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Pea Aug 2014
A year, it's been a year.

I promised I would not **** ants
anymore but I just killed them yet again.
My fingers smell like insects and

ammonia in bathroom.
It's just that I haven't died in such

a long time,
daisy, promise me that you will

write about me
on a public bathroom wall
with your wife's grape lipstick.
Buy her one, she would not want to use

the blood-red-from-my-vessels one, but please
tell her
to use the baby cologne I

can buy at the minimarket.
Pea Aug 2014
You cannot hear my cry
Not only because I am noisy yet voiceless

I am not a stream
Nothing that wells nor flows

But tonight I'll dream of an ocean
So vast it has its own milky way

I'll dream of the tides, and storms above
I'll dream of thunders and earth's wrath

Before sleep, stillness, it's I who keep it;
My mirror keeps humming a wraith
Pea Aug 2014
The story behind me
is made of the pages of a torn book
of alphabets, the one your older
sister used to learn from;
A is for Apple
B is for Bee, or Butterfly,
C is for Cat
D is torn and gone
So is E
F is for Fire
G is for Grudge
H is for Hatred, especially towards self
I is for It becomes wrong,
J is for Jesus, oh and Just
K, for Kidding
L, M, N,
O, they are not here anymore
I am afraid the rests are gone too
P is for Pizza
Q is for Queen
R is for Resentment
S is for Sardonic
T is for T, a nickname of a ballet dancer,
U is for Umbrella
V is for Vanilla
W, X, Y? Why should they exist, when
Z is for Zoo, where I am caged?
Pea Aug 2014
I left my honesty
at home

and just like the nights
before, my roommate is

sleeping with her
glasses on.
Pea Aug 2014
You smell like seafood
And even if it doesn't mean
That I cannot live without you,
The more important thing is

It actually does mean that, but
That really is not the point,
And I do not even try
To make this sounds boring

Yet I know you've yawned a hundred
Times, but despite that
You are still reading this because
Kindness has something to do

With you, in red and blue
As to be seen on my biology book
And naturally, the most important thing is
Not yet to be said.

So let's talk about smaller things
Like house that feels like bus stop
Or the songs you hummed in your sleep
Or the turtles that taste like home,

Or just come back home
Even if you had said you would
Not, I cannot possibly remember
A thing about parting.
Pea Aug 2014
Mostly it's chest pain whenever i
see your words, but today
it's different and fresh and new.

It's the kind of feeling of mild
starvation, softly hurting like a baby
kick from inside your womb,

a baby that you know is not yours.
It's a stomachache like hers, or just binge
eating extremely sour and spicy things

where the road will not stay still,
it races with the cars and traffic lights,
it stumbles when it loses, it curls the

pedestrians up inside it; just another way of
showing the stirred of love and despair,
the paint that closely resembles its pain.
Pea Aug 2014
Clenched teeth, she is going to throw
her dear phone against the window

for the second time, fanning slow,
she is going to collect the pieces of sorrow

she mistakenly thought as flowery anger.
It doesn't shine blue, although it is fire

that burns true, that dances as kitten's purr;
Isadora sings, there is never a scarf so pure.

Sacred years, tingles between the pores,
sour-scented candles, scared youths, goodness

can only formed by time.
Butterflies are goddesses, they only

exist in sweetened myths. She,
she is a moth, timeless.
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