I am from soap bars unnoticed in supermarket aisles, from Lux and artificial jasmine fragrances.

I am from ****** motels, suspicion strong in the air; far from the warmth of toasty family cottages.

I am from the bouquet of extravagant roses, the dead white one within the reds.

I am from the cholesterol-inducing pizza nights and sharp senses for both the culinary and your lies, from a sinner and an angel and the brave and just the plain stupid.

I am from the self-deprecating and the highly-sensitive.

From you’ll never be able to climb a tree and you’ll never be able to find another me.

I am from the inverted views of the crescent and the star, on my knees waiting to turn back.

I am from the city of the creatively uncreative and its posers and poseurs, plain bread and steamed rice served on China plates painstakingly crafted.

From the not-so-happy ending of mom and dad’s love story, the blood boiling and the tears rolling.

I am from the well-kept, well-preserved antique shelves hidden under our everyday closets; a ***** little secret, secretly waiting to be saved.

Allow me to be selfish. The fish that swims in your hearts. Treading the untouched water. Reaching towards your heart's desires. Slowly, causing you to falter.

Allow me to be selfish. Hoping that the girl I hate would trip and fall. Praying that the boy I used to love breaks up with her. Once, and for all. I bet that would be a ball.

Allow me to be selfish. As I sip on this cup of tea. Watching the world crumble right before me. Without me. Wouldn't that be... Lovely?

In this dead road
Where NOBODY knows,
We escape into a one night stand
Of seclusion.
Away,
From all the intrusion.
Away,
From all the confusion.

In this exquisite buffet,
We pick up meals after meals,
And we gorge,
And we consume,
And we fill our bellies.
Like kings and queens, but without the crown,
But at least we’re far,
Faaar away from the crowd.

In this taboo haven,
We sit together in a circle.
Like people playing Ouija.
But instead of talking with the dead,
We talk about ourselves, THE dead.
And we proceed to cry and complain and confess and create
Chaos! Is what this road will witness.
This road, will be its only witness.

In this sacred pilgrimage of our Friday nights,
We come here, bones battered and beaten.  
To pseudo wine and dine.
To enjoy the silence as we sip and slurp,
To tell tall tales of how we messed up,
In search of validation, acceptance,
And hopefully,
Forgiveness.

Dead, like the leaves of autumn.
You probably don't even bother.
Anyways, how have you been?
Happy, maybe?

Angry is an understatement. Thought
You should know that.
Understand, dear?

Last time, I waited. For
An answer. A full
Reply.
Anything better, than that one deadly
Sentence.
And sometimes, I wonder. Is
That it?
Is that all you have to say for yourself?