Reckless

My love, I am the speed of sound,
I left the motherless, fatherless,
These souls dangling inside out from their mouths,
But it's never enough.

I want you.

Carved your name across three countries,
Grounded in with bloody tides,
Their broken necks will line the ditch,
'Til you stop it.

Stop this madness,
I want you.

I have waited, with a glacier's patience,
Smashed every transformer with ever trailer,
'Til nothing was standing, 65 miles wide.

Still you were nowhere,
Nowhere in sight.

Come out to meet me,
You came out to greet me,
Come into the light.

Come the box cars,
Through the engines,
To the smoke,
Into the sky,
Your days have always outrun mine,
So I.

Pick them up,
And crash them down,
In a moment close to now,
Cause I miss..

How'd you sigh yourself to sleep,
When I break the springtime across your sheets.

My love, I'm an owl on the sill in the evening,
But morning finds you, still warm and breathing.

This tornado loves you.

Part of Damon

“Haha, Damon get out of that tree”, said Malika. She was trying to climb up branches, but slipped on one of them. A boy with brown eyes glinted in the dusk light laughed at her. “It’s been 10 years Malika, and you still can’t catch up with me?”. Damon was the boy, and he was sitting on his haunches on a tree house he once built when he was 6. His friendship with Malika was as old as the tree house, and she finally got up to sit at the same level as he was.

“Aren’t you afraid this thing’s gonna fall?”, said Malika , nervously adjusting herself on the tree’s platform. “No, I think my dad has got that covered. Look, carbon reinforced wood”, Damon grinned whilst bouncing up and down. “You know how he’s like with me”.

“So..”, Malika interrupted the silence, as they were previously observing the sun taking refuge behind the dark evening clouds”…you said you wanted to tell me something?”. Damon sighed. This was the original reason why Malika came. It was one of the reasons they bonded so well. Damon had a scientist-cum-inventor for a dad, whilst Malika had an ear for stories. It has been going on since he was 7.

“I can’t believe we’re leaving for high school already”, said Malika under her breath, as Damon gathered himself to talk about his father. It was never easy, as his father’s inventions were most of the time, beyond what common sense can absorb. Even with Malika, whom Damon has had the pleasure of divulging craziness for the past 10 years, he still felt like he needed time to compose himself. He welcomed the distraction ‘though, thinking he wasn’t ready. “You know Malika, the only friend I have is you. And that fact, doesn’t really make me look forward to high school anymore than you do”, said Damon. “But we don’t have to go”.

Malika felt like she was caught off guard. “What? C’mon, Damon. You’re not still afraid of girls or what you call the ‘female species’ are you? You’re almost 16!” “I’m not afraid, you dimwit. Don’t make me sound like I’m biologically inept at handling myself in adolescence”, snapped Damon. “My father used to tell me stories you know..”.”About girls?”, giggled Malika, but was immediately cut short. “..about my mother.”

Everything went quiet. Damon’s mother was a taboo topic. She was a schizophrenic, and has many times attempted to murder her own husband. Even worse, she once tried to abort her baby with a butter knife. Damon never knew his mother personally, seeing as to how she was detained to an asylum immediately after giving birth to him. “..it’s a pleasant story I guess. The truth is, my dad loves her. I was on the way to our basement once, and I saw him by the gramophone, singing to her picture on his desk”.

Malika looked disconcerted, but placed a hand on Damon’s back to comfort him anyways. “…so my father hasn’t told me what it is. But I snuck into his basement, and I discovered that he’s invented some sort of portal”. When the sky turned red, Damon finally told the story.

Short Story: Pills

She turns and toss beneath the blanket moss, staying close to the bus, hoping to get some of the heat emitted from its engines.

"Ares, God of War" she whispers under her breath, tracing the constellations with her fingers.

"Hey, Tina?"

With every effort left in the cartilage of her bones, she got up on her haunches. There was a Man In Denim Jackets.

