the road less travelled.

As you swallow this confession
and leave me with this scar.

As it takes another second
to let me go too far
It doesn't seem to matter, Anymore
The road less-traveled
is taking me home.

I could write another letter
And never write one word.

As it takes another second
To let me go too far
It doesn't seem to matter, Anymore
The road less-traveled
Is taking me home.

And if you want me to hold you, I won't...

The road less-traveled
Is taking you home.

As you swallow your confession
And leave this as it is
As it takes another second
For I wished I was dead.

This letters gone too far
And I can't let you go.

love lost.

So I apologise to anyone who actually takes the time to check out and read pieces of my blog.
It has been a while since I even had time (or care) to even post a twitter update!
But now that exams are over, I finally get to unwind and let the real me come out....

'Who are YOU?' you ask?

This may give you an indication....

===================================================================

Now for the ever varying, ever inspiring.....

(the ever stunning, SRC783)

the prettiest girl I think I've ever seen...

(SHOES!)

==================================================================

Each day is a gift and not a given right.

Leave no stone unturned, leave your fears behind.

Try to take the path less travelled by.

That first step you take is the longest stride.

Against the grain should be a way of life.

What's worth the prize is always worth the fight.

Every second counts because there is no second try.

So live like you'll never live it twice, don't take the free ride in your own life.

If today was your last day, and tomorrow was too late, could you say goodbye to yesterday?

Would you live each moment like your last?

Leave old pictures in the past?

Donate every dime you have?

Would you call old friends you never see?

Reminisce old memories…

Would you forgive your enemies?

Would you find that one you're dreaming of?

Swear up and down to God above, that you finally fell in love.

If today was your last day, would you make your mark by mending a broken heart?

You know it's never too late to shoot for the stars, regardless of who you are.

So do whatever it takes, because you can't rewind a moment in this life.

Let nothing stand in your way, because the hands of time are never on your side.

grave digging begins now...

a few of my latest pieces....

i hear what you dont say...

Don't be fooled by me.

Don't be fooled by the face I wear

for I wear a mask, a thousand masks,

masks that I'm afraid to take off,

and none of them is me.

Pretending is an art that's second nature with me,

but don't be fooled,

for God's sake don't be fooled.

I give you the impression that I'm secure,

that all is sunny and unruffled with me, within as well

as without,

that confidence is my name and coolness my game,

that the water's calm and I'm in command

and that I need no one,

but don't believe me.

My surface may seem smooth but my surface is my mask,

ever-varying and ever-concealing.

Beneath lies no complacence.

Beneath lies confusion, and fear, and aloneness.

But I hide this. I don't want anybody to know it.

I panic at the thought of my weakness exposed.

That's why I frantically create a mask to hide behind,

a nonchalant sophisticated facade,

to help me pretend,

to shield me from the glance that knows.

But such a glance is precisely my salvation, my only hope,

and I know it.

That is, if it's followed by acceptance,

if it's followed by love.

It's the only thing that can liberate me from myself,

from my own self-built prison walls,

from the barriers I so painstakingly erect.

It's the only thing that will assure me

of what I can't assure myself,

that I'm really worth something.

But I don't tell you this. I don't dare to, I'm afraid to.

I'm afraid your glance will not be followed by acceptance,

will not be followed by love.

I'm afraid you'll think less of me,

that you'll laugh, and your laugh would kill me.

I'm afraid that deep-down I'm nothing

and that you will see this and reject me.

So I play my game, my desperate pretending game,

with a facade of assurance without

and a trembling child within.

So begins the glittering but empty parade of masks,

and my life becomes a front.

I idly chatter to you in the suave tones of surface talk.

I tell you everything that's really nothing,

and nothing of what's everything,

of what's crying within me.

So when I'm going through my routine

do not be fooled by what I'm saying.

Please listen carefully and try to hear what I'm not saying,

what I'd like to be able to say,

what for survival I need to say,

but what I can't say.

I don't like hiding.

I don't like playing superficial phony games.

I want to stop playing them.

I want to be genuine and spontaneous and me

but you've got to help me.

You've got to hold out your hand

even when that's the last thing I seem to want.

Only you can wipe away from my eyes

the blank stare of the breathing dead.

Only you can call me into aliveness.

Each time you're kind, and gentle, and encouraging,

each time you try to understand because you really care,

my heart begins to grow wings--

very small wings,

very feeble wings,

but wings!

With your power to touch me into feeling

you can breathe life into me.

I want you to know that.

I want you to know how important you are to me,

how you can be a creator--an honest-to-God creator--

of the person that is me

if you choose to.

You alone can break down the wall behind which I tremble,

you alone can remove my mask,

you alone can release me from my shadow-world of panic,

from my lonely prison,

if you choose to.

Please choose to.

Do not pass me by.

It will not be easy for you.

A long conviction of worthlessness builds strong walls.

The nearer you approach to me

the blinder I may strike back.

It's irrational, but despite what the books say about man

often I am irrational.

I fight against the very thing I cry out for.

But I am told that love is stronger than strong walls

and in this lies my hope.

Please try to beat down those walls

with firm hands but with gentle hands

for a child is very sensitive.

Who am I, you may wonder?

I am someone you know very well.

For I am every man you meet.

art and such things.