He goes again.

Hi! Hello! I’m sitting my ass here. Won’t you come and dare ask who I am? Uh, what’s in my name, anyway? Nah, I know you’ll forget it as soon as the spell of vodka twists up your consciousness.
Excuse me? What are you wearing? Yeah, I know its all black. Like, duh, you don’t have earrings to go with it. What’s mine? Are you interested? Okay, I really want to sport Bob Marley dreadlocks but apparently, I can only carry this Natalie Portman’s V for Vendetta haircut. My face isn’t complete without a touch of concealer Liners? Shhh. It’s one of the things inside my handbag. It goes without saying that I am really, really vain. Yeah, that I wear the latest in fashion: Versace high rise jeans, Hollister jacket, Doc Martens footwear, Prada handbag.
Every portion of me stinks of victimized sophistication (it’s obvious, right?), from Malboro Lights I smoke, to the Chanel cologne I put on (I got it from my Aunt Dina) and the shot of Emperador (where miracles usually happen afterwards) I smack down.
I’m the one you regularly see in Netcafes (especially late at night), having virtual escapades, cyberhussing with whoever accepts my flirtatious attempts, and ending up sweating because of, you know.
What? Bitch, that’s me! No other word would make you think, otherwise. I swear, crossing my fingers. Oops! Bottles empty. Another order of rhum coke, please! Thank you. What did y’ say? One night in bed? So you think I’m kinda drunk? Like, hello, I’m not today’s Maria Clara. You have to pass first my physical, uhm emotional, and then intellectual requirements. Okay?!
Stop asking me those questions. Let’s share the night with whatever comes in between. Take it easy, boy! Talk to me and you’ll realize I’m good at everything, verbally.
But let me tell you about this someone who just appeared into my life and played as one of the characters in my fairy tale book (story of my only love among the crowd of gangsters and homophobes).
He’s the Narcissus of modern civilization. A lover of his own choice, the one who looks at you and only to find out just seeking for a reflection of his own interest. He labored to know and understand the abyss of my mystery. I was weak, then, and he’s my reliable knight. And he guided me to the road of pleasure, devotion and esteem.
Only when the water of happiness filled the glass of satisfaction, my knight was gone. In every droplet of my tears mirrored the curse of solitude and despair. My sense of sanity went along with him. The apex of life’s passion suddenly broke up into little pieces of heartaches.
But what I talk of this? Let’s not get into that. Kind of mushy, right? Here, drink up. Oh, please don’t say that. I don’t need your sympathy. Enough this intoxicating topics. I gotta go. Would you mind if I have a lame excuse of curfew? Coz’ my mask has cracked and my defenses have slipped. But if you’re still interested, walking home appeals to me right now. It saves gas, you know, but offering a free ride is another story to tell. Okay, I’m comfortable in here. Goodbye!
Tsk. Tsk. Tsk. He drops in the nearest club again, raising another shot of beer. When will he learn? He’s the man who seeks the company of no one but himself and the ghost of his long lost someone. He’s man who hears without listening, talks without the sense of speaking. Whether you hate or love him, you’ll enjoy the façade of his adventure. Transparency isn’t his thing: pretension, maybe.
He’s the pinkest pink ever pinked! And I’m sure he looks like me.

 

Chuckies

Out of nowhere,

I sit on the dirty corner,

stare at him as he walks inside the room.

The door is ajar,

its shadow comforts my bare back.

I’ve forgiven myself,

the stain- the total dirt thrown over my body.

Plucking away, I remember a man who

used me.

 

It was Ryou.

He grabbed me from my innocent dream,

he suddenly uncovered me from the package

I was within.

I shivered and was quickly drawing close

to my initiale of the night.

It was only an invitation,

he needed to disturb me.

 

I inhaled deeply through my heel tab,

as he stretch me wide.

But I was difficult,

he restrained himself,

remained perfectly still to slowly adjust my

hole. Then a greater feeling swept through my body.

He thrusted his feet into my opening.

The pain was too much for a newly bought me.

I felt his being was bigger than it looked to be.

