Meet Me On The Rooftop

I see a lot of stories hiding behind those eyes. 

Those dark circle under your eyes, tells me you haven’t sleep for days, have you?

Come, meet me on the rooftop.

I’d like to hear whatever comes on your mind.

Come, meet me on the rooftop.

It is my privilage to know the things that keep you up at night.


From me, to me.


It’s me, again. With my dark thoughts.

I know i’ve promised to my self that i won’t write or bring my darkness to the world again. But here I am. Writing at 2 AM while lay down in my bed, too scared to sleep. Funny isn’t? You scared to sleep when sometimes you wish you get that kind of sleep where you wake up in the next week, or maybe the next years, or wake up when you ready to see the world again.

Sshhhhh, stop stop. Stop saying that. It just makes yourself sounds creepier. And darker. Stop. You need to stop.

Darling, where’s that light? You used to shine so bright, even the sun used to jealous with you.

Maybe i should stop declare my self as the moon. Should i be the sun? Be the stars? Or maybe i’m not the moon anymore. Maybe i am the hurricane. Maybe i am the storm.

No ones likes the hurricane.

No ones.

Find your light, you need to find your light. I know there must be some tiny spark in you. And be the moon again. Be the full moon. Be the super moon. Be the blood moon. Be whatever lunar phenomenon that makes people amazed by you.

You are you. You will be always the moon. Without you, the sky won’t be the same.

-From me, to me. 

(Now, sleep then wake up with the biggest smile. Be the moon during the day. Be the supermoon during the night)

Dark hours

There is something wrong with my chest.
Like something crushing my lungs, or pressed my chest.

I want to stab it.
Or take this weird feeling out.

I can breath, but it feels weird.
I think my deep dark thoughts is trying to crawl out from my body.
I think she wants to see me breakdown.

As the clock ticking.
I become someone that have forgot how beautiful life is.

I can’t even describe how does it feels right now.

Why this silence feels so loud.

This is going to be over. Not now, not tomorrow.
But someday.
Isn’t it?