lam.also.can.blog

You must be straight,
With the postage paid,
The letters inside talk to you.
The letters are telling you.
You must be straight.
Safe and sane and the words change,
Into a monster.

You’re afraid,
Don’t be afraid,
You must be straight.

Lying on your back on a shooting star,
You kept calling me,
Let down,
You know I can’t fly.

Walking out and strewn around,
It bites on your fingernails,
No matter how you have arranged,
You could only wish that somewhere I’ll not.
No matter how much it retains,
You must be straight.

It’s sentimental, against your cheeks,
Cross-legged, sipping on coffee,
A new friend of yours side by side.
Listen to me, please,
You must be straight.

Well it started,
Laidback, Making it clear,
Who I’ve chosen to disappear.

Sorry I laughed,
Help me, So sunny,
Such casual symmetry.

It’ll be bad,
It’ll be wrong,
It’s going to feel…

I take them in,
Whatever it costs, Honestly,
You are all plainly retarded.

Place it down,
Underground, Look around,
I can’t always be fucking smiling, can I?

It’s not them,
It’s out there,
It’s my love losing… color

It’s nervous when things come in pieces, when your name is printed on a simple sticker across a white plastic pinned just a finger above your left breast. It’s nerving when I’ve had too much to drink and consciousness is a word against thirty seven pairs of eyes. Particularly, you were walking around, you were walking around. Stealing glances between simple sips and hollow conversations, so careful not to fart but hanging on; hanging on, hanging on.

The breath that keeps forgetting the smell that keeps my sentences together. Three or less, just a figure, then they changed lanes and kept pouring the ridicule into a heavy glass. I’m alright, just a little uptight, a little uptight but I’m alright.

It’s nervous when things come in pieces, and my words swirl into a river, into a motion picture, into a callous remark that could wait beside all my cheap thrills. It’s nerving when you know that beauty is a fairy that shuffles between your pupils, and I’m shape-shifting into a litre of air. Particularly the technique is tactic in tactile arithmetic that laughs at the possibilities, so I close my eyes and let it go. Cheebye lah.

I keep on asking why every motion of the moments between the content of the notion could only revolve in the question that asks for a fee. You know the answers all written at the back of the paper but you said, “Oh my God!” and the facts that attacks my doubts fall into place. Flipping the pages, you and your funny faces, starting all over, looking over my shoulders, but I keep on asking; Now, where will my heart find land?

The calculation of your vocabulary seldom exceed the hours of daylight, when what is more important to you are your hands that map the shapes into your eyes. Your certainty of a pictured smile puts some clothes on my shame, the voice of your imagination makes me blind sometimes. The island you made from crayons and lemonade, the little things the ear cannot tape, the bedside stories on lazy Mondays. Such notes you unfold without the tones of any color, has been just an illusion you’ve replaced with the vicious view of reality. I can’t contain simple feelings that falls out of place, like the easiness of your ways. Without eyes, you levitate with what you’ve drawn inside your head but I’m sorry darling, the world is not any easier than what you’ve interpreted it. Being sightless calls for another jury upon where I have to stand to guide you into civilization. Being optimistic would only hurt everything else in your cerebral album.

I bought some shoes,
Some shoes for you,
Don’t ask how much it costs.

I came across,
As the handsome face,
But this gorgeousness is just a talent.

We spoke of words,
Twirling round a comet,
The words you could cover under the blanket.

Because you trust me,
Telephoning the demon,
With your clothes on, You asked for marriage.

You had the radio,
Your palm across my mouth,
You said that you could not be any happier.

A superficial change,
An addiction to math,
The addition would compensate the sunlight.

It’s good to know,
When to let go,
Because you panicked.

You’re pathetic.
But I won’t tell you that,
No, not on your juror’s diction.

It will be a fact;
I’m sharing up with love.
It’s the walk along your corridor when your window’s not open.

When your manners are as long as my penis.
When you look at the way each of them is worded.
When your attitude starts from the letter A.
When it changes from the extraterrestrial.
When you come out wet from the letter box.
When the music skips and you know I hate it.
When everything belongs in a soap box.
When you used to pick me up by my collar.
When “I don’t what to see you ever again” means to get into your breasts.
When it smells like a smiling fish.
When I took the day off to take you out.
When elevators give in to gravity and we had to sleep on the floor.
When your mother made out with your sister’s dad.
When whenever used to be the great family.
When I parked my car beside yours.
When your vagina spoke of those penetrating fluids.
When you had your make up on and you didn’t mind.
When another boyfriend dies and we could have sex again.
When the moonlight shines on the living room carpet.
When trust could sleep for a while.
When I punched you and you could not forget.
When I said that you looked like a whore from Belgium but I didn’t mean it.
When Bjork told us that all is full of love.
When you had your name on a fancy magazine.
When sleep was something we had in common.
When the lesbians took you away from your home,
You swallowed some spit and turned into a fucking monster.
Monster. Monster. Monster. Monster. Monster. Monster. Monster. Monster. Monster. Monster. Monster. Mother. Monster. Monster. Monster. Monster. Monster. Monster. Mother. Monster. Monster. Monster. Monster. Monster. Monster. Mother. Monster. Monster. Monster. Monster. Monster. Monster. Monster. Monster. Monster. Monster. Monster. Monster. Monster. Monster. Monster. Monster. Mother. Monster. Mother. Fucker. Monster. Monster. Monster. Monster. Monster. Monster. Monster. Mother. Monster. Monster. Monster. Monster. Monster. Monster. Monster. Monster. Monster. Monster. Monster. Monster. Monster. Monster. Monster. Monster. Monster. Monster.

Gliding on the sideways, The knees hurt but the heart won’t leave, The hurt peels into a million reasons, That the heart can’t deceive what was coming, In front of your dress, you’re charming, You’ve been thinking, an escape from the lover’s part, All he had was his vocabulary, The optimism of honesty, Closing his ears against the greatest love song, Surrounding his hands with the Catholics, Holding on to an eraser and a curling iron,
Silence was what she lacks, picking death from a cigarette pack.

I had these intentions that you could learn,
But it will fail and it will turn,
Everything hates and everything loves,
Everything turns sour, then folds and turns to jade.

I wanted to tell you,
We’re making a change today,
A detach, Laughs,
Throw away.
Singular remarks,
Across the coffee table,
All that we could agree on was,
The comfort of the seat.

You’re the church of my brand new,
A pillion, Simply abiding to your ghost.

I can smile a small smile,
You didn’t swallow what I know,
Every morning,
Your lips kiss me while I’m sleeping,
Not you.
Under your cape,
You held a knife,
To deceive me more with sex.

I wanted to tell you,
You’re warm, getting closer
You’re a monster
Tiptoeing.

At your speed, I’m a tourist.
A pillion, Simply abiding to your ghost.

Take it back,
Place it in a new home with a nice picture of a family.

Can I love you, interracial? Can you feel it? How about the good boys in nice, clean white shoes? White and ebony. I’m clean. I would like to mix; your Chocolate with my ivory. It won’t be about the simple drugs. Not about the guys that loves my licking. Let me get what I want. I suppose it’s ordinary. It’s not about marveling the feelings. My mouth courts you. They could. I hope your legs would get weak since I could play a harp. You’ll like harps. In turn, you’ll love me for my ivory. Think about rings, and my fingers with nice practiced nails. Thrusting the trust with thrust. You must trust the thrust. Can I hold your head? You can taste mine. It’s motion picture amongst your saliva. Can I love you, interracial? It won’t be pornographic like how I’d imagine. Just your chocolate with my ivory.