 

I managed to tolerate,

he shoke my midshole-

trying to relax his muscles,

eased him in.

It had locked us together.

‘Til his thrust was now forceful, deep,

pounded my ass as his’ massaged my outsole.

 

I moaned louder, as did he.

I was so amazed,

how quickly I’d ascended,

his sweat moved all over my inserted body,

my head flushed at the feeling behind my back.

 

It was already worth the pain.

Then,

I waited for my whole body to stop stinging.

I experienced the fascination with his concern

for my pleasure. Endearing, the way he treated me now.

Amazing, how he changed,

how much he actually cared for me.

 

Then, I became devoted to him.

He used to take me to those fabulous apparel to

design me. He changed my laces- the pink laces I once had.

He introduced me to his ripped jeans,

and said,

“You, seven colored one, best fit to my camouflage cap.”

From an ordinary gear, I became sophisticated.

 

Not until my side became torn, my color turned brown-

from the mud I stepped on during rainy seasons.

Replaceable, I saw him carrying another package-

the same package he carried when he brought me home.

 

Out of nowhere,

I sit on the dirty corner.

The question is,

“When is he using me again?”

 

 

 

 

Ram

Pride sneered along the pathway,

fully clothed with a traditional Japanese red kimono,

concealing the bulging muscles, the lump in front of his throat.

 

In the woodland

The eastern sky allowed the sun to pierce unimpeded through the four sessile Guava trees. Their bark was the white of dove’s wing, patterned with diamond-shaped cracks the color of coffee. The bulging lawn, lengthened with Bermuda, formed a shimmering green scenes in the morning breeze. The three-feet-high picket fence, shielded with the shaggy grass, seemed to pluck out its scraped pieces. The inclined flagstone walk, stood in front of the abandoned abode, was hit by the light at an oblique angle. This deepened its natural pocking. And just before,  the shadow combined to draw the rectangular white door that was fully paraded with black termites.

 

Punk’s dead

He lay curled like a fetus, dressed head to toe in nothing but black, with that same color puckering burned flesh from eye to jaw on one side of his face. His cropped hair was black as well, as was the ponytail that sprung from his skull. His goatee was black. His fingernail was black. He wore an onyx ring and earring of black. The only color that offered relief from the black was the magenta of blood, that was everywhere: on the ground beneath him, saturating his clothes, pooling from the scores of wounds in his torso.

 

Discreet

As he walked towards the center stage, roar of claps and voices echoed just before him. He was crusted with black camouflage trouser with shorts gripping his legs with green patches. He bunched his dreadlocks with smooth leopard fabric that gained the dehydrated eyes of the wannabes. His torn T-band hoodies that layered with studded vests, corrupted the paleness of innocent porcelain skin. The crowd much admired him in his gray bullet belt and hemp jewelries that glinted into the scintillating lusters.

How little they know, so much to learn. Hiding in the back of his bare little ears, clutched the secret he never tells.

Right after he beat the last string, he suddenly scurried along the narrow, slippery silent trail. Moving towards the unmisted, abandoned room, his mind whirred on the swooning theater. He stripped off his lip rings, flesh tunnels, and labrets. He threw it at the grossy sidewalk trashcan. My eyes sloped an angle at him, noticing his foot which was unparallel to the other. His bulging cheeks started to laugh when my mouth pointed at his coming. I let a single drop of tear swam into the leaks of my wrinkled eyes. It had been 2 months since. An inch of a foot separated before us, bridging our sweats by a hypnotizing stare. He unmindfully raised his wet hand across my curved chin, plucking one of its curly hair. His perfect teeth stabbed my longing heart. But his eyes suddenly began to blur- settled by tears, ready to denounce to their own release. But my fingers gained strength to wipe out the wetness on his cold lineage behind the red corner of his pointed nose. I grabbed him with my warm embrace, letting not a single air disturb our senses.

I made himself felt relaxed, nothing to worry about. After all, his black dyed hair guarded the perfect pink butterfly, hiding at the back of his fully-clipped-on right ear.