Month: August 2015

White Flag Up

Seeing my parents get mad at each other,
Vase flying near my Mom’s ear,
Such a red colored face, belongs to my dad.
I laugh anyway.

I go out and step on a mud,
A no-lifer jackass pointing his finger,
I walk away and the ‘big kids’ come out.
They kick me, laughing at how ugly I am,
how stupid I am,
how I am being a disgrace,
Right when my crush passes.
I kick and run,
A big miracle if she say ‘Yes’ to me.

My city is corrupted.
Myself as the lamb, My City as the slaughterer.
I can’t buy a shoe and walk away,My money is not worth those much freedom
All I see only repetitive things,
Fights, jackass, bully, brokenhearted, A corrupt city,
But I laugh anyway.

Time heals, I don’t know when and where,
I’ll laugh anyway,
Why the hell am I not laughing from now.


Individuals I Find Agreeable

Human walking and their masks,
laughing and their waste,
You spot colors then distaste,
later Treatments
Us spot love(s) then disgust,
All hail our eyes,
The supreme ruler

Let us classify,
Human A and Human B,
Asshole A and Asshole B,
Oppose in only one condition,
You spot a thing making you soft,
An agreement.

Agreed with my brother,
A honest Man, got pissed when he have to, a little sister smashed him,
He smashed her back, a true honesty
None able judge him, as he listen to none judge,
A marvellous non-mask face he has.
Agreed with best mates,
Looting my foods,
A fact I am able to loot theirs,
Swearing and drawing each other’s faces
A true justice I agreed on,
Agreed with lover,
Both insist ‘no’ to many things,
A proof for next argument,
An activity we both enjoy

Then you come to me and disagree my agreement, pointing my color and brain, taste of orientation whatsoever
I come to you to not agree your agreement,
Look back to OUR classification,
Human A and Human B
Asshole A and Asshole B

Casualties of War

It is not my rotting body that feeling hurt, it is my heart which hoping to see just a glimpse of your hair.

Your dead body below me,
covered in dirty soil
5 meter distance between us,
I know you will definitely back.

They saw bullet peel your brain off,
You were screaming my name
What a pain to remember me,
they said on your ‘last moment,’
but I know you will definitely back.

Been a hundred years,
My potion keeping my soul to stay at my body,
Death is lesser pain.

I’ll wait, I’ll wait,
I’ll wait until you regain your live,
until you regain your body back,
Until your brain back to one perfect piece,
I’ll have so many potion to have a long live,
To have a long wait, to make sure one day I see you
Back being live again.

That time I’ll rant to you,
about me,
about you,
your promise to back to me alive,
about them,
The winner.

Growing Old

I put my everything box to a shelf, making it not looked as important as it should be.

My everything box surrounded by worn out books, pickle, old photos, medicines, old gnomes, old monopoly, old magazine, and more books and an old radio.

I see my everthing box radiating a feeling, a sad feeling, thats funny because a box can never feel.

Or maybe this box really did had a feeling, as the box is an amputated part of my body. It used to be my hand, my smile, and what’s inside my ribs.

What’s actually inside that box, you demand,
Nothing much, it’s just my ideal, me as an architect, writer, or photographer, or director, my study, my proud parents, my artist’s vision, my favorite songs, my health, hope, my youth, things that don’t really match with reality.

I Heard HIV Flowing on Your Blood

One sentence change my entire body,
Clap for me,
I am a woman of one sentence

Your blood is ugly, doctors write HIV on it,
Lift your face and shake away that childish tears

Ohh what a different blood
A trace of orgasm circulating,
A part of ecstasy,
Talcum of heroin
A smoke of weed
Sugar, it is happiness flowing

Sugar, let’s stop being stranger and move
To a sacred loving-ship
Be a boyfriend and girlfriend
As a woman like me
Only love a different man, Sugar,
Your happiness flowing irresistible

You said you were afraid
Nah, you can flee with bullet on your brain
Sugar, I love feeling your afraid-of-death-tremble

I cut you,
I drink it,
I drink it,
I drink your blood,
Sugar, our eyes have never been this crazy

Sugar I’ll wake up differently
every morning I’ll feel weaker
Or just stop waking up
Such a strong destiny,
I am the one who make it

Don’t run,
As I am not insane,
I’m just a woman of one sentence,
‘Don’t be afraid to try new things,’
Maman said that herself.

My Art of Killing – adult only

I take pictures of dead bodies but no one realize it. My art is special, I only take the part of their dead hands doing thumbs up, or peace sign, or fuck off sign in, and their background would be the place where I killed them.

It’s so much fun, as their stiffening hands form unmovable poses, as their rotting body spread a sickening odor, as their blood wont bleed anymore everytime I stab it, I would took angles which making the most beautiful photograph style ever.

Like my favorite, I make a beautiful sunset scenery  considered ugly because of my dead hands, my dead hand forming an U right beside that circle sun, making a perfect dick with a glowing ball. No one would see its bone and red flesh, simply because I zoom at the best place.

God, the feeling of having people liking and complimenting such illegal things is so thrilling. I can feel my blood stirring in thrill, it’s a sensation that I can’t  get enough. I am itching to kill again.

I swear, I am not a psychopath. My reason to kill is simple, I just loove it. Call me insane all you want. I might try to build some horse figure in Lego and I will addicted, I won’t ever stop on my horse figure. Its just I’ve never try it before, I don’t have a reason to be addicted. You still calling me insane, let me tell you this, You are not a saint, you just never kill someone yet, you are not addicted YET.