Skip to main content

< animus >

Tonight, I’d be fine
I could sleep
In the midst of chaos
I’d move backwards
everytime my guilt decapitated my essence

Tonight, I found somebody's reflection on a broken mirror
And it was a boy
He was made from my desperate prayers
in every crowds

Sometimes I saw him with his innocent smile
Sparkling eyes and curly hair
Clean uniforms and black loafers
His voice was kind
He looked alive, and perfect
Unlike the world
I was ragged
I wish I was you
I'd have been beautiful

Tonight, I'd fight with my dirty nails and sharpened wooden stick
You’d fight with soft words that kill minds
I drank their blood
You danced with their corpses
But we both lost the war,
despite our childhood secret dreams
We knew we’d do

Maybe I should hold your hand from the start
Before I brought you your death, and you brought mine
But it’s fine
Cause the longing is finally ending

The longing is finally ending.

~•~

/ Why I Only Face You Now When I've Known You Since Forever /




Comments

Popular posts from this blog

letter for blue

recently i have forgotten your birthday. i still remember your voice and the way you talk. i've made peace with my feelings. but sometimes you appeared in my dreams as both fantasy and nightmare. you're something i wish i could erase. yet here i am clinging onto the smallest thing like your smile that would never be intended to me. memories are deceitful, and i hope so. i hope it's my memories that betray me, that i am actually just a sick person and you're nothing but a halucination. so i could drink the medicine and be okay. perhaps it is not about you, perhaps you've unfortunately became a proof of something more tragic than pure. a door for the darkness that has existed in me since a long time ago. it is pathetic how i froze whenever i saw a glimpse of your fractions in a crowd or when a stranger has your name, eventhough i knew it was not the real you. i have always known that loneliness takes half of my being. as if i am not 'me' if i do not have them...

letter from consciousness

Saving you is a way to save myself. There were times when I was frightened with being empty. Empty means I have no solid core. I imagine myself functioning like a sponge, in which is capable of absorbing all those residues that left by other people. Sponge only has meaning when it is capable of permeating. Therefore, I become anxious when it's empty. I'll urgently pull things as fillers, whether they make sense or not. I become obsessed with it for awhile. Walking on this heavily congested earth like a wanderer searching for purpose. I am searching for something like sorrow, so I am able to breaking it down into small particles I could hold with my palms. Maybe it explains my attachment with everything that is complicated and ruined. Somehow, it almost looks like a wonderful illness that makes you sick with excitement. As if I am a sage without any heroes to guide. I write their stories in a journal exhibited in my consciousness, drafting them down until they become a pattern ...