Tool Box

Endless posibilities of composure, it gives
That small billowing cloud, every smoker believes
For a peso’s worth, what more could be logical
Than indulging in this ritual of slow suicidals?
Nirvana packed in one single stick
Mysterious as to that common wand in magic
A single puff lets out a subtle smile
In submission to this angry denial
Race, religion, status and age
All become irrelevant to this bondage
Oh, noone is free from the fact
That almost each and everyone has emptied a pack
In malls, in airports, in parks, they reserve
A special area for them, who deserve
No other people are given the treat
Of gathering the common in a place they’d all meet
Didn’t you know that this boosts our values
Of sharing the light for someone else to use?
Join, all of you, I invoke
To light up a cigarette, and to banner the smoke!

– ironically.. i don’t smoke. I never do. I just felt like composing this piece of shit while people watching this afternoon. Giatay. Hahaha.

I spot a red couch at the end of a dark, unfamiliar hall, and as I progress, an old, dusty window  with  sills stained in a subtle peach materializes to my right. An apparent figure of her peers through the frame, calling me in surprise of my arrival. As i enter the room I see with my eyes’ corner, to my right, her sister removing stains from her sky-blue blouse with a moistened grey sock. Then she looks down, casually. Our locked arms meet, and she then shows me an I.D. to my school. Her I.D. to my school. Gaaah! She told me she was shifting to that common course, in my school. Then, my phone rings an unfamiliar ring tone. I pick it up and a text message follows… "Oh.. so you turned your phone on now.".

I wake up.

Thank you "little button", for pulling me from my subconscious.

;P

"Familiar breath of my old lies, changed the color of my eyes. Sitting closer than my pain, she knew each tear before it came. "

I am so fucking tired.

This is worse. People aren’t helping.

I can’t wait to finish my artwork. I’m still letting the black paint dry though.

Poor Barbie.

>=D

Hehehe. Oh yes.

Can’t wait till it’s done. But I won’t rush it.

It’s a song.

A nice song.

I painted that while listening to that song.

Nothing more.

Get it?

"It’s just that this is not the way I’m wired so could you please help me understand why you’ve given in to all these reckless dark desires.

You’re lying through your teeth again, suicidal imbecile. Think about it, you’re putting it on the faultline. What will it take to get through to you precious? I’m over this. Why do you wanna throw it away like this? Such a mess. I don’t want to watch you…

Disconnect and Self-destruct one bullet at a time. What’s your rush now, everyone will have his day to die.

Medicated drama queen. Picture perfect numb belligerence. Narcissistic drama queen. Claiming fame and know its decadence.

You’re lying through yourself again, suicidal imbecile. Think abo
ut it, you put it on the faultline. What will it take to get through to you precious? Such a mess. Coalesce. Coalesce!"

(A Perfect Circle)

Parked car.

This night sky.

I puke nothing but tears.

Insincere. I can’t go on this way.

I should have held tight to that Parody of an Angel while it lasted. It was very wrong of me to watch this nymph and her sleight of hand. So very wrong.

Parody of an Angel.

Parody of an Angel. Let me ride the skies on your synthetic wings.

Parody of an Angel.

I’ve still got so much more books to write, and my fingers are weary and bleeding.

Will you end this?

Grab my pen and drive it through my chest. Leave me limp and cold.

Constantly, I confide. And this feels so much like breathing through a crack.

Promise me.