Livestream Philosofa

Lying on the couch sinking, thinking, inside the crevices of my cushions and mind,
Whoever has the nerve to call it the nervous system knows I'm constantly under a pile of proses, left behind,
Anxious, anxiety from ants excited to lie to me, want to lie with me,
While creeping up my body for the better good of some colony,
Or a queen, that I never said my 'yes's to, flipping through the channels and see what's flickering on the shiny tube,
I know that we're on the age of flat screens,
But why do all these TV shows depict such flat scenes, too many duped,
Two-dimensional,
And when your mouth is full, you have to mention all,
The ways in which society has taught you to be rational,
But all you feel is emotional, or appall,
National anthems, school halls
Nah, she nulls and ends them, screwball,
Inside my pinafore is the sound of a loud drum,
Beating "I've seen you before but I've only lived once and I'm 13 so how come"
In versions of pubescent dreams translated into mixtapes,
Recording all the times you said "I love you" and all they say is "this sounds great"

So here's the grate,
That locks me in, in sunlight,
Unemployed? Less annoyed if done right,
So I write,
Kalau setiap hari asyik nak mintak mak duit,
If  unsure just listen to the sound of angry fathers shout "If you want some Nike ticks on your bucket list,
Just do it"
It's just,
That I don't think I'm cut out for anyone's trust,
It's not just,
For most people whose complexion isn't fair,
When u wanna succeed, they get mad when some of us show our hair,
But that's neither here, nor there,
I end up talking about bigger things,
Coz the real personal stuff, gives me the scare,
But when it rings,
The telephone
Can sort of give me wings,
Coz hell is other people, but I'm other people to everything,
So I'm glad you didn't leave me alone

Even though you told me that you're sick of my homophones,
Though I turned off my Grindr, I relented and put my music on,
And call you up to talk about my Odyssey, these Homer phones,
This feels put on, but I carry on,
The faithless are the faceless sans a basis,
Funny what slows us down is usually the races,
And I'm not the predator,
But don't wanna be the prey,
So I'm stuck in endless loops of character,
And hardly able to pray,
Because I think it's because somebody once said that just because you're godless,
That should never really mean that you got less,
At stake, when they're burning witches at the stake,
Nobody wants to claim their mistakes,
I'm twenty three & eternity from nicotine & good steaks,
My heart doesn't beat as fast for you anymore, but maybe it's the smokes,
Not my losing interest in you, or that we were a joke

Remember when Osama bin Laden was shot in '11,
When bin Laden's body was bullet laden and we thought of heaven,
About to enter college, so our future came in many shapes,
Foggy, but illustrated in form, like if Gandalf vapes

But now around me I'm just building up my fences,
Drawing squiggly lines around love and other chances, dances,
Cigarettes, war, old age and romances,
It's easy to beautify when you're not facing the consequences.

Is probably the moral of this poem fuck I think I'll just end this.

No Body

Can it not be about my body?

Can it not be about the feeling of skin,
Or the softness of lips on the surface of sin,
Or the friction we've grown accustomed to,
From dirty porno fixes to romantic moving pictures,
It's always about films with you,
These movies,where people are bodies,
Chiseled or frizzled, suave, skinny and true,
With scripts of course written like those monogrammed letters in hotel lobbies,
Or desks in  school laboratories,
Scribbled with "I love you more than our molecular compounds,
Can ever allow for us to get close,
Damn these cellular walls
Damn you van der Waals"
And then with fat marker ink,
They crossed out with thin lines,
What they think,
While somebody adds with correction tape,
"JIWANG BABE",
By the side,
And by your side,
I'm alright,
As our words grow muted by the sound of candlelight,
And our fingers fidget with thoughts of what could be that night
When I hold your hand as we find out what sticks,
Sheets so cold but the heat takes hold, as you hold my
delusions for ransom,
And whispers echoing across a thousand rooms "Hey handsome",
Hey hotstuff,
Hey little death but bigger dooms,
And I've consumed,
Every single bluff,
I want the tinder in my flames to be that tender stuff,
And grind the visions of affection into some fairy dust,
That would blow into my eyes enough to ferry trust,
But I refuse to be my frame,
But I can't ask you to do the same,
So we left the game,
And my sense of shame, ,
Became these monologues, like
"If I was a floating mass of only thoughts,
And not my lack of strength or might,
Would it have been easier to fight?,
For you, and all that you've made me?
I know I'm not much for physiques,
Except the gravity of my wrongs"
Or maybe someday I'll be better,
Or lose some other parts of me,
But I won't beg for you to deceive,
And tell me what to believe,
Cause my sense of shame has wrought,
Its own story,
(Not a commentary,
Just becoming weary)
Anyway, if you're going to leave,

Can it not be about my body?

Please?