Tag Archives: cake

mousse cakes and milk tea

sweet walk

sweet talks

night steps

and lips red

.

child’s cheer

celebrations

closing down

the tea stores

.

funny tales in

photographs

soft heart cake

another laugh

.

tummy burst

sluggish slow

one year down

and more to go.

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Filed under Poetry

happy cake day, sunflower.

I got a lot of things on my mind right now
A million ways to think about you
I can’t say I expected anything different
‘Cause the way you complicate me’s simple
She didn’t stutter, my chest flutters
Cardiac attack in the cradle of the summer…

~*~

you’re more than just the love song i play

when i feel like falling down the stairs—

you’re the landing that catches my broken bones.

.

and honestly, i don’t want to go on and on about how

you’re sunshine in the fog, or peachy sky cliches etcetera

i ran out of them a long time ago on your smile alone

.

i never get tired of those stupid monochrome dreams

at night where no one’s talking but i hear voices everywhere…

guess you’re the only voice i wanna hear in my head

.

because that’s all i am, another overused arcade game

and you pushed all of the big red buttons and you made me

self-destruct like pixelated fireworks to win the round

.

but that’s okay. i don’t mind. heaven is but a concept

i’m rather not willing to get lost in, but halos and hazards

are all there are to it. but you’re worth it…aren’t you?

.

but i guess the sour taste doesn’t ever leave me now

and i badly wish i could just forget about you, and myself,

and the days i chewed off the grey-painted calendar

.

for i don’t need to leave pastel notes or egg timers

or freshly-brewed coffee on the kitchen to let you know;

the universe says that’s not how reality works now

.

so instead i’ll tell none of my best friends about your laugh

and wish your name on every fairy light and lucky dandelion

that reflects the iridescence of your watercolour ocean eyes

.

and i’ll tangle up my breaths and my words and my awful art

and i’ll break the hourglass just to stop time for a while—and i’ll sing

to keep my yellow lovely safe from the world i can’t ever have.

~*~

I’m superstitious, the kid’s vicious
Bubblegum smile, taste the cherry on her lips!
You know I want you in the worst way
I need you like cake on my birthday
The way you operate is so sweet
I need you like cake on my birthday…

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Weekend Hymns

“If you call me at all, don’t tell me that I’m ordinary, ’cause I won’t be passing you, please don’t leave…” serenades the familiar strains of a soothing voice, interlacing delicately with the quaint glassy chords of a softly-strummed guitar, and dissipating behind the skeletal mist of the hazy whorled coffee smoke. Spongy traces of a cold jelly roll melt and shiver in my tongue, leaving traces of a sweet sensation to tease these anticipating taste buds of mine. On my right side lays a Fantastic Beasts colouring book opened on a page of Newt Scamander’s luggage, abandoned coloured pencils scattered everywhere, and a half-finished unwritten postcard with vibrant pastel shades complimenting each other in mild, careful strokes; and on my left side a battered notebook overstuffed with scribbled papers and a slightly-chewed black pen, waiting patiently to bleed words into blank parchment.

Turn off these lights, call my name. Don’t talk, just drive… Another potent vocal joins in with the tranquil music, rhythmic acoustic strains and deep baritone timbre sending quiet shivers pleasantly down my spinal column. The rain has come to a cradlesong refrain, and, time being, has ceased from thrumming a metronomic pitter-patter against the fogged-up windows. I pause, place a cat bookmark on page 12 of John Steinback’s Of Mice and Men, and take another sip of my tepid milky drink and huddle further underneath my delicate blue blanket, starry night socks rubbing against the creaky bed mattress as I do so. After partaking in such a short interlude, I indulge zealously in my awaiting literature once more, losing myself against the mollifying song and letting my imagination run away and be caught between George and Lennie’s frolicsome bickering and humbler conversations.

