Medley Of Midnight Madness.
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It is the strangest thing,
eyes shut for an eternity,
yet not falling asleep.
The only thing
I have fallen for
was the trap
made from prickly twigs —
each laced
with the poison of restlessness.
This,
I haven’t experienced,
for the longest time.
For the longest time
I have found slumber
with ease
with you by my side.
Tonight,
temple throbbing,
heart pounding;
tossing,
and then turning.
Lids shuttered,
behind which,
lights exploding,
soundless.
It is tonight
I discover
persistent whirring
could flip expectations over;
It is tonight,
I discover,
a fan
could turn fever
into a rampant forest fire.
I fought my way out from
under the ruins
of the temple that was my mind.
Soot-covered,
and shaken
from being caught
in the quake of this being of mine.
Words,
thoughts
clumped
into stones and rocks,
as rubble
flying towards me,
crushing me with force.
With practice,
I made arrows from ink,
and, as they whistled by,
I drew my bow taut,
and to paper,
they will be pinned.
I returned to the darkness,
with the flip of a switch,
having calmed myself, seemingly.
But,
buried under
blankets too warm
for summer,
cushioned by
one too many pillows —
this man-made hug
does nothing
to soothe
this restless heart of mine.
It was rare
that I knew
exactly what was missing,
and exactly what was necessary.
Yet,
all nights now,
I would only find,
the absence of you —
your scent, intoxicating;
your whispers, made for soothing;
your arms around me,
holding me close
to the cocoon that was your body.
Without which,
I find myself
denied entry
into dreams.
Without which,
I find myself
rejected
by restful sleep.
You are
my gateway,
my traveling partner,
all bundled into one.
You and I
was the routine
on the journeys
of impossibility
and whimsy.
It is tonight I discover:
a bed of my own
is the unexpected platform
for learning the tune
of my lullaby —
the lullaby that was you
that had always eased
the leave of my ship
from the port of consciousness
towards inky darkness,
lit only by the moon.
Tonight,
I am under attack,
darkness stained
by angry flames,
made real in mutiny.
Tonight,
the body of my thoughts
found itself
torn to shreds.
With trembling hands,
unsteady with a thread
of this uneven song,
I sewed myself back.
Find beauty in scars,
hideously jarring,
having found peace,
seemingly,
finally.
Exhaustion massaging muscles,
protests from all limbs.
The body complains,
the mind contemplates
but remains helpless
as the heart insists
on petulance.
Sink,
dear heart,
nestle in the nest
of sleep.
Haven’t I torn from you
enough pieces already?
Stop twirling with tire,
let me sing you to sleep —
madness manifests best
deep within your dreams.
*****
Zhi Yi Cham — or you can call her Z — has wanted to be a writer since the age of 9. You can find her attempting to capture the essence of all that surrounds when she is not trying her hardest to understand her property courses at university (but to no avail). She daydreams of the day she breaks free and hops down pages, her footsteps stained with ink. At the moment, her daily dose of medication for surviving comes in the solace of writing poetry and expelling every ounce of passion she could possibly summon into the cause of youth leadership. She has done so for the past 4 years through the youth-run organisation, AIESEC, in both Kuala Lumpur and Adelaide. 21-year-old Z only aspires to be the bringer of lovely to the world. You can follow her attempt at ‘lovely’ through her blog, Twitter and Instagram.
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