grimes is a queen

feint within a feint

this is a reaction-thingy to Grimes’ song Vanessa, possibly from the POV of the other person but it can be taken out of context and read on its own I suppose

hey hey i wanna play so
baby watch me shut the door
today it’s you tomorrow it’s her
every d-d-day you running from me
hey hey watch me play
and I, I know you won’t pick up the phone
could you possibly bear to leave me?

I have the fragments of your poker face
and no, I won’t ever,
shelter you from the rain
never ever ever

and I know you can hear me babe
every d-day crying in the storm
you know that i could make it stop
i am playing this game

only when your eyes close
will you finally see us

and you can read the manual if you like
but still you won’t really know

hey, hey.
can we play a game?

Yet another gaming-inspired piece

Beep-beep, Low Battery Alert

Beyond the veil
Pixels await
No need to hurry
It does not matter
We know you’ll come

Your screen ripples, but wait-
That’s impossible.
This is just IRL, n00b.
Blink to dispel illusion,
(MP cost 6)
Realise it was merely exhaustion,
that clouded your sight.
Just simple exhaustion. That’s all.

You can’t believe it.
How HD have they gotten…?
The Fleshmaiden drips in 3D
Her screams, coming from all around you.
See that Cyndaquil beckoning?
In the witching hours,
the hours of the rogues, the Thieves, the Drow,
you do not rest. What are you?
An aspiring Elf, perhaps.
Cirno’s less of an idiot than you.

Cutscenes provide some rest,
but never enough.
your character sprite spasms endlessly,
as your head rests on the worn keys.
Let’s hope no creepers disturb your rest.

That’s okay…
tomorrow, let’s do it all over again!
and again, and again
Till you finally reach the ending
Till you finally beat the game
And win back your life.

(But, too bad,
Your princess is in another castle.)


can you hear me? will you reply?

Every one of them
held entranced by your image
I am one in a crowd
I am one in a horde
and this is not a picture-perfect world
You do not lock eyes with me
nor love me
can you even hear me?

on this never-ending timeline it’s really,
really hard to believe there are others like you.
you seemed out of place,
suddenly taking me by storm.
mismatched against your sharp profile.

Nobody expects to fall in love.
And, much less, when exactly does disaster strike.

Isn’t it a strange thing how this feeling
completely changed everything
I can’t look at you the same
and I must say I promised never to do drugs but look
here you are
Addiction and tender feelings tying me to you

Am I supposed to be happy?
Every single day struggling
i’ve tried all the tricks, but you can never
even look at me
and as the everyday becomes an eternity
i do realise that,
I could keep trying forever
(and I have)
and you would still never be able to satisfy me.

numerous failed attempts dissolving into one another
as I seek the way to your secrets…

I’m sorry it happened.

This poem is dedicated to the game known as 2048. ;) 

what the heck happened here

But I’m Scared of Heights

I was going to write a horror story but it came out dripping with sarcasm and not very horror-like. I feel ashamed of myself. Please do bash this story.

Towards the end I decided to let it go and turn this whole thing into a miserable train wreck of misery with tragic raindrops pitter-pattering down the sides and a fire somehow surviving the rain and also many dying people screaming plus Indiana Jones hurrying past with a crowd of venomous adders at his heel and Tumblr feminists bashing the fedora thing he wears I swear it’s gonna be bad because I am typing all of this off the tops of my head and absolutely no editing has been done and no damns were given.

I am a tragic disappointment to the writing community I am sorry

Sometimes, when you’re running late, fate will throw another misfortune or two at you.

In the pits of Hell, the school bell would be ringing at this moment, signalling your lateness. If only you had the time to examine what the heck was wrong with your alarm clock.

Your ‘breakfast’ is churning around in your stomach more violently than it should be, your hair looking like it had been assaulted by half a dozen cows in the night. During misfortunes such as these, your fingers gain several levels in dexterity as your manage to buckle your watch while jamming the lift button.

If this were any more of a cheesy horror story, then this very moment would be when the creepy music starts. Are you sitting with your back against the wall? If there’s empty space behind you, and it’s night, you might want to check over your shoulder. Nothing will be there but you might feel more relieved to have done it.

(For best effects, start up any scary music box tune and let the fear wash over you. Those things are horrendifying.)