"You're not asleep yet, are you?"
"I'm trying to"

Slowly, the Man in Denim Jackets glanced at her drawstring pouch near her jeans, as to not attract her attention. But quietly enough, he nodded before she could form words of accusations.

"You're not still keeping them are you?"
"Why not?"
"They're magic"
"So?"
"Magic sends people to hell"

Constantina Roger smirked and continued her attempts at slumber.

Man In Denim Jackets joined her, differing due to the presence of a pillow under his head. "Take off your shoes, Tina. You'll get nightmares from all of those dirt on your feet."

Shoe gazing, Tina laughed abruptly, "How long have I been on this hill?"

---

"She's in a coma"

Terence furrowed, twiddled his thumb, looking for forms of expression that would not make anyone write him off as worried.

"Oh", came out from his lips.

"How long 'til this junkie goes to hell?", said Terence's Girlfriend, under her breath.
"She's on...indefinite suspension, if you would like"
"No I DO and WILL not like"
"What?", remarked Terence at the lack of arrangement in terms of syntaxes.

Terence's Girlfriend blabbered on under the flickering lightbulb, whilst Terence tried his best to listen.

The truth is, Terence Roger, never loved his sister. Abandoned her after the death of Mr and Mrs Roger, until he received news that his only living relative was stuck in the grey area of this world and the next.

Terence Roger was also an atheist. "Come, let's go home. The hospital would inform us of any de...velopments"

"Just say death, Newton". Terence's Girlfriend rolled her eyes at the demeanour of her lover, fixing up her cocktail dress.

"I was just wondering, honey, does talking to Constantina render so many illogical consequences it automatically invalidates my stand towards empiricism?"
"...my God, Terence. I thought you hated her. Sigh, you know what I'm going to the car first. Will wait for you at home. Keys, please"

Terence inadvertently threw the keys at his girlfriend's face, and halfheartedly apologising thereafter.

He stared through the pane of the intensive ward unit, his sister almost lifeless. Not that she ever had much to live for.

--

"You just entered the hospital, Tina", said the Man In Denim Jackets

Apparently deaf to whatever was said, she went back to her attempts at reaching sleep.

Dear Diary,

This is weird. I was alone in my apartment as far as I remembered and now there's suddenly this man in denim jackets.

" I can read what you're writing by the way "
Annoyed, Constantina Rogers uttered, "Yeah, way to have a go at my penmanship. Who are you again?"

"I told you, I'm technically your Angel of Death. You see, you just had a seizure due to overdosing of methamphetamine", said Man In Denim Jackets with a nonplussed look on his face.

"On Christmas? Really?"
Suddenly, Constantina remembered Sunday school, and let out a cry of disagreement with the way her Angel of Death looked.

"You're not Death"
"No. I'm your ANGEL of Death. You see, because you entered purgatory from drug abuse, you're actually high and metaphysically torn apart at the same time"
"...woah"

She pulled out her drawstring pouch, and started ingesting barbiturates. "So..name?"

"Pilgrim. Call me, Pilgrim", as he was lying down on the grass, he took out a list. "I don't wanna be blasphemous, but after all I'm only a psychedelic souvenir, and not actually a creation made of light"

"It's okay, as you can see, I'm intoxicated". Finally giving up on pretentiously dozing off, Constantina Roger stood up on her numb legs (accidentally hitting them against the exhaust pipes of the bus). "Can you be my lover, before I go to hell I mean?"

A long sigh came out of Pilgrim's mouth. He took off his denim jacket, revealing a T-shirt that was torn, shabby, and covered with what looked like vomit.

"Your brother's here, and he wants to pull the plug"
"No he's not here"
"I meant outside, in the conscious world. You can't see him"

There was an empty look in Tina's eyes, "No...he's not here"

---

Terence sneaked into the dark room, whose only lights came from the digital display that showed how his sister was doing through numbers and pictures that resonated a sort of morbid video game.

"..hello, sister."

---

The bus started its own engine. For the first time that night, Constantina Roger felt scared.

