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Why couldn’t I just be smart.

The kind of smart that keeps me from thinking about doing things for my own sake too much, so that I don’t get blamed for being selfish every time I inevitably fall into failure. The kind of smart that doesn’t flat-out disappoint my entire family (which they constantly have to remind me of and rub in my face, day in and day out) and actually gets me somewhere, wherever the fuck they want me to wind up doing. The kind of smart that society glorifies and desperately wants me to play along with; practical with just a perfectly balanced dose of ignorant. The kind of smart that will get me as far as getting a pathetic college degree so I could kiss ass to other people in some boring fucking office job or something along that line—just as long as it pays out well—and nothing more, nothing less. The kind of smart that’s just about like anyone else surviving out there.

Because that’s all everyone gives a shit about nowadays, right? Getting their time and effort and money’s worth off of me, just like every other offspring they’ve casually released into this world without much ado about nothing, like we actually begged them to exist in this miserable state? Otherwise all the other trivial things I could do are just unimpressive and completely goddamn useless, because it won’t get me anywhere good, apparently. It’s all in the situation. No one would ever be free enough for anyone to chase for their stupid shitty pipe dreams, except for the ones who get quote unquote lucky enough to be born into it one way or another. The big picture is, there’s really no happiness nor contentment in this kind of life, only paying your dues and shutting up about it. Whatever, I get it. Everyone’s suffering it out and it’s all fucking relative from here, innit.

But ah, what the hell do I know? I’m just another useless lazy moron who does nothing but sit around on their ass all day and complain as if they’ve got it worse, which they clearly don’t. What a dumb fucking piece of shit. I’m just another part of the whole problem, anyway. Overprivileged hypocritical scum like me deserve to die already. Fuck it.

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Protected: Happy Valentine’s Day, here’s something to completely ruin the rest of your February oof

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Am I a bad person?

I always thought that I can redeem myself somehow, but maybe all I do is be a shitty influence to everyone and screw up the things that barely tolerate me. I’m not trying to degrade myself, but sometimes it really feels that way, and other people have been so kind as to point it out unkindly to me, which is a lasting evidence of how factual it is. Go ahead, stone me and mock me for my self-pity, say that I’m just being a completely self-absorbed, egocentric, narcissistic prick. Fine, I’ll accept that because I know that better than anyone else. And I know, believe me. I know. After all, there’s no sinking lower for something that is at their lowest point. And if I’m nothing but a nuisance, maybe I should do everyone the favour of staying the fuck out of their way. It hurts me, it really does, and yet how cruelly ironic that it has to end this way on the very peak of a new year. I thought I could still change. I thought it’s not too late. But guess I’m just a stupid ideologist living in a rose-painted world, and ugly reality has reared its head and ripped off the illusion straight out of my eyes. And am I wallowing in seven circles of misery. It’s so difficult because I’m still in the process of convincing myself, and honestly I don’t want to accept it, but if it really has to be that way, then I’m just going to have to suck it up and see it for as it is. How disgusting am I? Am I really that fucking repulsive enough that people want me dead? No, sorry, that they need me dead? Do I hear a roaring chorus of assent?

But you know what? They’re right.

I can’t take it anymore. I’m sorry if I have to do this. I just can’t anymore. I’m sorry. I’m sorry. I’m sorry.

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I truly want to die right now.

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It’s so fucking easy for one person to ruin a family, one person who thinks they’re all holier than thou, someone who’s unaware of the damage they have caused, with the naïve mindset that they’re in the position to poke their noses in like a rabid bloodhound and fix other people’s shit. Because they think that by doing the right thing, they’re setting the cogwheels of the clock back in proper motion, when all they’ve actually done is to make a hurricane collide with hell. Yet likewise, it’s so hard to inform them of what their measly prim fucking actions have actually helped create, even though you just badly want to drop the entire fucking earth on their shoulders and let the pain and the burden simmer in on their consciences, to let them know what they’ve done, and hope to the stars until they lose light that it will kill them slowly, every single waking moment of their goddamned life.

