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.

The question

Is it wrong to be selfish?

Is it wrong to yearn for the attention of your peers?

Is it wrong to pine and whine and shine the disapproval of others?

Do we not want love?

The feeling of being cared, supported and appreciated? 

Yet for every person that tries there is a different reaction for all.

Whether it be height or race or skill or talent,

Like slaves in a market are we measured and praised. 

What love is this? 

That a man should give up everything to help somebody? 

Whether it be pride or recognition or time or life?

Is it fair to sacrifice so much with little hope of recompense? 

Like dogs serving their masters we must obey.

Do you understand?

Why we must be kind to those who scorn the thorn in your side?

Why must we bow to the now that is restricting us?

Simply because people or a book tells us so?

It beggars the belief of those seeking the coins of understanding…

So why do I do it?

Why do I obey?

Why do I follow this seemingly unrequited way?

Because of that someone,

That confounding being, 

Who became both slave and dog

To show me what Love is any day...

Like Lust Love

Like
it is not Love or Lust.
it is Interesting maybe Indulging,
but not the Kind
you want Every time.

Lust
it is not Like or Love.
it is Unadulterated, Uncontrollable passion,
but not the Sincerity
you get Twelve minutes later.

Love
it is not Like or Lust.
it Overcomes and Outlasts everything.
it is a Vow you take
that EXISTS forever.

Time

Time
She is not my friend.
Though she motions her fingers
And beckons me with subtle glances,
Her eyes are deceitful,
Like the devil in angelic form,
Or the atheist's mind.
Yet I do need her.
Whether friend or foe,
Whether guardian or reaper,
She controls my life.
My very existence and form.
She tortures me with PAST
Yet motivates me with FUTURE.
Yet all the time running away from me
In the PRESENT.
How I long for her, to have more and more
Yet how I loathe her,
Her absolute hold on me.
Like a gambler with her money.
But she has made me stronger,
Wiser, faster, harder.
She brings out qualities I never knew I had.
And in the end,
When I have accomplished
And everything spent.
When death courts, and she leaves...
I realize...
She is my friend after all...

She is gone...

She is gone...
Like the last leaves in autumn...
Though leaves return again they are never the same,
Yet always leaving again when its time is done.

She is gone...
Without hint or clue...
Like Christie without her memory,
she remains a question without answers,
because she refuses to be one.

Oh flesh of my flesh,
do you feel the burning of my heart?
Oh mind of mine,
can you solve my enigma?

Though heart pumps and mind stirs,
Neither can hear me...
They are gone.

~Kenan Yeh Rong