Month: March 2017

Exhibitionsm of the Awful

That day I fell in love. Also that day, I felt betrayed by own bravery. She was there, breathing, while I was there, unappealing. I thought I have the right to fall in love, which is naive. I thought I was brave, which is useless. When I approach her, she stood in disbelief, not making an effort to just seeing my existence.
“Hi there.”
She sit there, no words uttered.
“Um, I really like your red jacket.”
She sit there, drinking her wine.
“You know they said for Taurus people red is the best lucky charm. What month you were born?”
She’s still there, opening her purse, grabbing her phone.
“I’m sorry I am rude. I’m Shea.”
I was at her right side, yet she look to the left, giving me the scenery of her thin back, talking to her phone.
I felt like being crushed to the ground, dishonored, betrayed by own body for having such an unappealing face.
So I show my body to people. All people, woman, drunkard, passerby. I need anything to see me. I’m flying and indeed I am high. As I find this thrilling act, I feel I’ve made the world pay for my ugly face : all those appealing faces became dreadful as they grow disgust towards me.
And there I am, broken hearted, yet still ugly. And there I am, hoping someone to see me. I was there when making the world pay, I’m there as I stoop into the lowest floor of the world. She was there, at the place where everything became dreadful.


This is Regret

Three things I regret about that day.
The cruel two-faced time.
The sound of my favorite song,
And the white soap and its foam.

Merciless years trained me into a confused man.
I live in a delirium of a repeating dreadful day,

Please, Time, how many faces you actually have.
Time, how much I should bribe you to get me back into that awful day.

That time, I was filled with rage.
So I beat this guy’s nape with my radio.
I beat his nape mercilessly, he started to bleed and he died on my foot.
He looked so low, with this shocked expression on his face, with blood from his mouth and neck, with face on my foot.
He died, and all I can do was breathing heavily.
He died, and all I did was feeling regret, guilt.

If only that time I was able to control my rage.
Or, if only that time there was no problem between myself and him.

‘What should I do,’ was what I thought that day.
I should’ve called and ambulance, or call the cop or my parents,
Rather than doing reasonable deed about my act, I was standing still,
I was listening to my favorite song on the wrecked radio.

I don’t know how but my shaking body was able to go to the bathroom,
where I washed my bloody hands repeatedly with the white soap,
My vision was so focused on the foam,
I felt the foam was more blurry than usual,
Perhaps that was because tears starting building on my eyes,

I felt

I was the worst being ever breathing..

Years go by but I still repeating those events, thinking what I should’ve done.
I keep repeating questions that no one can ever answer,
Am I a better man now?
When will this turmoil go away?
When will this restlessness leave me alone?
In which way I can possibly repent,

And, should I repent?

Two-faced time provoke me to look from another perspective.
That time, I was trembling out of my conscience,
Crying over his dead body.
I am trembling out of excitement.

He should’ve provoke me more,
His bleeding helpless body,
My dominating body,
My adrenaline rush,
That time, I should’ve killed him in more exciting way.

I am taking a deep breath,
Motions of that day keep repeating,
The wrecked radio,
never has to be that broken,
I shouldn’t hit him till I broke the radio,
He shouldn’t have to dead by the radio, he should’ve just dying,
That way
I could enjoy his pain longer,
That way,
My song could come out in a clearer voice.

As it starting to get clear about what
I’ve been regretting these past year, I come to my biggest regret, that
I shouldn’t have washed my hands.
I should’ve lick his blood clean, and perhaps those excitement I felt after killing a breathing man could doubling.

That Look of Yours

As I blankly staring at the wall,
I hope you’d somehow end up before my face,
Normally talk about ants and chipotle :
But the fear and truth is the actual cage.
I could make you cry and crawl,
In a frustrated longing to touch my fingers,
But I am far more wiser than that.
I only get to wildy dreaming that I get to remember your shirt,
It remind me when our palm were only a milimetre far.
As you wander in my conscience, I feel a weird attachment while I am actually leaving.


You present me the wildest lullaby when you touch my lips with yours.

You taste me as if you’re licking a small sip of most precious wine,

As we stopped talking, your palm is up above mine,

When I was there at my phone rehearsal, I was wondering if you could hear nothingness and somehow understand my words.

While I was there at the phone rehearsal, it mesmerized me that you thought there still be word we can exchange.



Certain Disturbances

One. Knock.

Two. Knock.

A third knock and I will get out of my glorified position- knock.

So I open the door, the french ‘con’ of my landlord is on my door. They said that he really loved the narration about french in Titanic movie, so much that he decided to learn french and starting spend much time to act like a french man.

“How can I help you?” I ask him. “It is actually not really appreciated that you’re here.”

“Ah Mr. Jake,” he answered in a fake french accent, “There is a complaint about your room, uhm, the room next to you complained that there is a certain disturbances.”

“What kind of disturbances?”

“Well, as we all know- she is a bit lunatic, don’t you think?” He started to laugh awkwardly, happy but awkwardly, “You don’t keep cats don’t you?”

I just feel like laughing also, “No. Even I am allergic to cats.”

“Dog? Ferret? Hamster? As per our contract, don’t you agree that not even ants pet can be kept?”

“I do agree. Look, this is kind of awkward, I can tell you thousand of time that I don’t have a pet and you’ll just still standing here insisting that I have pet. How about you go and check my room?”

He’s back with his awkward laughter again, “Yes, that would be appreciated.”

We are now in my living room, he say, looking at the picture on the wall,”Ah. I don’t know that you have a daughter.”

“That is the third mistake you did today.”

“Pardon me?”

“That’s not my daughter, the picture on the wall.”

“Ahh. I see.”

“The first mistake was insisting that I have a pet.”

He is back with his laughter, “So the third one that you have a daughter, eh? So what is my second mistake?”

“Well,” My mind is a bit wandering, how the hell that lunatic lady beside my room is hearing ‘certain disturbances.’ My mind is thinking about french and my landlord, about the girl far far away that her picture is hanged on my wall, what am I going to do after this, “Second one is entering this room. Your second mistake was entering this room.”