sometimes i wonder
am i lonely
or am i just alone

i ponder on this as I poison myself with more alcohol
and stumble across the busy streets filled with people looking for temporary pleasure.

cheap alcohol and ****** music
lonely old men that'd be slapping those shrinking ***** againsts an asian ***** later in the night
underaged kids addicted to the revolting taste of luxury with their parents money

i am a disgusting hypocrite for i live for nothing except cheap thrills and writing.

'Ive done it all'
says every 18 year old.

not me.
ive not done it all.
i still haven't gotten accustomed to affection.
i haven't said 'I love you' and meant it.
I really want to go for bungee jumping.
Finish my half read books that i have up on my shelf.
hell,
i wanna wear my pretty dress and dance to frank sinatra with someone.
Grow my hair longer and dye it grey with black roots.
Get a job,an apartment,a cat.
nice antique plates.

My mind has always been an intricate maze.
It often feels  like
What do you call it?
That offspring of pasiphaë ?
Ah the
Minotaur.
Somewhat dwells in the deep dark shadows of my mind
Feeding on my misery and brewing hatred among the tiny neurons
Resulting me to feel numbness towards your affection.
Every minute the agony of feeling
It feeding
And consuming me
From within
Is pushing me towards the edge of falling into this insanity .

be patient.
for one day
as much as you don't believe in love
as much as you feel 'he' doesn't exist
you will see yourself
in white
walking down an aisle
and you will think back of when
you were 18 and never believed in its existence
and the feeling of being doomed to being alone
and how here  is waiting for you now
down the aisle beaming with pride
not breaking eye contact
because you were two human beings waiting
for each other.

9 glasses of gin and tonic on a ladies night
a slight tipsy
he gives me his **** eating smile
and i thought to myself
'why are all men thirsty dogs'
but that night i didnt care.

i live for the taste of life. late night on his bike with wind through my hair. the overpriced coffee. i am somewhat a lazy and privileged *** in the prettiest hell anyone could ask for. sometimes crying and asking my dad why can't i feel anything. why cant i be emotionally connected to people. I like to think of myself as a vagabond (its the ADHD and depression he says just like what my psychiatrist tells me)when it comes to this sort of things and the alcohol makes it less revolting as i sit across the table saying things i don't mean nevertheless what i do, i do the best.

that night i remembered as we explored the familiar grounds
of all sorts of sinful pleasures
like books and hand squeezes from time to time
turned into something rather feisty
'rough'
i said
and 10 minutes later i'm laughing with my hands around his neck
just because i can
'you're crazy'
he would say between his laughter
'stop it. You're getting me out of my character'
i pout and squeezed harder and let go
and hear breathe again

Maybe what turned me on was the air refreshner that hung in his car
Hoping his mom would not smell the traces
Of obvious dunhill Reds and jack Daniels.
Or The way he performed darkness on my skin
As thick as black ink That no jar could keep.
How about the hunger in his mouth,
That burning curiosity to push the edge of decency
And go for gold.
Or Perhaps it' was the gospel truth that what we were doing that night
Could be followed by disastrous consequences
And what was completely forbidden by our different religion
After all
he is Malay .

He had eyes concealed by  lashes that
Were like curtains
Hoping to hide his intentions .
His life is what you would call
A cerekarama.
Forbidden love between two rebels
Trying to break through the norms of societies standards.
Always drunk on the idea of love,
'Syaitan lives in my pants '
He would say to make an excuse for touching me and grinning
Hoping I'd be a sucker.

Oh and did I mention he was Malay?

That night
That warm night.
He drove at a speed of 142km/h
Windows rolled down
And the wind carrying all
Our pointless words together with it out the window.

'Stop trying to chase Stars'
I say.

its easier to fall in lust
than in love

knowing the difference
between being desired
and being valued

'you don't know how men are like'
my dad would always say to me

Sometimes I want to sing to someone.
I want to caress him.
I want to kiss him gently on his chest.
I want to bite his lips and laugh.
I want to feel him.

My conscience being violated by his
Heavy breaths
Back arching back
Lips quivering
Lines from a song trying to escape from my mouth
But he shuts me up with his lips
Like a missing puzzle piece to my mouth.
I want to sing to someone.

'michael'
I hear myself say
'are you really in love with her
or is it a realization that you're aging
and afraid of dying alone?'

I've never seen a grown man cry in my life
but that was the first.