Comfortable

Tell me when nobody is there for you,
tell me when you don't believe in God anymore,
tell me when you can't hope for anything.

As I started to wish, I decided to stop wishing,
I learned to understand life,
but I know it is never understandable.

I may travel to places, unseen.
Disappear when I tried.
Give up when I want.

Still, only a few care,
how both wisdom and philosophy consume your soul.
And so I care less about them.

I dive back to the place where I think I belong.
With both pleasure and insanity.
That's how it is now, so comfortable.

Remember

I tried to remember everyone,
every single friend of mine,
yet years come to pass.

I still remember them clearly, one by one.
As one by one started to forget me,

In the end,
if they don't remember me,
I'll pretend that I don't remember them too.

And we've became strangers.
What if I'm already forgotten?

What if I've already forgotten?
But that never happens.

I still remember.
I hope they still remember.
Though, I pretend not to.

Path

Reflect everything upon everything.
Hmph...

I'm bored of it.
Nothing will ever change.
But also will ever stay.

Thanks for everything.
It's my time to just walk.
Or never again.

Nightmare

If they say that life is bitter,
let them say so.

It's not that I could live out my dreams,
I'm just stuck in this gap,
which divides dreams and reality,
which divides me and them.

Do I live in my dreams?
Or is this a haunting by the demons,
that made me dream what I don't live.
And I keep dreaming about what I don't understand.

Everyday, it's just like this.
I've lived twice each day; once here, once there.

I've forgotten for how long,
but it has been like this long enough.
I'm not tired physically,
but my mind is extremely exhausted.

Maybe I should rest, but I can't.
Maybe I should die, but I won't.

And it's starting to bother me,
that I'm still stuck in this gap.

I'm dying, because I couldn't care less about them.
And my life starts to dissipate vaguely.

May I choose my path, I don't care.
Cheer me up, can you?

Nocturne

A few years ago,
I used to enjoy these hours.
The most deserted hours of a day.
Then, why do I feel lonely to death today?

I was alone, let's say was also lonely.
Though, I wanted to be there.
So today might be the last day I'd come here.
Cause I've had enough of this place.

Let's talk about this deserted place,
to kill some of my precious time.
And for me to remember it someday.
Just a bit, after such a long time.

A computer,
an internet connection.
A refrigerator,
some refreshments.

A table,
some piles of papers and books.
Another table,
some other piles.

A door,
two cinemags posters.
Another door,
a sometimes-moving-itself handle.

Some furniture,
some paintings.
A clock,
4.20.

I used to play here.
Believe it or not,
some places are just different on different hours.
So, I'll never play here again, I guess.

Maybe your age could really change you.
In my case, what was good is now pointless.
Just in about 2 years,
this day may never really be good again.

But it was good anyway,
and today is good nevertheless.
And there goes my tears,
oh, I yawned.

I think I can't cry anymore.
So what they've told me might be true.
I've cried too much.
Maybe I have insufficient tears to cry again.

Well, I'm lucky to be able to yawn.
4.35.
No, I didn't stay up late.
I've just waken up early.

I used to enjoy waking up at these hours,
between midnight and dawn.
Visiting this deserted place,
waiting for what I didn't know.

4.45.
Why does time go away?
I don't know.
Maybe I'll never know.

Just thinking about years
to the past,
and to the future.
We're weak and hopeless.

But thinking about the present,
we're invincible.
4.55.
Somebody has waken up.

Well, dawn is coming.
This place will be gone in a few more seconds.
Let this be a goodbye,
and a good night.

Choice

Just choose,
life's just a set of choices.

There's no good deal,
and so is there any bad deal.

You waited for her,
and next, you left her.

No big deal,
or it might be.

But you regret it,
or maybe you don't?

Now it seems that you can't choose anymore,
leave it there.

Just get back to what it calls,
just choose, or not.

And remember,
choosing is a choice, too.

Colors

Everybody likes white.
Rarely one would like another color.

I mean, lies are usually white.
White lies, told on purpose or told by habits.

Life's usually more than just white.
But, it's just how you accept the colors, the matter that is.

Or you could live a lie, as you may think,
as long as it is white, it doesn't matter anymore, it is clean and pleasing to be seen.

Just, what color do you want to see the most?
White?

Tomorrow may splat your canvas un-white,
You may cover it again with white.

It's your canvas, isn't it?
Colors, what are the differences?

As long as you cover it with white, everything will be okay.
You might be okay.

But, there you can get your lesson.
Lie white, everybody likes it.

It's just why honesty is a great value.
Cause the canvas will be colorful.

Though and so, it's not white anymore.

Self

What has made you like this?
Everything has made me like this.
Say, what your wisdom could be?
Could it be your life, or just your thoughts.

Time aims to finish.
Life aims to perish.
The warm world of closed eyes.
Or the reality that always freezes.

Should there be any difference,
the world has never spoken any sentence.

Life's just a game.
And I'd be disappointed for this:
I've always wanted to win,
for nothing should bother me.

Never did I think of them,
who are destined to lose, no matter what.
Some of them are still trying,
and some others; they just give up.

What's life for a winner? What's life for a loser?
Never have I found any interesting difference.

If death wants,
he could take us now.
While he sometimes teases us,
by telling his promises about the probability of himself taking us.

