Self-portrait of a Neurotic

If I could keep guilt in a bottle
If a candle could burn forever
If the valley could contain all my grief
When will I ever learn to breathe

I’m consumed by the anguish of many yesterdays
And I’ve run out of words when I pray
I’m lost in the countless failures of the past
When will I ever learn to trust

I took my turn to throw the dice
Followed the rules and dared not ask why
Perhaps life is just a lazy game
Why must I shoulder all the blame

If only I could sing to the beat of my lacerated heart
If only I could understand why I am a piece of priceless art
The truth of the matter is but a lie
Until I fly out of the limit of this life

The kite in the sky could never realise
The cord that limits its freedom is the one that gives it life
It struggles to free itself when the strong wind blows
Should I hold on to it or do I let it go

Self-portrait of a Neurotic
I’m a fool to believe that life is good
When everything did not turn out as it should
Wished all things could come to a stop
Why should I try when I know I could never reach the top

I look at the mirror and ask who this ordinary guy is
Whom people say he’s one who could never in anything achieve
They say I put the blame on everyone else except myself
Why do they choose not to see what I’m going through is hell

I walked past a lonesome tree one night
It seemed to glow in the faint moonlight
The tree was old, twisted and worn
Where did it get its glow in hours way before down

I stood for a moment to behold its stature
It has a posture that points to a future
The beauty of it makes me wonder
Why couldn’t my life be better

When can I get the answers to my questions
How can I ease my inner tension
The endless whys will never be satisfied
Until the day I lay my head to die


Written in the style of negaspectivity. Negaspective is coined by Tan Eng Hai to describe the negative introspective often taken by those suffering from acute neurosis. Written in 2000.

A Backward Glance

Through the window of the train
The hills shift
Gliding away and
Yawning into a slightly bent horizon
Extending and disappearing into a thin line
Where the sea kisses the azure sky
Everything moves
Except my longing to stay

The trees brush across
Every now and then
Sweeping every wild imagination
That conjures itself
Upon the canvas of my mind
A myriad of confusion
I miss…
Will I be missed in return

In a continuous random beat
In an undulating rhythm
Before snaking into the belly of the next hill
The core of heaviness
The centre of dark memories
My heart faints
Sinking deep in this inconceivable bottled pain
Pulsating within the lines of a fractured porcelain

An over-stretched spring
Has no returning to its beginning
The only connection I have
Is in this railroad
That tracks into the past
It tucks away the creases and unwanted folds
All hidden in this tunnelled blackness
A pot of Indian ink smeared on my path

The scream from the train echoes
In the canyon of my soul
A chasm created since the wind stirs the desert sea
Bellowing through the fumes
Dry and insatiable
Depositing every residue of muted words
Picking up every tangible grain

I try to grip the ray of hope at the other end
Must every light ahead cast a shadow in a backward glance


Inspired by the title of a song and based on the experience of the daily train commute, written in 2000.