain. Only God knows. Only God heals. I will suffer alone. 

Nice guys finish last. 

Being nice to everybody seems perfect to everyone

until you meet the one,

the one who will admire your kindness,

and say great affectionate things,

and encourage you to be nice to the one. 

The one,

Until the one leaves,

and all your kindness is spent, 

and you are left with nothing, 

it doesn't matter. 

It doesn't matter that you have friends,

 it doesn't matter that you could find someone else,

you don't feel like a predator,

 you feel like a fool. 

A fool with a heart like uncooked batter.

Mess, less and useless.

Nice guys may have every friend in the world,

because they treat everyone the same. 

But now, they treat everyone the same,

with a tinge of fear and doubt.

And no one knows, except oneself,

what it is about.

And when it all boils over, and everyone leaves.

That's it.

One is dead last. 

last, and stuck, in the past. 

I walk the path few take,

I see a view quite rare,

I hear voices many forsake,

Of actions that make men stare.

My choices betray,

My outlook ignored,

My peers slay

the thoughts in stored.

The hermit dwells well in the wilderness,

He knows the sanity of segregation,

His fortitude is in his forest,

Away in sensational separation.

That is the fate I am so bound,

Like a plant forcing out of a crack,
It's strength unseen, it's beauty unknown,
Growing slowly, surely, without slack.

Sometimes

Sometimes, I know who I am. I am the strong confident man that knew himself, to the point of stubbornness. I am the man who could comprehend all the philosophical theologies in the world, and argue with you about it. I am the man who helps you if you are my friend, to the point of death, even in betrayal, just because I genuinely do care and I stick to my principles. I am the man who fights God, to find truth, truth that is satisfactory to me. Not because I am stubborn, but because I know God can make it so. I am His. That is who I am.

Sometimes, I don't. I don't know what happened to my confidence. It was shattered so quickly and so dismissively. Like a flicker of light. A glass swan. I don't know why I discarded all my knowledge. Why ignorance was bliss. Why I felt feeling feeling was fantastic. Flimsy. Frail. Flatulent. I didn't see the point in being honorable. In being, loyal... People do not justify it. They are greedy, selfish men. Advantageous only in what they want they pretend to eat out of the palm of your hand in the hopes they swallow your arm and devour your leg. Pathetic. Ponzi. Pain. My hand grips at my chest, soiled, scarred, singed.  I don't fight with God anymore. Because I couldn't care less. What He does to me. If He puts me in hell so be it. It does not matter to me anymore. Do what you will. I do not care about Job or Paul or Peter. I am none of them. You win. Strike your thunderbolt and be done with it. Hurt. Hard. Had. I am still His. That has not changed. It seems not a blessing right now though. More a curse. Perhaps I will see differently in time. I don't know who I AM.