Category: a spat of DRAMA

The Cheerful Morning

I’m in the nostalgic rhythm,
Where your lips on mine, when the sky reachable and cold, and where the stars stops to be the brightest.
I know where to touch you and I’m grinning so wide.
I keep keeping my finger on your skin.
You are real as I reach my hand into the dream,
Also feel the glow in the little dream I’ve always chasing.

And the world gonna wait for me,
The time gonna freeze to me,
I’ll still be tiny, later I’ll feel the biggest,
And I keep drowning myself into the airless room.
Where it is the light after my eyes,
When it is her I’ll be waking up to,
I’ll still be grinning ears to ears,¬†waking up to you.

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Rose Red Blood

Next to the sitting human bones,
Above the soil floor,
Lays beautifully the red red petals,
As red as the skin of your crying eyes.

Next to your hope and your wishful thinking,
Just below the stark full moon and its redness,
I saw her bath in those Red Rose Petals.
I told her, ‘come and join me for the dinner.’
She says, ‘I gotta keep throwing the petals,
All the petals,
All the redness, and I only got to stop when the bones turning into ashes,’
And she did.
She did not going to the dinner,
Keep throwing in the river of Red Rose Petal,
She keep looking enchanting between her cries,
And she burning the bones into ashes.

To Give in To Happiness

I don’t know if I am getting more mature or simply I’ve been stupid this whole time for not seeing it.
I know people come and go and I know and around those people I’ve smiled, I’ve cried and I’ve even begging too.
Some people color my world bright and some throw tantrum of darkness into my painting-of-life,
I feel like in dungeon, yet all the brick, all the concrete colored with magical bright clouds ;
I’ve meet too many person that is unique and cruel,
Is beautiful and broken
Young and dying,
More and more and a lot for me to realize :
I can still smile when you burn my bags, ripping all my papers and my cords.
I’m laughing when you bring me cards of hope and wishful thinking, and hug and caresses, and when you beg me with sad sad words, I was almost rolling.
Yes I was hopeful when you touch my shoulder, I was shivering too like the wind did.
All of the laughter, the compassion, hatred and hope
Weirdly I have no feelings left and I say
‘Hate and love are just names of feelings that never really exist.’
I sounds so cold when I speak it, we choose what to create, what to feel, and that’s when I look back on my enemies, my friends and I just realized I treat them to grow all the love, all the hate I have for them. I did treat them like that, I love them cause I treat them to be lovable and I loathe them cause I look for excuses in them.
It always have been like this, all my life, yet I always thinking about the feeling more, has my action smaller than my feelings?
It means as something big : finally I can choose not to hate. Finally I can say not to hate. This time, under my logic, you’re unconsciously forgiven.

The String That Attach Her To Everything

It’s a place where a soul can not granted the wish,
Where we yelled to the yellow ambience,
To the string where it was attached,
To the cut where our blood dripping, filling the ceramic with indeed our wish : to know.
As we claw into to the string, where it was attached,
The space where we close our eyes as we cry, was also filled with failure.
Some point out there, I guess there will be river with white cloth as the water,
Falling gleefully everytime our hand sunk in it.
I yell ‘to keep it,
Let’s cry into it,
Let’s burn it even,’
How can I say the word I would like to say, if even the feeling I feel can even be known?
He wisely say : ‘you’d like to know.’
And it’s in my blood, perhaps the string, I drown to deep in the white cloth,
Crying yet unable to feel wet on my cheeks,
It is the string that attached,
It is the string that has the future,
It is only the string with only of my wish : to know.

Mess of the Weird Blasphemy

The rabbi laughs uncontrollably,
His knee down touching the earth.
In front of the door a wolf successfully lured a woman,
Squealing jinxes and prayer and cursing,
The indecent woman hoping,
Half running in sacred loop.
Head down,
Tears running also,
And a man walking like there’s no tomorrow.
Dirty, indecent, hateful sorrow.
Walking like a fool wishing for gold,
Sinner with veil mumbling prayer,
The rabbi just keep laughing,
Holding down onto his stomach,
Knee down touching the earth.

Living in Slow Motion

The moment I stand is when the tears quietly dropping.
The wind secretly carresing me,
All those gentle shame,
And the perforating sadness.

I feel like a hole
Because as the time freezes,
Building and street is blowing.

All the dimension merging,
Time bending
And I still trapped in my lungs.
“I’d die to be free,” I thought.
“I’d change to be free.”