Delicious Disease

Self-Portrait

2006-09-14T06:39:00.000-07:00

today I draw the saddest picture.
of a hollow so hollow it is a vacuum.
of a nothing that is weightless but unbearable.
of a thirst that exists asea.
i will brush the canvass with tears of the most morose colors.
it will tell a story of a devastation so vast
that it surpasses romance.

Bubble

2006-08-29T11:11:00.000-07:00

I'm going
to fill you
up with so much

emptiness

that rainbows begin
to form upon your
delicate membrane

and you become
a beautiful crystal

breakable

by air.

Dragonfly

2006-08-20T00:06:00.000-07:00

Your figure is obscured by the lashes at the corner of my eye.
I conceal my voyeuring of your voyeuring of me.
I was never good at catching your kind.
My hands always trembled.
And you were never good at staying still.
You were always flitting.

You hide amongst the weed,
But you leave a wing in the light.
I see you meant it when you said
You want me to find you.
I sit motionless.
Fighting to keep my head from turning to your direction.
Because I know that when I move an inch
You will flutter away.

I am learning to love your image
Tucked in the corner of my eye.
It induces a paralysis.

I am starting to enjoy this catatonia.

Courtship

2006-08-20T00:01:00.000-07:00

I so desire to not have you.
It may be ambitious of me because you are not mine yet.
But I want to have you...
Not so much to have you
But to want to...
And forever float in that wanting but never have you.
Because having you would be a beginning
That will crash into an ending
And I never want it to end.
So never be mine.
Never.

Cab Rides

2006-08-13T03:22:00.000-07:00

I took a cab to work today and the driver told me to add some more to my fare since no one really got cabs from where I was working... I said, "Whatever, I don't care..." and I suddenly felt like I was going to some far off nowhereland.

As I was sitting at the backseat I was fiddling with my phone. Deleting old pictures, names from my phonebook that don't really have a face attached to them in my memory. Deleting messages. Deleting a lot of things.

There's something satisfying about simplicity. When you delete a message from your phone, it's gone forever. And there's no way you can retrieve it. If only deleting messages will make you forget that a message was sent at all, if only deleting a picture can erase a memory, if only deleting a phone number can guarantee a burned bridge, then everyone would be happy.

Sometimes I wish my brain only went as far as a regular straight guy.

I suppose I would be less troubled if my thoughts were occupied exclusively by cars, chicks and basketball... and bliss would be as simple as a shapely lady flashing her boobs at me.

No, thanks. I think I'll pass.

___________________________________

Last night I was in a cab with one of my good friends. He's the boyfriend (supposed ex-boyfriend he says) of a former officemate, who happens to be a friend of mine too. We were going home after drinking. I was a mix of sleepy and tipsy. He was generally sober. And it was never resolved who was worse off between us in terms of disposition, predicament or mental state.

I've always desired to be with him. And he's always seen me as a friend. And in the "secret" moments we went out for coffee just the two of us (apparently he was telling my friend, his boyfriend, all along), we only talked about the status of his love life. So fuck me for being a punching bag. And for trying to pry into things I should not have any business with. And for treading everytime on that thin, thin line between telling him what he has to know but won't kill him and telling him what he has to know, period.

I almost made the biggest folly of my life when I tried, not once, but twice, to tell him everything. Apparently, I didn't have to because he knew all along (he is gay after all, making him immune to being oblivious) and I suppose he wasn't excited with the idea since he stopped me on both occasions for saying something that according to him I was "going to regret." I tried to convince him that I was not going to regret it. And expressed clearly that it would not bother me if he were to vanish from my consciousness entirely post-confession (as was clearly the imminent result had I been allowed to do as I planned). I even went to the extent of saying to him, "I want to eliminate you."

How incredibly romantic/ sappy/ stupid/ gay.

Saying the words is the only way to make a feeling real. And hearing them is the only way to make them true. Otherwise, everything's just a hunch... an infinite "I wonder..."

So there I was, half-asleep with my head on his shoulder. My body entwined on his left arm(which fit the hollowness I was feeling smugly) at the backseat of a cab leading us to where I was to drop him off, and because of what did not happen, encasing the beautiful limbo where my love story with him was suspended.

As he stepped out of the cab into reality, I was left alone again. And I fought to stay awake to make sure I got off that cab right where I had to.