Up and down, stop, up and down is the pattern the lift usually observes. Today, it’s up and down, up and down, up and down, a box of emptiness running between predetermined destinations with a noticeable lack of both passengers and purpose. It has taken 6 minutes to pass your level 3 times. Its sister lift is under maintenance, the door panes giving you a glimpse of the darkness within.

Yet the other lift still keeps going, racing against nothing for a nonexistent prize, while you anxiously check your watch again and again, the lift still merrily zooming past you despite the two red lights that are the activated lift buttons. Why do you even care? You’re gonna be late either way.

You finally decide that you’ve had enough, and you start for the stairwell, crashing down the last few steps of every flight, not caring how much damage you cause your feet.

Then you wonder if anyone’s ever taken these stairs instead of the lift at your level, other than emergency evacuations and the like…

Probably not, you think, noticing the number labels beside each level’s door. They’re all the same as your level- who the hell would willingly take stairs this confusing? What kind of bloody idiot would stick the same number over and over on the stairs? Luckily you’ve been counting in your head ever since you started your desperate run, so everything’s going to be fine.

So when you reach the ‘ground floor’ and you open the door to find the same set of doors you left behind 16 floors above, the lift still flying high and dropping low, you simply check your watch and lament how terribly late you’re going to be. Oh dear.

Nah, just kidding. Only the most stoic of protagonists would do the above so calmly, calm as still water, cough Drizzt of the burning lavender orbs. You immediately panic, running up to your house door and managing to unlock it. Indeed, that is your house, somehow transported here from 16 floors up. And oh, there’s the neighbour’s home next to yours, with the lift in the background still on its comical travel route. So hilarious, but only to the spectators.

Thankfully, even if you’re trapped in some horror movie, you at least have your house to escape into, with your bed still left in the messy state it was in, and all the living inhabitants intact and sleeping. Hopefully.

(yeah, right… As if life is that kind. What did you expect? A smooth plot with no twists? Granted, this is hardly a twist. More like the subtle bump you didn’t catch with you first ironed that shirt. And you can probably tell I have never ironed anything in my life.)

You run back to the stairwell, its yellowish light seeming freaky now, and go down another 3 levels. When you emerge, you are happy to find that it is not another repeat of the 16th level.

No, the various apartments have been replaced by lifts, all of them going up and down up and down at various levels, all the buttons lit up. Everything in working order just like it should be.

You don’t even care that sweat is soaking your school uniform while you run up and down and all over the place, trying to find that white door that speaks of home, but all you find is the cruel lift forever mocking you in its oblivious flight.

There is no end to the story. I got lazy and tried to break the fourth wall even more, so have a cliched ending: finding out what happens to the character through a newspaper report. Isn’t that nice? Of course it can’t really beat the ending where

1) good student does good deed
2) gets rewarded
3) parents find out through a newspaper report where someone presents the child with 200 gold medals and a candidacy for the next presidential election

‘Student is found dead at bottom of apartment building.’

‘Apparently, the time of death was around 8.29 am, about an hour after most secondary schools in the nation have started their day. It is not known why said student decided to commit suicide.’

‘Look, I’m not actually a reporter, I’m just here to be the required Plot Device. See also: the Shapeshifter of a Character who can turn into anything you need on the road. Charming British dude? Yes yes I am Benedict Cucumber combined with Tim Hiddlestoner and I like tea plus I have a sexy accent that can turn gay guys even gayer if that’s possible. Charming French guy? Mon Dieu, tu vais aller baguette je suis Paris aiment! Chienne mort j’aime caramel frappe!’

And what exactly happened to the mouse? He died, obviously. What did he see up there besides those damned lifts? (Someone tell the maintenance man to get his stuff together) Maybe he didn’t see any scary things, except the time on his watch. Maybe someone made a dummy of him, Mythbusters style, and just threw it out of a window. Just throw everything out of the window dammit, don’t you know that’s the way to live life? Maybe he got to school on time but forgot his homework. Maybe-

And he didn’t even get to find out what the heck was wrong with his alarm clock.

cricket. I tried to freewrite

ev-ry-bo-dy is saaaaad and alllllll i do
      is make it 
no, wait
i am a little drifter cloud in the gray sky
i am the vagabond who brings sun and moon together again
the golden flesh-ling does 
at all, to break the world apart
starbursting fragmenting illusions
i have struck myself through the stomach so you cannot see me again 

my muse came back so I’m writing more


Stalked, harassed, victimised, but eventually everything gets set right again.

