Kind and cruel
A writer’s fate dictates
In a billion notes
Of endless woes
Say “huh?” then gleam.
Come enter, beloved guest
By my table do weep
Let my windows be lifted
The ghost doth keep
From old files. Again, not his fan. Just a request.
Nuts and cheese
For Halloween’s screech
Costumes of fish
Pathetic in dish
Another paper another ink
Another click another link
Wasted time saved a thick
Roll of joy that’s never meek
Surprisingly I felt nothing.
Was it because it was just a photograph?
Or was it because I have drained all that stupidity?
I wish it was because I am now invincible to your trickery.
I wonder how it would feel like
when I get to see you again
and speak to you again
touch you again.
Could I be on my feet?
Be not like the saint you once portrayed.
Be not the musician you once depicted.
Be not the teacher you once hid into.
For I am now the artist that is not fooled by any fake magician.
I am the writer that writes about deceptions–
And now I have my charcoal and my paint, my paste and my thread,
my strings and my needles
To put things back together,
Except you and me.
It would’ve been worse had I let it continue. So I thought it’s a valid option just to be unfair. It was unfair. I admit it.
You said I did not give you a chance to tell me things. Well, I wished that would be best. Given how my mind works, I knew I could get an A all the time. But no. Life doesn’t grade like that. I knew it was not as easy as finding the value of x nor was it as fun as balancing an equation. Because then we balanced emotions. We found the value of what we had. We tried solving problems without givens. We still didn’t exactly know how to label our answers.
Now that you’re busy talking, I can just stare and be amenable. That I was the only one who decided to stay away, that I didn’t even wait for you, is so true that I just can’t defend myself from your eyes. I can’t. And there’s no reason why I should. I did it with good intention–to medicate you even before you get wounded. I did it to end something that hasn’t even started.
Why the hell will I be guilty? The only thing I regret was that I didn’t do it much earlier. I could’ve saved you had I done so. I could’ve saved you.
And I’m sorry.