It’s so easy to find out when something is truly broken, to know when all that whitewashed innocence and preambles of hope and faith and death high ambitions all chase the striped zebra and circle down the drain, all replaced by the honours of horror and perennial promises of suffering and calvary and hours of being fucked around like a perused machinery, and it’s so easy to realise just how fucked up your own family is, nothing but a bunch of underestimaters and underachievers trying to eat the other’s throats out and laughing when you break both your legs clambering up the stage. Yet it’s so hard to accept the costs and the heavy liabilities, the initial hard sting of the sullen vodka that kicks your balls and makes you keel to your chosen deity. And there’s a moment when you still wish you can revert back to the usual standards of being able to ignore just how fucking pathetic your bloodline is, because somehow, that’s a promise you can still attest your flogged wrists to.

And after all that’s come and gone, it’s so especially easy to play the role of the family disappointment and succumb to the promising embrace of death. Leave it to the kings and minstrels to rejoice at your loss, to hold parades and sigh in relief like the sick twisted bastards that they are, because after all that’s come and gone, nothing can truly be the same, and truly it will be easier for you to just fucking up and leave. After all, what’s the easiest thing to do in life but die.

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Nature’s Dulcet Tones


Pulled onto the sky

By last tears of silken clouds

Ribbon of colours.



Upon where we step

Flowers, trees, plants, blossoming

Earth; Nature’s soft skin.



On the ground I lie

Blades of grass, shamrock so deep

Guide me into sleep.



Splashing and crashing

The water scintillating

Waving you goodbye.



Sphere with a dark side

Gleaming white teeth grinning down

What does your smile hide?



Glaring sun perched proud

Buds of green as it melts, thaws;

Winter’s bone-white snow.



Fireflies will guide you

In the valley of darkness

Stars below the skies.



Tepid weak-willed winds

Ice cream melting by the pool

Sluggish lazy bones.



See it falling down

Hear it splash, a tranquil sound

Bye, little raindrop.



I plant little stars

In the hope that they would spring

Into dazzling hope.


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The Jester

Forcing me upon monkey suits and contriving me to entertain

I try to say so otherwise but my complaints are all in vain

They shoot guns at my feet, to make me do a silly dance

Threaten me with scarlet tomatoes to ensure absolutely no defiance


Dignity for decadence, ego for fifteen minutes of fame

A couple tastes of crystal sugar for a supply of lifetime shame

Masks upon masks plastered crudely, thick makeup to hide my frown

Am I still a human being or just another rundown clown?


They say to take one for the team, they tell me I’m unfair

When they’re the one making me dangle my nobility on a strand of hair

I wish no more, this life of jests and pie and mockery thrown to my face

Next time you catch me, I’ll be walking slowly towards the end of my life race.

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Astrological Musings

Not many are fully aware, but the known universe is mostly composed of dark matter and antimatter.


It is said that they make up about 95% of everything that occupies the vacuum of space.


And yet somehow, curiously, we humans always manage to pinpoint and view the 5% of it.


The 5% filled with endless arrays of astral bodies to observe,


The 5% blazing with light and utter radiance,


The 5% that opens up new possibilities and hope.


Because to us, it doesn’t matter how seemingly scant the light is,


So long as it’s still there.


And to us, the darkness is nothing else but another component


That makes the stars shine brighter


So that we could see them even better.

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Somehow, inexplicably

My entire being feels very heavy

As if lead was coursing through my veins

And my organs have been replaced with steel

Maybe that’s why I feel

That I’ve lost contact with my emotions and my will

Is because I’ve been upgraded into an automatic machine

Just another cold wind-up robot with no full grasp of living.

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Prisoners of War

The war raged on, the world roared against

The endless screams and sussurus chants become utterly hellbent

Nuclear animosities fell, metal clashing with metal endlessly

Children manufactured as toy soldiers for this apocalyptic society

Bright crimson painted the skies, thick gunpowder filled the air

Fight or flight, defy or die, you’d be an idiot to be scared

But no one realised that they were all idiots of the war

For there is only one earth, one planet, one side they were all fighting for.

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