Here come the confectionary clouds
Packed like powdered sugar
Little quicksilver has
A bit of a sweet tooth
And grubby hands well into
A box of Quality Street
People say that I am spoiled
A young brat who coils
At the sight of poverty
But in reality,
I am being deprived
Of the love to survive
This greedy world.
Casually sitting in a taxi cuz today my history thesis is happening.
A kid was hit on the crossing, laying there with the only three people around who called the ambulance.
A few meters on the other side of the road,
The side the kid wanted to get to,
A man casually arranging tables in the betting house.
Watching the desperation in my eyes as I watch the scene before me.
Now is stuck in meaninglessness.
I heard later that day that the kid lives and hopefully so he won't stop.
So now I'm stuck in pink doored bathrooms and the road the trams pass by.
Thinking how desperation is hope because fear is motivation and anger's the fuel.
How much of a human I am, thinking the sole existence of life is somewhat philosophical.
Cuz that kid on the street and that bathroom I was in, are both poetry.
And I'm nothing but an observer.
Things before others realise.
And still what value has this moment in time?
Almost 100km per hour, I could die right?
I could die by my own means so of course 100km is just a simple factor.
I wanna die by my own means.
No car hitting me, no sudden disease.
I want the odds that are against me to at least respect my timing.
Though it's selfish.
I've been wanting to write about that kid for a while, just couldn't get myself to.
Like a letter to myself I'd never wanna send.
Naturally running out of fuel, life itself slips away in front of my eye.
So in the most mundane mindset, I cannot stop it.
Left out in the sun
warped young minds becoming who the world told them to be, So much wasted potential.
We cover her skin with long trails of asphalt roads
We fill her waters with plastic waste and burnt out cigarette butts
We overwhelm her atmosphere with toxic smoke in a million different ways
We throw bombs at her body while fighting with one another
We bury burning garbage beneath her flesh, hide our waste beneath her flesh, constantly build build build beneath her flesh
We **** her animals, we **** her trees, we **** her oceans and her seas. We **** her land and her sky.
All she did was give us a place to call home. How selfish can we possibly be?
Take care of the earth. She needs you.
Don't bite the hand that feeds you.
The joys of solitude
have been spoiled by the love I have for you.
Walking silently in places unknown
use to excite and awaken my traveling bone.
Anymore it just reminds me
that my love is alone.
So wherever I travel
be it land
be it sea
It be not my home
if it lacks you and me.
A bitter boy you are,
with twisted words and twisted fangs,
sour lips and ****** knuckles;
boy, you sure do love a good fight.
That's an awful lot of snickering
for a guy who's surely bluffing,
and I'm quite certain you know
as well as I, you're full of ****,
but your tangy hands and acid fingers seem so daunting
when you cast out all your hateful "truths".
I'm torn between all the love and all the hate,
it's inevitable that they'd congeal
into a sordid mixture
and so it was a bitter boy
You know I used to punish myself if I kept talking about him or writing about him, and it's been well over a year since I wrote about this guy instead of someone else, so I figured I won't punish myself if I did it this time.
I was hit with some pretty hard nostalgia the other day about it, and well, it's bittersweet when there's good but so much bad weighing down a past.
It took until now
thin and mid 20s
that as a child I was
and as an adult
still very much am
traumas to mine
no festering drama
no shrouded mess
calm can bury like a
too hot or too cold
I have never clawed
at my belly in hunger
felt my body
fall off in jeweled
pieces but I have
at times been
adulthood is a lake
blue black and endless
rife with mudtraps
brimming with viperheads
scraping at the surface water
I am spoiled
I have not known pain
but I knew a person
whose eyes prodded
like nails through jello
my insides and cut
tendrils of muscle
and delighted in the
the pushing of
some time after
I was grown
but flailing madly
as a comet poised
a beetle in
a dust storm
a child with its
first scraped knee
my flesh yearns
for the needle
and for skin all
like the color of night
like the color of night
like sky like light
a rapturous blue