Vulva, n.:

There was a girl who never liked people but loved going to elsewhere full of it. Until one night, with a stick of smoke hanging on the corner of her deadly crimson lips and a glass of violet toxic embraced by her long lady fingers, she decided to vanish visibly--eternally--lie in the sweet calm fire knowingly--endlessly.
("Gertrude" 23/01/13 ; Artist: "A.")


In spite of beauty and serenity in the midst of her paradise, she the princess is still lost within her own and is still uncertain about the purpose of her being. Certain questions circle her kingdom, certain doubt strikes her pure heart of white. Why can't love reach the blinding lights ... Why can't love be the blinding lights.
("Emily" 21/10/12 ; Artist: "A.")















Wants acceptance, wants love. Just like a flower that floats on air, gently riding the invisible palm of God. She wants someone to catch her; catch her beauty and simplicity; catch her faults and difficulties.
("Mandy" 18/07/12 ; Artist: "A.")

Zombie, n.:

source: gniniar.wordpress.com

I know love when I feel one. Just like how I know it's a bitch when I see one, and how to avoid it the way I dodge a volleyball when it's flying straight towards my face. But somehow, this me-knowing-everything kind of thing is freaking me in for some instances. Like, it makes me mad and want to scream as if a dumbfuck elephant in the midst of the wild, but still I prefer to shut my mouth and keep it all to myself. That's how I freak in. It's as if there is a party inside my body and at the same time, a war in my head. Anyway, the point is I want to feel love like how I felt it before: Pure. Genuine. Distilled. I know it's all cheese but for fuck's sake! Can't this guy be happy for real this time?

For quite some time, I've been sitting in the Stool of Torment and lying on the Bed of Roses. Nobody notices my pain and wounds that are caused by the wedges and thorns because there is no blood gushing out of my body. And the only reason for it is that I'm all dried up. I'm dead. And I need someone to revive me because honestly, I feel like a zombie now; searching and searching for someone to eat when instead, I should be looking for somebody who would find joy in satisfying my appetite by feeding me everything I need. Does that even make sense? Anyway. I want someone to love me. To say she loves me. To show me she really does. And to say it again and again and again and again! I want her to love me the way I want to be loved.

Come on! Where are you, uhm... er... soulmate?

Where the fuck are you?

Eat me!

And I'll eat you back!

Boundary, n.:

TITLE: Line Between Love and Death

By: Sebastien Angelo

-

One morning, I woke up and saw

Your hair leftovers on the pillow

And the empty sheets beside my body.

I walked my baffled heart to Dead City.

One noon, I sat down by the river

And heard footsteps that made me quiver.

I looked back and found you leaving,

So I walked my wonky heart through your grieving.

One teatime, I spent it with you.

We had fun watching the sun fall on cue,

But then you disappeared like a bubble.

I walked my lonely heart in your trouble.

One twilight, I ran to the rooftop

And met you on the opposite ledge.

Scarily, you cried your final pledge,

So I walked my frozen heart between the gap.

One midnight, I opened my eyes

And breathed in the fact on the wind:

You are now as cold as ice

But I'll walk my broken heart to you, my darling.

Pussy, n.:

There are times that we are afraid to move forward. Times that we just want to remain seated in the past. Times that we bury ourselves together with the tragic memories. I would love to say it's normal for us to feel sorry about our lives. To feel sorry about the things that we need to leave behind but actually can't--that little by little, start to define who we are in the present. I really think it's fine to feel sad about something, but it's not always like that. It must not always be like that, because sadness is not the answer. Although sometimes somehow it helps. But I guess, the only way to solve a problem is not to think there is a problem.

I just had a serious break-up with my girlfr. It was a real pain. It was tragic. She used to be my world, and I don't know if I used to be hers too. But I guess it doesn't matter anymore. Anyway, my love for her wasn't any kind of love I would give to anybody else. She's so special. And I felt special everytime I was with her. Honestly, I don't know what made me feel special. And mostly, I lack certainty if I was really special. All I know is I trusted her way too deep and too much even though Trust with a capital "T" is not something I give for free, and all I cared about was to make her feel happy and lucky to be mine. Sadly, the love we shared together got shattered into pieces because of something we are both uncertain. And just because of that, we're now looking at each other like complete strangers in the dark.

After our curtain fell and closed, I wear nothing but a fake smile. Well, it's not really fake. It's just that whenever I smile or laugh, at the back of my mind I know I am not genuinely happy. And I do this because I don't want anyone to know I'm in trouble. I don't want to bug someone out because of my miseries. It's my problem, and so I'll be the one to solve it. But sometimes I think it's kind of unfair to my part, because I always try my best to fix someone else's agony. On the other hand, I don't want to look at it that way. I just want to help everyone, and also be the one to help myself. It's my choice, anyway. I choose to be tough. But this toughness is about to crack up now. It's like in the middle of the morning, the sun would say hello through the window, as if it has something good to offer. But before I could move a limb or even a strand of my hair, I wouldn't help to ask God why he let me wake up again. I know I'm too young to think about these kinds of stuff, but pain doesn't choose age. It strikes when it rains. Just like a thunder.

I'm trying so hard to move forward and leave the past, but the cycle keeps on spinning, leading me to a roundtrip: I get hurt, I cry, I stop crying, I smile, I try to live and be happy again, and then I get hurt for another time. No matter how hard I try to accept the fact that she's not coming back anymore, that our love is not going to be the way it was before, that I will soon try to be with another girl--and she will too, I still can't let go of the happy memories we created. I'm still holding on to the hopes of our once perfect relationship to be that perfect couple again. Most of the time, I convince myself I'm alright. But everytime I stand in front of the mirror, all I see is pain. It is painful. Very painful. And the pain is the kind of pain that doesn't make sense anymore. It keeps striking my insides. And I feel like I'm going to collapse because nothing's left inside me. It's slowly eating me every single day, and it's really gibberish.