I hope it rains on Friday

2006-07-31T23:08:00.000-07:00

It was raining on the Friday that we met.
When you walked past me.
When I fancied being hurt by it.
It was a gentle kind of rain...
The kind that pitterpatters on a tin roof.

It was raining that same Friday that we sat together.
When you called me Shiela.
When I asked you to promise me you'd devastate me.
It turned into a thicker kind of rain...
The kind that reminds you of a thousand little hearts beating.

It was raining that Saturday.
When you crushed me in your embrace.
When I turned myself into a straw house.
It was a steady kind of rain...
The kind that anchors a love song like a drone.

It was raining that Sunday.
When you tied my hands behind me.
When I was soaking in vulnerability.
It was a soft kind of rain...
The kind that wells out of your eyes as tears.

It was raining that Monday.
When you asked me to forget I met you.
When I began to erode in confusion.
It was a violent kind of rain...
The kind that drowns your screams.

I hope it rains on Friday.
When you become a vague memory.
When I am left like the mud after a great flood.
I hope it is an invisible kind of rain...
The kind that you can walk through, as if it wasn't raining.

the other

2006-07-29T21:03:00.000-07:00

i broke your heart.
and right at the point when you were down.
how sadistic.
i told you i wanted to see you.
to do it right.
i don't feel like that now.
i want to rub salt all over you.
i imagine it would sting so much.
maybe i shouldn't...
i might get envious.
i've decided to hate you because i don't feel any pain.
screw you--
no, you say you're too afraid.
i so want to be you right now.
have a wall collapse over me
throw in the wrecking ball that toppled it.
i want to bleed.
ache.
throb.
but you won't hurt me.
that's how i know it would never work.

Coffeebreak

2006-07-26T09:31:00.000-07:00

Something's been bugging me for a while now.
And I can't quite put a finger on it.
I feel like not talking to anyone.
I feel constantly paranoid.
I feel constipated.
In love.
So not in love.
Bored.
Confused.
Not making any sense.
Trying desperately to express myself artistically.

Frustration comes when aspirations offshoot resources.

Lowered expectations.

But what are aspirations for anyway?
What if we are meant to saunter in a limbo of discontent?
Discontent fuels progress.
It also fuels despair.

My brain is whirring.
Heart palpitating wildly.
Fingers Parkinsonian.

I don't even drink coffee.

From Some Chinese Movie

2006-07-23T03:20:00.000-07:00

Scene: Man and woman in bed, waking up after the first night they made love.

Man: (To himself) This is the first time I spent the night with a woman I slept with. What have I done?

Woman: I'm so happy you stayed over.

Man: Sure.

Woman: I don't want this morning to ever end.

Man: Me too.

Woman: Do you care for me?

Man: Yes.

Woman: Do you love me?

Man: (chokes) Y-yes..

Woman: I don't care if that's the truth or if it's a lie. If it's a lie, I want you to lie to me forever.

Love Letter

2006-07-23T01:17:00.000-07:00

It feels like doom has finally found me.
It's pitch black at five in the afternoon.
It would have been a fabulous time to be lonely.
But you're here.

I loved you more when I knew I couldn't have you.
I felt more alive when you trampled on my heart.
I was singing through tears then..
Not now that you're here.

I wish you were unreachable.
I want to admire you like a photograph.
I wish your hands were not wrapped around me.
I want to be enveloped by them in my dreams.
I wish I could unmeet you.
I want my heart to tell me your name.

When I say "I love you"
Promise me you'll go away.

the masochist

2006-07-22T22:01:00.000-07:00

i taught myself to wallow... pain is sweet medicine. peeling off the past is a beautiful ordeal. and as the scabs nestle in heaps on the floor i don't desire to sweep them away... they are an image of you, coagulated... flaked... gross... a sign of better things... like the affliction called relief.

Chants

2006-07-20T14:39:00.000-07:00

My brain has decided not to go to sleep... again.
Worse, I ran out of smokes.
Is this God's way of saying that I am destined to be alone forever?

I waited so long to have you...
Now that you're here,
I still feel like waiting.

It must be me.
How ironic.
I'm still going to find a way to blame you.