Maybe if I stare at this wall for long enough I’ll become part of it.

A commonly seen phrase in the English Language: ‘I could feel their eyes on me’. You vowed to never use it in any decent composition, thanks very much. Besides, you didn’t need that kind of superhuman power to hear the whispers that started when you boarded the train.

He on the right, a middle-aged man clutching his iPhone, hurriedly engrosses himself in his screen once more when you catch his eye. Of all the surrounding people, some are trained well in subtlety, whereas others gawk openly without shame. The third kind is the worst: they flood social media with attention-grabbing headlines without a trace of truth in them, judging if you so much as tie your shoelaces in public. Everyone wants to know, right?

All because of the stupid uniform. Who the hell cares, anyway? A pretty badge, an iconic name-tag, even the curve of your collar, these are the labels they stamp on you in their gossip columns and juicy blog posts.

You don’t want to be noticed anymore just because of the school name written across your P.E. shirt.


He’s staring down his phone, thumb going up down up down left right left right in an endless series of motions.

Someone shoves you aside on their way out, the need for haste occupying their mind, barrelling through the ocean of commuters and getting mad when they don’t part for him. You topple backwards into a bunch of annoyed men and women, and a collective hiss goes up all around the cabin.

Instinctively, you put your back against the wall and pull your jacket closer around yourself, hoping to hope that they cannot recognise you from the cut of your skirt alone. Surely there must be phones going off even now, recording evidence of the rude secondary school student with her face hidden but her uniform not.

They resume their previous activities without so much as a camera flashlight going off. Staring off into space, listening to classical music on their mp3s, there’s just so much to do on a train that can’t possibly warrant their pausing to scrutinise a random teenage schoolgirl.

Everything fades to grey and suddenly it’s like nobody cares about you anymore.

The man playing Candy Crush on his iPhone glances around and his eyes pass right over you. The doors slide open and another swarm of tired passengers moves out, right past you, almost parting around you. Someone snags your jacket by accident, and nobody turns to glare when you fumble it back into place.

You can take it off now, you know. There is not a single soul who will take videos of you leaning against the train wall for 20 mins just because of the name printed on your school shirt. No, not even a shred of awed (or irritated) surprise when they put two and two together upon seeing those green letters and then treat you differently for it.

Train doors closing. Beep-beep-beep-beep-beep-beep

‘Oh my god!’ you cry out, not having noticed your upcoming stop. Not a single person drops what they’re doing to chastise you with their eyes for having sworn upon a holy name in public. * And, after you dash out of the train, when you turn around, nobody is staring after you or laughing at your panic.

When you leave the train station, walking slowly, you realise that their attention isn’t focused on you anymore. You walk the quieter road now, and maybe you’ll never ever have to be afraid again.

Maybe you’ll be able to find peace at long last ever since you joined this school.

Doesn’t it feel great to be free?

*No offence is intended here. I do not look down upon 1) swearing 2) using a holy name to swear 3) swearing in public 4) religion. I apologise if this has offended anyone

This story was partially based off life experience, using an IRL example that is very much exaggerated. My school suffers the same fate a lot… There’s a whole website devoted to taking pictures of indecent/shocking acts in public and we get featured a lot for the most innocent of things.

love song

Sing a lullaby to the one you can’t forget

(yeah the first line is from a Grimes song)

~I won’t break your heart in the dark~

We are forever magnets, inevitably pulled towards each other, but on the other hand, we can’t help but repel one another.

~Break a leg in the dark, dark~

In this confused world there is no more black and white. The maiden of boundaries is dead.

~break a nail in the dark~

You may think you’re not good enough, and I tell you forever will I think the same way.

~don’t smile in the dark, darkdark~

Who are you to place me on a pedestal, to fall at my feet, when we’ve both sunk so low?

~I’ll kiss your hand after the dark~

I have forgotten how to pretend.

~Shall we dance out of the dark?~

It is a forever cycle and I can’t stop myself from-

~I won’t break your heart~

-loving your pain.

~Break a boy in the dark, dark~

-loving you.

~Break the girl in the dark~