I admit I was not a good boyfr. There were times I failed to show her what she wanted to see, to tell her what she needed to hear, and to make her feel what she must feel. And I am sorry for that. Really. Seriously.  And I also know it's too late for that. I was just scared. I'm a pussy. But that doesn't mean I didn't love you for real.


Fuck!


I used to be my own soldier, but I guess I can't save myself forever.
I need you.

I miss you. So much.

Cloister, v.:

TITLE: Melodrama
BY: Sebastien Angelo
--
Lots of people to talk to,
But nobody really understands.
Like being in a room full of birds;
They speak but all you hear is chirp.

Lots of people to spend time with,
But nobody's really with you.
Like walking on a weak wooden bridge;
You die alone in one wrong move.

Lots of people to lean on,
But nobody's willing to stay.
Like holding on to a rope of clay;
You hopelessly fall down to unknown.

Lots of people to believe in,
But nobody really deserves it.
Like crossing fingers for something great,
But you still end up low anyway.

Teaser, n.:

""Why do we need love? Why do we fall in love? Why do we have to love somebody? Why do we love to love somebody? Why do we need to be loved by somebody? Why, why love?" he asked. Seemingly endless. For a second, I thought his lips would never stop spitting sharp question marks to my face. Luckily, he ran out of breath and strength to think for another. I quite rejoiced inside, in fact. Then, I suddenly felt pain travelling with blood around my body. It was almost unbearable that I was almost ready to cut out my life by ripping my own head off. And when I realized that it wasn't just pain, that it was guilt, the twinges transformed into numbness immediately. I couldn't feel anything anymore. Even the thick gust of icy wind coming from the open window at the right side of his room, just above the headboard of his bed. That's the trouble with being asked. Albeit you already admitted to yourself that you don't know the answers, you'd still feel the urge, the guilt and the responsibility to respond. To give him a mouthful of answers that would satisfy his thirst.

"You give yourself a lot of 'Whys' and you expect someone else to give you the 'Because,'" I finally retorted. And he was all ears. Like a 5th grader trying hard to chew the unconventional words of his boring History teacher. "It's like you're trying to solve for the X plus Y equation when you haven't even found the X yet. Just the Y. A lot of Ys, as a matter of fact. So when you try to write it down or press it on your calc, nothing will come out but 'Syntax Error.' And that's what my answer to you right now: Syntax Error. Your Y is too much, too high, too big, while your X is empty and still unknown. I guess you should find the X first, and then we'll try to solve the equation together. Deal?"

"What if the X is you and the Y is me? Would that be enough to give me my 'Because?' Because I think that's it. That's my problem," he replied. I think I kind of blushed. But I knew I must not. Girls should never show the electric gush that swims through our bodies whenever a guy offers us the sweetest combination of nerdy words possible, and what it does to us, and how crazy it makes us.

“Don’t be silly.” I laughed. But he didn’t, so I stopped. “So, is it a deal? Look for your X?” I asked, trying to redirect the matter. But he turned away from me instead, and faced the body mirror hanging lengthwise on the wall. It didn’t change anything at all, because I could still see his features through his reflection. And I have to admit, he was really good-looking. His angelic face always told me I was safe with him. And it always felt like we were together in some kind of paradise everytime I looked in his calm green eyes. Just like in that moment. I could hear the harp playing of the angels around us. I could see clouds behind us through the mirror. I could smell the scent of eternity. All this, right behind him.

“I know I ask a lot of questions about love, but I don’t really need a lot of answers to believe it. I just need a single word that would make me believe in us. That would make me hold on to you,” he whispered. I melted and froze at the same time. I didn’t know what to do, but gumption made me hug him from behind. It was such a euphoric feeling in an agonizing moment. I don't know how that could be, but I knew that I gave up. I finally gave in. I didn’t want to, but I knew then I’ve fallen in love with him. With the guy who doubted love. With the guy who never believed in anything. With the guy who was lost in abstract.

Despite the ecstatic romance binding us together, something was making me neglect it and regret my being too easy to him. I must not let myself fall and get lost with him as well. I must find my way back home. But how could I when he’d made me feel at home already?"

Imperfect, adj.:



source: tumblr.com

When you grew up seeing and knowing how necessary the word "Perfect" is for the people around you, witnessing how they put the world on your back by letting you grasp the fact and take in the pressure that they want, need, and expect you to be the exact definition of it, but not fully understanding why you should and if you could, probably you would strive to become one more and more and more each dawn you wake up because you want to give everyone behind you a nice shot of evangelical wink and say, "I am perfect now," to make them feel happy. To make them feel lucky because they have you. To make them realize that every thing and every time they have given you is all worth it. You want to give them a reward for taking care of you, for raising you up, for loving you, etc. You want to give them something. A golden trophy, maybe, which is also you; Your perfection. But in my case, I would not. Not because I can't, but because I really won't. Rewarding them your perfection is like putting yourself around their necks like a huge gold medal to display. To show the public that you are shining brightly. That you are nothing but perfect. So, the credit is still on you. The reward is for them, but the pleasure sticks on you---in you. Perfection is all about pride. Perfection is a crime. Being perfect is nonsense. It does not exist, especially in this mad world we're living in because perfection is the absence of flaws, which is impossible for crazy individuals like us, for an obnoxious creature like me. Perfection is just a wish that will never come true no matter how tight you close your eyes and cross your fingers while repeating the perfect mantra over and over and over. Perfect is a hopeless hope that causes trouble, agony, and tragedy. Perfect is just a dream of the nostalgic. Being perfect is being stupid. Perfection sucks. Now, suck it!