Fifth

What is it about missiles or robberies and killing sprees that fascinates you? What would it take to fascinate you? Need I rob a bank or hunt and kill for bounty? I’m bad at rhymes, you see. My sense of humour is inconsistent. I’m dim-witted and a little strange; my words too elementary. And unlike you, I have been deprived of sex appeal.

This is almost obsessive, they say. I laugh but I don’t answer back. It probably is, but I’m never going to blame you for it.

Truth Be Told

I can only assume. I watched the smoke dance its way out of my window while thinking how it must stink to kiss a smoker who has just woken up and who hasn’t brushed his teeth before retiring the night earlier. Who would want to kiss someone like that?

I looked at myself in the mirror and saw how dark my under-eye circles have become. Lack of sleep has only made me look worse. Puffy eyes. A body resembling a huge blob. Blemishes on the forehead. The money I earn is not enough to compensate for what this job has done to me.

I want you. I want you alone. Unfortunately, you don’t feel the same. And possibly, you may never feel the same towards me. Ever.

One day I might just sing Waiting in Vain to you. Godfuckingdammit.

What he thought

Her voice reminds you of cosmic vibes and beats that range from soulful head-nodding to slamming. This astral phenomenon resonates and burrows itself into your head and stays there until you bury yourself alive.

This is how it feels sometimes

She held the microphone with her shaking hands. She was never good at performing in front of a huge audience. She felt a tiny fire burn on her cheeks.

Hey, he said, relax.

She sucked in some air with her eyes closed. Released it with her eyes open. The sound of his electric guitar woke up in her an excitement that had her heart pounding like a drum. He looked at her. He smiled as he gave a nod before hitting his guitar. It roared.

She closed her eyes once more. The words slowly tiptoed across her tongue, out of her mouth. She hated this song. He had written this for her to sing but it was not really for her. Her voice trembled. I shouldn’t be thinking of these things now, she thought. But the feeling had already started to consume her. She was the one singing his words, but they were for someone else.

Billboards and Poetry

fleeting images above cityskylines
leave me wondering about headlights
gleaming at a branded
face beside pillows and
a cake; tonight,
your beauty deserves a
billboard sign.

This made my day. I was all smiles the entire night. This is a Friendster comment I got from him for that billboard picture. I’m in love. :O