"I'm sorry", she said, dawdling and trying to find composure, as she tried to figure out who she should say sorry to.

"Merry Christmas, pagan", waved Pilgrim without looking away from his list.

---

"Merry X-Mas, sister"

Reply To Dream Of Consciousness

And the night going back,
And two rats are in a hole,
And our bruises are becoming,
Though we never fought.

And I was your silver lining,
As the story goes,
I was, but now I'm gone.

I was your silver lining,
High upon my toes,
But you were running through fields of hitchhikers,
As the story goes.

And the grass blades were a-ticking,
And the sunset was on a rise,
I never felt so wicked,
As I willed our love to die.

-Lover of Christ.

Dreams of Consciousness

Used to be one of the decent ones,
And I liked you for that,
Used to be one of the rotten ones,
And I loved you for that,
Used to be one of the selfless ones,
And I hugged you for that.

Now you're all gone, with your make-up on and you're not coming back.

Being the thief, smoking hash, covering rash, from all your friends,
Fixing your teeth, smiling flash, talking trash, under your breath,

Preaching your priest, dyeing your hair, saving up cash, just for a dance,

Wasting a gift, showing off flesh, running fast, with what you have.

Park that car, drop that phone, sleep on the floor, fight about me,
Fuck that car, hide that phone, weep on the floor, write about me,

Painted cars, recharged phones, cemented floor, scream about me,

Hold that call, drive that home, knock that door, dream about me.

Dream about me.

I Know It's Getting Late

Rye. And woods wry in the midst of June. Were magic ingredients for what I think is worthless physiognomy that seem to represent what I feel about myself.

I do not want to admit that my weakness seem to surrender itself at the bottom of your vocal chords. In the deadly nights of awkward silences when ants amidst the wilderness of bedsheets were aiming for the only shelter they had left.

I do not, or can not, even grasp the feasibility of why such an attraction exist.

If you would only just talk to me.

Please.

Currently listening to:
Anthems For A Seventeen-Year-Old-Girl.

Christlover

Every night I pray,
And leave my day-by-day,
Endearing to the sounds of May,
And money in the way.

A widow at her prime,
The judge's case is won,
You don't get it the first time,
But you ask for a second one.

That's what you said to me,
Where good things come in threes,
The flesh that roam the streets,
It's not the bread I seek.

The King of Rock and Roll,
Might've gone and sold his soul,
That's what you'll never do,
Oh there's no price for you.

I shall not bear to cross,
The hand when all was lost,
Rise up from the seas,
Of evil in the trees.

Cause maybe there is Love,
And more than that is seems,
But moons they float above,
Tales of sacrificial means.

Every night I pray,
Forget them all by day,
Lucy's in the sky,
I tried my best to try.

Cause neon lights they fade,
When dawn it comes to shade.

Faith comes to me in randomness,
What miracles that fall on Man,
Cause truth becomes a sad old rule,
A law that people love to bend.

In hate with silence of the hall,
That echoes the caverns of the mind,
Of arrogance and pride stood tall,
And charring of what's left divine

She took the road protesting ya,
And drew the last hallelujah,
Awkwardly the doves they fall,
The day I knew ya.

I don't even think of you that much,
But somehow it breeds a godly touch.
Even more than I think of sunrise in the east,
And the coming of the famine and the beast.

If even there's a war to fight,
And doubtful as to which side is the light,
Parts of my heart,
I already gave away to you.

Son, what can I concur?
When David sings a lovely song,
I think I've finally lost my taste of right from wrong.

Idle thoughts they surely were,
Turned to instinct,
And obedience to God.

You could play for your fur,
Like a river on fire,
But you better be sure,
If you're making God a liar,
Who's the devil snake, babe?
Who's the fuel on fire?
So if you're gonna get made,
Don't be afraid of what you've known.

Repentance to no one or other,
Faithfully yours, oh Christ lover.

P/S: I grew to love the silent night of winter.