A promise is a promise.

So yes, I am finally posting it. HAHAHAHA Okay. Go on.

There was a written promise on Labyrinthine that probed me to write something on either the 25th or the 26th. Today is March 3. I left home at about 4:30 AM yesterday and got back at 12:30 AM the next day—I couldn’t find a small sliver of time to let me write on the 25th. I could have written the moment I got home or the twenty-two hours between then and now, but I was busy trying to rouse myself from procrastination’s warm, warm embrace, which I am currently still engulfed in. Forgive me; I wrote this out of procrastination’s wishes. 

“Tunog Justin Bieber.”

“They raised the pitch.”

“I know. Ew.”

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(Source: mnemonikal)

[written months ago]

I’m hurting.
I’m hurting
for reasons beyond the cardiac arrest
that I incessantly hoped for.

I’m hurting
for reasons I once thought
unfitting for my closed, ignorant heart.

Oh, if a heart could be ignorant…

(Source: mnemonikal)

Insecurity

“Such a long face.” I heard her say.
I glared at her. “Please go away.
I already know how sad my life is.
I don’t need you to rub it all in.”

I pushed her away but she wouldn’t budge.
“Why are you holding such a scary grudge?
I’ll give you what you want. Just tell me what it is.
I miss your face. Your face full of bliss.”

“I won’t say a word as to what I desire.
How could you dare to even touch my fire.”

I cannot forgive her for doing so.
Why was she high and me so low?

“What do you want?” she asked me.
“Isn’t it obvious? I want to be free.”

I knew it then, what line she just crossed.
“Free from you and the sorrows you cause.”

Small Talk

So here we are again, indulging ourselves in small talk powered by the mutual understanding we have shared over the years. However, a question begs for an answer: what are we doing really?

We’re talking. 

No. No, you are talking. 

I am merely reciprocating: mouth moving, producing sounds all according to propriety, coating my words with a small amount of cruelty—as cruel as I can get at the moment—in the hope that you would detect my faux apathy instead of what I’m truly feeling inside. 

This hasn’t worked before, when we were younger, were nothing if not aloof. But this isn’t before—we aren’t in that moment, and things have changed. We both have changed.

I don’t know if you can tell, or if you’re trying to mask it all as well. All I know is that I can see a man trying to pass off his now tall body as the same pudgy one he had a few years before. 

As much as I want to match your words with words of my own: tell you the truth—that I missed you so bad, and am continuing to miss you despite your rather overwhelming presence wrapping around me like a quilt—I can’t. Because I’ve decided that this is what you’ll never know.

And this is why you’ll never know: some mirages are meant unscathed. 

(read me)

On (mornings), 
I (wrap) myself in humor so as not to wake up fully
They tell (me) to get up
But (in)side I know I’m not yet ready
As (horrific) as it may seem,
The (nostalgia) will kick in
and I’ll feel your warmth around me again(.) 

(Source: mnemonikal)

What else?

You kissed her goodnight 
or so I’m told 
What else is there for me to know? 

I hold my knees up 
press it against my chest 
white heat hovering over, covering my bedroom floor 
I remind myself 
“I’m, at best, alone”

What else is there for me to do? 

I still tend to look up 
at the stars you stuck to my ceiling 
glowing so faintly, no heat to be feared 
I breathe out 
“I still think of you.” 

You grazed your lips on her eyes tonight
or so I’ve seen
What else is there for me to know?

Nope

Taste the sun
taste the warmth
taste the moment 
It’s probably not gonna get any better than this

Close your eyes
close yourself 
feel the chiming
No, it’s not gonna get any better than this

Look around 
Feel me now 
I’m all around you 
Nothing’s gonna get any closer than this 

You’ll be fine 
You’ll be fine 
This, I promise 
But it’s not gonna get any better…

The Last Real Day of High School - me

no shit

“It doesn’t
have 
to mean 
anything,” 
you said. 

“It doesn’t 
have
to hurt
anyone,”
you said. 

But it did,
oh, 
it did. 

For yes,
it meant nothing
to anyone,
it hurt no one 
we know,

but if 
you knew me 
at all, 
you would
have known:

It meant 
something 
to me;
and 
it hurt me
alone.