If freckles were lovely, and day was night,
And measles were nice and a lie warn’t a lie,
Life would be delight, —
But things couldn’t go right
For in such a sad plight
I wouldn’t be I.
If earth was heaven and now was hence,
And past was present, and false was true,
There might be some sense
But I’d be in suspense
For on such a pretense
You wouldn’t be you.
If fear was plucky, and globes were square,
And dirt was cleanly and tears were glee
Things would seem fair, —
Yet they’d all despair,
For if here was there
We wouldn’t be we.
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Sheeling.
Currently living in Singapore. Soontiong.
Currently pooping in Melbourne.
There’s just this thing about cities: their lights never shine quite as bright as in the movies. And it’s easy to lose sight of what you want as you bustle through the train stations, blindly conforming to the crowd of sweat-drenched aliens that never seemed to be willing to go to sleep. Give it a year or two, you’ll realize that you are never gonna get that big break that the movies promised you you’d get if you stare long enough into the city lights. You wait patiently still, for that catalyst to come by to spark the change to your whole life. Then you started to question your convictions and get mad at yourself because it all started so naively. You dreamt big and promised to buy the front row tickets to the big breaks in your supposed life of success. But you’re here now.
And you resort to being a hashish-eater and cheap alcohols in attempt to bring your soul back to life, and if it fails to work that way, you drink anyway to drown your soul, wearing your life around your neck like a barb wired necklace.
But dear all, please don’t forget that you’re like stars. And stars shine the brightest in the deepest, darkest nights. Cease the wait, and actively seek out the new melody that will make you live again. You may have to look long and hard, but it’s there. Alcohol’s only getting you through tonight.
