05.06.09
A stupid poem
I hate writing or reading poems, because the only ones that actually sound like poems have rhymes force-fitted in that end up sounding awkward at the end of the lines. And the ones that don’t sound like poems sound like randomly disjointed sentences strung together in a semblance of a theme.
Tried writing a prose once for a guy who probably had no idea how long it took to write it and probably wouldn’t have appreciated it more anyway.
In the spirit of the whole emo phase I seem to be going through, I think it warrants some emo poem. It would only be fitting. In fact, it’s practically required in these circumstances.
Why…
Does it feel like the pit of doom
How…
Have I sunk into such gloom
Who…
Gives a shit about me
What…
Is the meaning of this misery
Perhaps the answer is within
Where puppies roam and angels sing
Hahahaha… that was really lame.
12.17.08
Some things are hard to say
She found it difficult to express what she felt right there and then, and all along. It was as if her tongue suddenly froze, even though she was warm inside out.
Random thoughts and memories flickered in her mind, to the few times when she had been exuberant about such things. What happened since? Life had progressed, for one, along with cynicism, distrust, and a sense of apathy.
But now the exuberance was back, strangely and unexpectedly; she thought it was one of those things lost forever, that she could never feel that deeply again; but now it was inevitably tempered by those things which had set in along the way.
Why did she think she could not ever be moved again? She wondered. “Because you were always in control,” a little voice spoke at the back of her mind. She understood. Control was everything, because you only had control when you could stand to lose what you had. The moment you weren’t afraid of losing what you had was the moment you could detach.
And there she was, moved beyond the event horizon, and her tongue was frozen.
“So do you remember what was it you wanted to say?”
“Oh… no, I forgot again.”
“It must not have been that important then.”
“Yea, I guess it wasn’t.”
12.03.08
Beyond the mere physical
Warning: Cheesy, slightly clumsy erotica ahead.
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She shifted her weight and moved on top of him on the queen sized bed so her lips could devour his more forcefully. Her top hung loosely around her waist and her bra had been tossed aside in a passionate haste. He gently cupped her breasts as she drank him in.
As her lips moved down to his neck and his chest, she felt the familiar stirrings of his male hardness against her. She kissed his stomach while her hands unbuckled the constraints of his pants. She slid onto the floor and pulled him to sit at the edge, so she now knelt between his spread legs.
She slipped her hand inside and gripped the length of his long, hard shaft. He sighed softly as she pulled it out, shivering slightly in anticipation of the raw lust she would soon unleash. Holding it in one hand and stroking it gently with her fingertips…
“Do you want me to suck your cock?“
“Oh yeah.“
“I thought you said you were tired.“
“No…“
“So… can I suck your cock?“
“Yes…“
She ran her tongue up the length of his hardening cock, over and over again, licking it like she would a stick of ice-cream. Her lips lingered over the tip of his cock, wet tongue swirling over the newly exposed area where foreskin met cockhead. She closed her mouth over just the head, giving little sucks that induced soft moans from her intoxicated partner. A wicked smile curved her lips.
“You like this?“
“Mmfph.“
“You like your dirty girl sucking your cock?“
“Yeah, you’re a dirty girl.“
Without any indication she was about to, she dipped her head and slid his cock deep into her throat, tightening her lips as she did. He moaned. She held it there in heat and wetness for a moment, surpressing a gag that was an indication of how well-endowed he was. Then her head began to move up and down, repeatedly sucking his cock in as deep as she could before sliding it out again.
He propped himself on his elbows to watch. She released his cock from the confines of her hot, wet mouth and held it in one hand to begin deliciously long licks along the shaft. She raised her eyes to meet his as she did. She was aware of how she must look from where he was, and took a perverse delight in the slutty image.
As she licked, sucked, nibbled and pleasured his cockhead, she found she could not tear her gaze away from his. His eyes held hers intensely, an expression of barely-controlled lust mixed with an unfathomable one written across his face and smouldered in his irises. The cacophony of her lustful thoughts were silenced in that look, leaving nothing but a desire to please him and to want him to watch her please him.
Her cheeks flushed at the depth and intimacy of this connection that went beyond mere physical pleasure.
So this is what it has always supposed to be like, she thought.
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Meh. Feel free to get off on it. Lol.
11.19.08
Sometimes it’s better to
Sometimes it’s better to stop making excuses.