You Only Love Me When the Lights Are Out

2006-07-20T14:12:00.000-07:00

We met for the first time on the elevator.
You were looking at me.
I was trying hard to pretend not to notice.
We were by ourselves.
Within a squareyard.
So close I could imagine your heart beating my name.
You inched closer.
Until our knuckles brushed against each other.
"By accident"
And you linked your pinkie with mine.
That was definitely my name your heart was beating.
The doors opened.
You let go swiftly.
Like a jimmy caught red-handed.

Now we walk together.
But not really together.
You pretend to be just a friend to me.
And you walk with a gap between your thighs.
You give me a nudge where a carress should have been.
A feigned hook to the jaw where a kiss should have been.
Nonchalance over sweet nothings.

You only love me when no one can see you.
Not even me.
I suppose you never loved me really.

French-Kissing With Our Hands

2006-07-20T13:42:00.000-07:00

The feeling was new to me altogether. Though it may be hypocritical of me to say that I have never dreamt of it once upon a night. But never have I imagined it to be such a strong force, so vast was its power that it engulfed my whole being only to spew it out and change it forever.

That night was frigid and harshly cold. It was not like all the other nights. It was as if a great chill came and froze it to death. I curled myself up, tucking every exposed inch of my goosebumped skin as I moved to the left edge of the park bench. I could do nothing but shiver to ease the numbness that crept to my heart from my fingertips. It reminded me of my misfortune.

Many times I have caught myself dreaming of someone who will be the object of my affection. The person I would love with all my heart, whose laughter will forever ricochet inside my head. But my heartbeat remained a loveless monotone, my eyes were cold and never shone and however hard I tried to hear, there was silence.

No star sparkeled from the sky that night. And the moon hid itself behind a great cloud. I wondered why God had stripped the night of its beauty knowing that it was only in it that the brilliance of the earth ever showed its full splendor.

It was no sooner when I realized why God had intended that night to be. Walking-- floating-- towards me was the most beautiful sight I have ever seen in my life. She seemed to have stolen all the mystery of the moonbeams. And hard as she tried, she could not keep the sparkle of the stars from escaping through her eyes.

And I froze in awe as the aparition approached me, moving but motionless. To my disbelief, she sat beside me and all of a sudden I felt so unworthy. She seemed oblivious of my affliction with her. I suppose I was just another mortal who will never amount to anything that would matter much to her.

She belonged to the heavens, I tell you, but she was there beside me and for me that was more than enough. The curse that was the night had turned into a wondrous miracle that I would never, could never let go. The night all at once became perfect but the events that followed would surpass everything.

I felt her leaning on me. The smell of her hair invaded me in a deep breath that made my body shiver. I could feel the warmth of heer body seeping straight into my heart sending waves of hot blood rushing to my frozen hands. The ice that encased me minutes before began to melt as she rested her head on my shoulder.

Nervously, I tried to reach my hand around her but she did not as much as twitch that I had done it. I felt another wave of heat creep through my body. I gazed at her and she looked right back at me. My heart began beating a fast song. My eyes became addicted to the sight of her face. And her breathing echoed in my ear.

I took a leap of faith and took her hand which rested lightly on her lap. It was as smooth as silk. Her hand weighed like a feather. I stroked her palm with my thumb and she squeezed it. My ears burned. I clasped her hand alternating her fingers and mine. My face turned red. She began to massage my palm. A bead of sweat rolled upon my brow.

She would let go and I would not know if I should take her hand again or if I should just end my fantasy. But she would always put it back and I would hold her again. I would sometimes hold her hand too tightly and she would pull it away. She would slap and pinch the back of my hand. I teased her by scratching her palm with the tip of my finger and I would imagine hearing her let out a small giggle.

We spoke our lives without saying a single word. i knew her more than I knew anyone else just by holding her hand. I felt vulnerable and free and scared and hopeful and loved. We opened up our hearts with the clasping of our palms. It was the best conversation I have had in a long while. Whole sentences in a single touch, a life story in a single caress.

For a moment, we were equals. She raised me to her level of divinity. She made me pure and innocent. She erased the wrong in me and made me true. She completed me. She put me up above the stars beside her in her domain. She took my spirit and made it soar. And I was free.

We were one. We laughed. We cried. We fought. We made up. We teased. We apologized. We lived. We died. We made love... we french-kissed with our hands.

Pick-Up Line

2006-07-20T11:27:00.000-07:00

A: I love you.

B: Why do you love me?

A: Everyone I love ends up leaving me or hurting me. I imagine it would be nice to be hurt by you.