Have you ever been so afraid
to be alone

with your own thoughts

screaming release

from you mind

or whispering despair;

too loud

that you want

to put a stop

to the voices

inside your head —

terrified, blameful,

lost, regretful voices?
They talk non stop

telling you to silence them

by ending your day;

to hasten the time

from a scorching noon

to a cold twilight.
They talk about

your failures, your short happiness

that turned into misery.
They talk about how

you end up crying

with no tears

for eternity

in exchange of

a three-second laughter.
They talk about how

no one would take

a second look

because one look

is all it takes to run

away from you.
They talk about

your perfect little life;

a life you don’t deserve.
They point a finger

at you—

millions of voices

scream your name;

millions of voices

make you numb

to even shed

a tear

or even feel

Then you start

to feel nothing;

to feel empty

and useless

and petty.
And you start to wonder

if the voices would stop

if your heart

would stop beating.

You start to wonder

if a cut in you wrist

would make you feel

the pain;

enough to know you’re

still alive

and breathing.
You start to wonder

if anybody else feel the same

but decides no one

would understand;

no one would care.
So you clutch

the blade in your hands

and let your blood soak

the pages of your

only companion;

let the red stain become

the ink to write

the story of your

short pathetic life.
You want to escape

the pit of your own

burning hell—

from the voices that

murmurs even when you close

your eyes and try to fall asleep;

voices that wouldn’t leave

even when your own voice is muted.
You couldn’t run away.

They are always at your back;

pushing you to the edge of

an abyss;

letting you fall into the darkness.
Have you ever felt like

how I felt?

Have you ever heard

these voices in my head?

They wouldn’t shut the hell up;

they curse

and spit

and show disgust.
If you and I are both locked up,

would we really know?

if out of the million breathing human,

someone is out there—someone listens;

someone really cares.
words by vierareign

photo credits to the rightful owner.


Just Another Letter

I didn’t want to write you 

yet another letter

that would be left unread

hidden in this little box—

of secrets and freedom. 
But then you invaded 

my too quiet night

where I could hear nothing 

but my dying breath

a tear each time my chest heaved

as the now crumpled piece 

of my agony

is clutched in my delicate hands; 

written were words 

you wouldn’t understand 

memories of which only I remember

too well that I could still 

hear your every breath

too faint of a sound but too clear

to make me turn around 

only to find nothing 

but cold breeze kissing me goodbye. 
Then there are these days when

I could still feel your arms around me

as you sing me a lullaby

that no other one—

even the sweetest sound—

could make me yawn and fall asleep; 

not even the darkest hour

can silence your serene voice

that still echoes in my mind

yet too painful to hear 

to even let me close my eyes. 
I still see you

dancing before my very eyes

soaked and cold but alive—

catching every trickle of rain with your palm

as if they are meant to meet your hands

and say hello

only to leave without a goodbye. 
And I see myself running to you 

to feel the drops against my skin

and the bliss that I could see in your face

but once I stepped into the rain, 

it turned to storm and 

thunder struck my lovely dream. 
And now it’s nothing but a nightmare, 

a shivering thought

inside my unstable mind

where you left together with the rain 

and storm and thunder

and I am left under the heat of the sun

too hot that even my soul melted

a painful demise I could not escape

and wouldn’t; 

as though it’s torment 

it would be better

than this hollow inside. 
So I wrote

yet another letter

that would be left unread

hidden in this little box 

as you were gone

and soon will I be gone.

​Dear Ghost: 4

Dear Ghost, 

Your touch of cold misery 
still lingers

in my deepest memory. 

Your bitter laughter

still echoes

when all I could think of is peace. 

Though I try to run

far far away

where I wouldn’t see 

your footsteps; 

Far ahead of you, 

so I wouldn’t be trapped

in your shadow; 

so your darkness

would leave me alone–

You somehow get your way

back into my safe zone

stepping inside

that border

I drew 

with my faintest will

to keep you away; 

You somehow

find a way

to creep into the night

and invade my dreams

and turn it into nightmares; 

You still find a way

to make me feel




and unwanted. 

I smile 

and writhe in pain

all at the same time. 

But I shall run still

and build that wall

once again. 

A wall

You can’t break through; 

a wall

that shall crush you

the moment you dare

to even stare at it. 

A wall that 

shall keep me safe

from false hope

and deceitful smiles. 

I’d stay 

behind that wall

where I shall be free

from your toxic words. 

From this moment

to the eternal emptiness to come, 

I shall keep my self free

From your plausible trickery. 

City Lights

​Could I pretend 

you are all shooting stars

that fell from the vast sky? 

Then I’d utter a wish 

from one to the other

And believe 

you’d all consider 

granting that one single wish 

that I’d whisper all over again 

until one heeds my plea. 

Until then 

I shall keep wishing 

as you fascinate 

this lonely girl 

in a strange city.

Letters From Vier

Letters. They’re just letters. I might or might not send it. You might or might not read them. You might or might not want to write a response. Nonetheless, let me keep them. Let me scribble the words I could never say. Let me tell you what you should or should not know.  Just let me.

Let me write you a letter.

(Decided to create an fb page. Page name is on the title. You can visit if you’d like. Cheers!:))

Missing Teaching

And your passion for teaching is one of the reasons I still want to pursue my profession; though the circumstances seem to not let me go on.

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Why? Are you hiding something? He asked.

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Then look at me. He demanded.

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Making Learning Relevant

A Flower's Thoughts

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