“Red and blue and green rabbits, Lennie. Millions of ’em.” George concluded drowsily as the chapter came to a finish, synchronously alongside Jonny Craig’s flourished crescendo of And baby, honestly these teeth won’t let you go…”, and I thumbed down on the page and set down the book once again, lost in a silent reverie. This day seems to be nothing but a lucid woolgathering, and in a momentary splinter from reality, I am quite unsure which is a fact, and which is nothing more than a mere dream anymore. It left me slightly confused whether I had actually been chasing musicians through a cornfield full of bedraggled zombies in Southern California, or if my grandmother had actually been confined in the hospital after an unfortunate slip and needs three months of bed rest to recover, or whether any of those were even real, not just derogated fantasies of an inured mind in dire need of a proper rest. Perhaps I’m simply tired. I had, after all, been looking for my exuberant nephews for a good part of the afternoon. But this is a good tired, unlike the draining emptiness of a tired stress that I have been beleaguered with the entire week. And this time around, I’ll sleep not to forget the memories. Rather, I’ll sleep to remember them.

“If you call me at all, oh if you call me at all…” The mellisonant sincerity of his lilting assurances envelopes my weary and aching bones tangibly, as if the xanthous stars had personally touched down from the lavender-blotched sky and given me a synesthetic embrace from the gentle cosmos. The final coda of the song falters and fades against the distant monsoon, washing away every worry, every qualm, every cynical thought and nightmarish daydream of mine, washing me away under the horizon’s encore performance of dying sunshine and inchoate moonbeams alike. I breathe deeply and finally close my eyes, listening to the hymn of the rainy weather and halcyon weekend continue to play around me. I’ll be alright. For now, at least…I’m alright.

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Filed under Prose

3 a.m. cake and day-old coffee

I can’t afford the kind of love you sell
But I can’t afford to ever watch you leave
Won’t you come and put your sugar on my tongue
You’ve got your spell on me…

~*~

i would pretend

that it’s to mask

the bitterness

and overpower

it with even more

bitter grounds,

or to dislodge

the hard lumps

forming in my

drying throat,

but i’m not that

deluded or fucking

melodramatic—

or maybe i am.

the cloudy creams

of ivory frosting

melts with a touch

of tawny coffee,

perspectivism

and disillusions

blending madly

as i sit there,

stuffing my rictus

with pastries in

the darkness, like

a total gluttonous

shameless piece

of poison pie.

i am disgusting;

but i’m merely

enjoying crumbs

and leftovers of

my ant-eaten sanity,

trying to kill time

and soured anxiety

with decadent sugar

and innocent tongues,

all while attempting

to ignore the fact

that the immense

sweetness makes me

want to throw up.

and i indulge in the last

few poignant pieces

of a humbled life,

before this cold cake

and day-old coffee

becomes my final meal.

~*~

I’m the only one who knows
The secret places that the light don’t show
(The light don’t show) You know…

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Tissue Sketches #1: bullet holes over san francisco

Oh, cross my heart and hope to die

And for you I’ll steal the sunset sky

I wondered why on skipping stones

I’d love to unravel your corset bones

Blueberries’ kisses, as blue as the sea

So sing acoustics music softer for me

We’ll end the night with cookie cakes

And a strawberry daiquiri by the lake.

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Filed under Poetry

Party Games

A fun old party for the child

Who loves to be unruly, wild

Noose streamers strewn all

Hats to impale, and roll call

.

So let’s start, musical chairs

Pull mine out, say it’s all fair

How about blind man’s bluff?

Keep me stumbling, ha, laugh

.

Pin the blame on the donkey

And make an ass out of me

Spin me around and around

You’re good at that anyhow

.

But don’t you keep that pout

Come on, the party’s hot led!

Whack me like I’m the piñata

Bash bats on my paper head

.

Spin the bottle next, nice one

Spill the beans, make kids run

Bottle, bottle, who’s the worst?

It always points along my girth

.

Want cheaper entertainment?

You hire me to be your clown

Throwing shit pies in my face

Attempting to make me frown

.

I wipe the last of seltzer water

Oh, are the party games over?

All the humiliation over with?

It’s time for the candy shower!

.

And when the cards are read

Plastic plates then prepared

Ice cream makes teeth ache

Here it comes, the final break

.

Presents unwrapped in one take

It’s your party, your childish sulk

But I’ve got arsenic in your cake

So go and blow the candles out.

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Filed under Poetry