stranger's disease

"i wish i believed you when you said that this was my home"



date 2

i miss the thrill of your voice and how your eyes seemed to shine in the right questions. they still do, don't get me wrong; they're beautiful as ever but the thrill, oh no the thrill is gone like dead among the living. you're not even trying to save us you're just tired of the whole damn thing and i'm tired of being surprised by the stupidest of words



the art of keeping up silences

okay alright there's no need to be poetic. i'm not poetic and the whole thing is just plain fucking absurd. it's like i'm living in a constant white noise and it's repeating your name, your name in the darkness and in dreams. it relives the past that i can't forget and maybe you believe that it wasn't such a big deal. like seriously how can't anything be but a serious fucking deal? really? i admire the capacity you have of keeping me thinking and keeping up the art of appearances when i think i might just be the most t r a n s p a r e n t human in the city. and it makes me strong, you know. i'm not afraid of who i am, i'm only afraid of who you think i am. really. where are you? where are you?

Labels: , , ,



weekly messages / stranger's disease II

there's a stranger living in my chest. it carries its own burden, i guess. acid refills the top of my lungs a floods my head in a whirlwind. i tell myself to take a deep breath but then i wheeze and ooze and it can only get worse. would sleeping soothe me? i don't know. will smoking soothe me? probably not. will you? will any of them? no. i'm sure this person is here to stay. it's probably telling me i need to grow up.


settle down

there's people who dream of floating away in outer space as stars call them back home. there's people in an intermittent type of future who survive their present day by day in the hopes that it will come to them. they plan and the dream and they save up emotions, time and money, to splurge once the desired times arrive. those people scare me: what if when the moment arrives they can't leave? what if when the moment arrives they're alone and nobody waves goodbye? who pushes the rest of the world away, afraid of settling down in affairs for the long run when one is human and has a heart? it's not something comprehensible, i guess, living in the future. especially when your present is what you've always wanted and you want to settle down. have a house and live in peace. there's nowhere else i would be, except chasing after future people.

Labels: , ,



karma keeps on rolling

namely i have followed the path of others.
she might be right,
hear? she might as well be.
i do follow traces,
scrapes of the unknown
just to deem with a little panic
a subtlety of my own soul
in the hopes that if will begin
to sound familiar
when you wake up.
then it's the only one who i can't be,
don't want to be,
but always wished to see.
the deiety,
the goddess that has crumbled my temple
with nothing more than a memory,
like the worst hangover
you can have.
karma keeps on rolling
i'll play with my wigs
karma keeps on rolling
baby i'm not the one you see

Labels: , , , , ,



weekend report

there's absolutely nothing there. i tried, believe me i'm trying to understand how the heart races for someone else, but suddenly i'm distracted by your actions and i get lost. all the same, i'm not trying to find myself. maybe i'm trying to acquire feelings i know i don't have, and understanding the birth of nothingness is kind of impossible. get me thinking, i don't know. tell me stories about yourself. let me build you up. trace the peaks of your ribs. give me something i can hang on to. otherwise how can i label this?

Labels: , ,



surface/not poetic

there should be a flow of words distinctively coming at me in this thoughtful moment. i've tried, hard enough, time after time for it to be real and pleasant. at some point when the noise was louder than my will, i gave up. i kind of guess you noticed, but still, it isn't as poetic as i imagined it would turn out to be. it wasn't poetic. it never has been and it never will be. however, i find poetry  in some of the strangest details. when i'm talking i am noticing and i notice that you're listening. i got used to you. but i don't like this out of routine. i like this because it wasn't as cold as the weather report said and the bus didn't take long to come. i like this because i push myself to new places where i can never settle down. i like this because if i push hard enough, i can see the tiny cracks. i'll never get them to pour in. but i'm okay with it.




leaving and breathing

leaving and breathing the same rusty contents. a year ago has nothing to do with me. whoever's new hasn't come to stay for long. otherwise, i would have known. it isn't surprising anymore when the game plays itself in front of my eyes and i just fall asleep before the right cards come in hand. a year ago has nothing to do with me. it's not me. she died beside the hospital bed, in a frenzy for packing her will up; she died, she died.

Labels: , , , , , ,


January 2013   February 2013   March 2013   April 2013   May 2013   June 2013   July 2013   August 2013   September 2013   October 2013   November 2013   December 2013   February 2014   March 2014   April 2014   May 2014   June 2014   July 2014   August 2014   September 2014   October 2014   November 2014   December 2014   January 2015   February 2015   March 2015   April 2015   May 2015   June 2015   July 2015   August 2015   September 2015   October 2015   November 2015   December 2015   January 2016   February 2016   March 2016   April 2016   May 2016   June 2016   July 2016   August 2016   September 2016   October 2016   November 2016   December 2016   January 2017   February 2017   March 2017   April 2017   May 2017   July 2017   August 2017   October 2017   November 2017   December 2017   January 2018   February 2018   March 2018   April 2018   May 2018   June 2018   July 2018   August 2018   September 2018   October 2018   November 2018   January 2019   April 2019   July 2019   August 2019   September 2019   December 2019  

This page is powered by Blogger. Isn't yours?