NOTHING’S GONNA HURT ME BABY 11/01/15 3:21 a.m.

I can see a bloody cat lying on the computer table.

I see myself hovered by a huge shadow forecasting what’s left with my swallowed feature.

I feel pain, three layers underneath my chest.

Blood pumping in the narrow veins of my head.

Fear is everywhere, I can sense pain and fear scattered in the bright dim light above this spring bed.

Thin sleets of teardrops, overflowing in the brim of this’ soul. My heart, a cold piece of rusty metal melted all over, with passion which heat is so intense, dissolving what’s left of me.

I never mastered the art of forgetting, but I think it’s the most precious gift one could receive from the heavens. I need someone to talk to. My head’s about to explode.

I’m losing all my senses. I’m losing grip with my own sanity. I am lonely, I am afraid, I feel remorse with a crime that is yet to be done and having second thoughts of doing it again. I am a kid swallowed with threat and the fear of giving in to someone I think I love. Do I love this person more than myself?

The brief act of analyzing scares the toughest demon of my entrails.

 

I leaf again and again through the miserable memories of you two hours ago…

At 10 p.m. I headed back home with a stick of burning ashes between my pointing and index finger. The whole paper pipe continued to burn as I inhale the acrid fog from it. With the first puff of smoke, the cold wind approached my eerie attempt to handle myself in the best way possible by letting it flow across the thick strands of my musty hair. Earlier, I spent twenty minutes rinsing and massaging every section, hoping that the green scent of my conditioner would cover it with the fragrance your manhood cannot resist. I tiptoe across the bathroom searching for my mother’s shower gel, the one that she uses before she goes to bed with my father.

I let the bubble graze softly tis skin parts waiting to be touched by you, outside the spiritual ceremonies and above all societal and mythical probation.

With the taste emanating in my mouth, the cooling sensation reminded me of how afraid I was travelling alone, but for the second time around, my nut head, a soft crack of sleek seed, decided to face the arterial fear of manual travelling just to taste a minute of your presence.

At the fourth base, the neck of my stick slowly turned into burning ashes, my cheeks flustered with joy seeing my boy walking and standing waiting for my arrival, but as I came nearer, the paroxysm I thought I saw was nothing but pure illusion.

Three shiny spades, splintered glasses, and a bullet successfully penetrated three layers under my chest.

Its’ a painful cold bloody sensation sucking all the good particles that’s been rejoicing inside my body since you agreed with our truce.

 

I’m a forgetful person, but all this feeling reminds me how miserably in love I am with you.

There are countless how’s and why’s. There are countless emotions unnamed. There are countless questions left unanswered and countless kinds of pain I choose to ignore.

 

Reaching the third base, the pain is only assuaged by Patrick’s whistle, I want to sing “I don’t care”, followed by “Thanks for the Memories”, but then I ended up choosing “Sugar were going down”. And yet I’ve never felt nothing like this before, the terrible, horrible, paralyzing feeling. I feel crippled, desperate and out of control as T. Mafi describes it. And it keeps getting worse. You make me feel sick every day, empty and somehow aching like a salt added to a freshly cut wound.

 

This is sadness, and there are two kinds of it.

First is seeing you in wide disappointment and exhaustion which is practically caused by me and the other one is not seeing you at all. I am not that smart to choose which one is less painful, which one is simpler to bear. Instead I stood there, fake a smile and endured two hours of this painful eternity and solipsism.

 

Racking my brain for more, the last part of my cigarette burned like a scepter of a queen bound to lose its spell. And with the smoke it produced is your face flashed before me through the shadows and the dark, and knowing that you’re quite odd and still liking you despite of that proved that I was completely lost  with what I thought is wonderland.

It’s been a routine, and the fact that I crave for your presence was never a secret. I crave for you so bad like a drug addict deprived of its daily dose of ecstasy. And I’m afraid that undergoing the state of withdrawals might kill me. But you think I was lying, instead of being your lover, you treated me like your doll, your gold precious doll. You want to keep me for yourself, you want to hold me greedily, that’s what you told me. Like a treasure you want to possess me, and from then I wondered is this my destiny? To be owned by my folks, and later on to be possessed by you. I thought I could choose the latter or none of the above, but I’m afraid I might lose you, and eventually that you might lose yourself.

And this how I learn self-hate, self-disgust, and self-abandonment

I love you and it hurts because you don’t see it.

I love you but I was wondering of leaving you again.

I love you but I’m so confused.

 

 

And with that, I light myself another stick of cigarette, humming and whispering to the cold thin air “Nothing’s gonna hurt me baby”.

 

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