Fulfill your wish, could you.
Get your dream, would you.
Run until you drop, should you.
Do them, cause death might tell you his promises.

And never haven't I believed destiny nor reality.
Cause in my way, neither of them has ever been that freezing.

One's Reflection for a story, "Narcissu"

Untitled

You may say that the world is cruel,
yet I might say the same thing.
You may say that the world is wonderful,
but I still might say the same thing.

They don't matter to me,
as you might think they do.
Love might not be bad,
as it might not be good.

If you never love one,
you will have the love that never hates.
If you ever love one,
you will have the love that hates another.

Love is love, still,
you may tell, think about, or cherish it.
But the more you do so,
the less could you love so many other things.

As if I say, I love my house so much,
I'd never love many adventures out there.

If I love my philosophy so much,
I'd never love many religions and theories outside it.

If I love you so much,
I'd never love many things beside you.

If I love nothing so much,
I'd never love everything.

If I don't love anything so much,
Would I never love anything?

What more could I tell you with words
about something that couldn't be told using words?
Whatever you might be,
I may love.

Let them stay

I thought that memories would stay.
Whether they are of hate, love, pain, or delight.

I can't say that friends will stay.
Whether they remember or not.
They will definitely go someday.

I don't know if love could stay.
Whether it's an illusion, an emotion, or an impression.

I am once taught that time would never stay.
But I believe in memories, friends, and love.
They could ask time to slow down its pace,
as time would probably ask them to fasten up their own.

Somehow, if they can't stay anymore,
should I stay? I don't care.

As long as today is fine,
let memories be memories,
let friends be friends,
let love be love.

Date

Were all things dated,
it'd be easy to leave this world.
I remember my life.

I know, time always forges us.
Through a few days,
changes wouldn't have been too drastic.

But we've gone through many days.

Whether now they are blunt or sharp,
strong or weak,
fine or broken.

Now I'd always remember,
they're still the same.
Still the same 'them'.

Just that I don't know their forgery.
I'm not a good smith.

Attraction

Isn't it attraction,
that brought me back to my grave?
Less or more,
I'm always learning.

Will I ever learn you?
I can't be what you are.
If tomorrow's just another day,
then what would I do for today?

Do I know myself?
I don't think so.
But if you see my words,
don't you know them?

I don't understand.
Am I tired of myself?
Or is it just an attraction
of another selves I see.

Never

As I'd leave my prophecy,
I'm entering a new story.
But we never know, really.

If time really doesn't fly,
I'd never tell you why,
but now you'll never tell me why.

Care

I know then, that's what my brother said.
but I always think, I never know.
Definitely lose one life, I should.

Though, I care nothing anymore.
What's so no-fun about life?
Life is just fun, and that's the only reason for me to live.

Like I'd have to care for those who aren't themselves.
Training for the greater good.
So I'd have to care for stories and thoughts.

While imagination takes part,
time flows as if only it really exists.
Maybe I'd like to do myself an art.

The Life Poem

I've heard of tales and stories,
the beauty of it all,
heaven and paradise.

The comrades and warlords,
the kings and queens,
princes and princesses.

Worlds of happiness,
to treasure them all,
with high morality and advice.

From just beggars,
to the religious leaders,
then to the wisest ones.

But what I've mistaken,
no story could replace an experience,
no wise man could replace a friend,

no Hero could replace an ally,
no Villain could replace an enemy,
no Side-Character could replace just a single ant,

nothing could replace anything,
no God could replace one's self,
no Heaven could replace one's life.

Your life's your treasure, a story nobody else would get.
I'm not knowledgeable and I'm stubborn,
cause I never know, and I always insist.

Thorns

Why would I stop and just give up?
To own you is not my goal.

Why would I hate a rose just because of the thorns it has?
While without them, it'll be too weak and defenseless.

I'll take the pain from the thorns as a lesson.
But why would I leave a rose, just because of my own carelessness?

Pain will vanish, but the thorns won't.
And would that be enough to give up?

How could you love a rose, if you only dare to touch it after the thorns are removed?
That's why, in time I'll learn how to make you shine.

a poem that should have been made before 'Rose'

Pain

As I know how to love a rose.
I won't know why would a rose hate me.

I am always lonely,
though I might be strong.

Why should I say so?
I might lost myself.

Why should I tell you?
And what responsibility you gave?

I'd endure my pain a little longer.
Be responsible for yourself.

No More

Maybe it's true, I hate love.
I just need some peaceful days instead.

Maybe it's true, I envy them.
I'm just a little bit lonely.

Maybe it's true, I'm tough.
I'm just weak.

Maybe it's true, I'm alive.
I'm just dying.

Maybe it's true, I love her.
I'm just hating.

Maybe it's true, I lie.
I'm just telling the truth.

Maybe it's true, I hate love.
I'm just loving it.

Maybe it's true, I die.
No more.

That's When

It's not heartbreak,
just another regret.
I felt like a freak,
if it's you who I met.

Well, get my words.

Looking up to her,
lusting her happiness,
I felt like a freak,
but I know that is.

Just a little special in my mind,
but then ruining my mind, she is.
I felt like a freak,
covering my true self with who I don't realize.

And it was true, I was hiding myself from her,
just to know, myself and my coverings are just shameful.

I need to get out from this bad cover,
and then I'll be proud of my bad self.

That's when I'll see her again.