Sometimes it’s better to start smelling the roses.
Sometimes it’s better to lay the cards on the table.
Sometimes it’s better to make that change, if you are able.
Sometimes it’s better to do things the hard way.
Sometimes it’s better to take things a small step a day.
Sometimes it’s better to admit you lied.
But most of the time it’s just easier to hide.
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Yeah, so I’m a regular WIlliam Wordsworth now =P
11.12.08
Ramblings on a beach
I popped on “Off He Goes” by Pearl Jam on a strand of beach in Pulau Tioman with a pen and paper, and this was the jumbled, unstructured result:
I’m sitting here on this big piece of driftwood washed ashore, perspiring, with the mellow strums of a Pearl Jam song punctuated by gentle waves rolling ashore. It is calm and I’ve not felt as peaceful as this in the longest time.
The setting sun casts a soft light on the world. The sea isn’t as vivid a blue as it was this morning. It is like she is dimming and fading, preparing for the night to come. The outcrops of rock and trees in the distance seem formidable. They were born thousands of years ago, and will continue long after I’m gone. We live but a minuscule fraction of time to be of any significance to anything else other than ourselves and our little worlds. Life is short, and one gets a sense of it while being surrounded by the beautiful majesty of nature.
It feels like I’m all alone. Here, and anywhere. That’s how I came into the world, and that’s how I’ll leave it. Our remains will turn to dust and return to earth. But I feel God’s love. Surely nothing so beautiful, inside and out, could exist by pure, random collisions of particles.
There is a flock of small birds fluttering by in formation. Surely this juxtaposition of freedom against the sea stretching its limits along the shore is divine. I’m grateful, to be alive, here and now. Where I’m going, where I’ll be next, I don’t know. But for now, this is beautiful.
The waves in the distance look like the rise of water above the play of dolphins. The sun’s rays flaring behind the clouds look like the gates of heaven. There is no balm more soothing. Maybe it’s also a sense of awe that comes with being near the elements from which we are said to originate. We crawled out of the primordial slush of the rich organic seas.
The horizon stretches.
It is cooler now.
03.25.08
The girl in my dreams
Today I’m going to write about a girl I’ve seen in my dreams.
The first thing you’d notice about her is that she is beautiful, exquisitely so. Her features are carved in rich porcelain, eyes set like deep luminous pools. Why is she Here and Now? She smiles at me and my heart breaks because I could never attain a fraction of that perfection.
How those bow-shaped lips curve up symmetrically. How it warms the dewy marble of her facade.
She gestures for me to follow her through the enchanted forest, which seems to sparkle with dewdrops under the moonlit sky. A river murmurs nearby. Muted sounds of tiny creatures serenade us. I am mesmerized by the way her hair cascades down like a stream of dark water down her back.
I don’t know how long we walk, or where we are. When she turns around again, I almost walk into her. Once again, I’m struck by the ache of longing – to possess, to own, to take what I cannot have. I smell her, a scent no less than flowers which remind me of my childhood.
“I want to tell you…” she begins with a low, liquid voice. The more I listen, the more entranced I am. The most beautiful pearl in the world, she says, lies at the bottom of the waterfall ahead. It is perfectly round, perfectly smooth and perfectly lustrous. It would look so pretty adorned around her neck. Would I be a dear and get it for her? It is only but a short way down.
When I assure her I would do this simple task for her, her face is lit by an ethereal glow. In girlish glee, she takes my hand and pulls me towards the pool at the head of the falls. She pauses at the edge to let her diaphanous dress slip from her shoulders and onto the moss-carpeted floor.
My life has culminated to this single point when everything I ever do, or see, or hear, or think, will be tainted by this moment.
I follow her into the pool, where we play and giggle and squeal with childish abandon. It must’ve been hours…days…I cannot keep track of anything but of the sensation of drowning in those eyes that reflect the depth of a soul.
Finally, hours - no, days - later, she presses up against me. I feel her cool velvet skin against mine, her hot breath on my face. “Are you ready?” she whispers. My heart thuds against my chest. But under the sun of her encouraging smile, my doubts melt.
I float on my back, looking up at a frosty, diamond-speckled night sky. A thin sliver of the moon casts a faint glimmer upon the tops of the trees. My hair fans out around my face. She stands over me, looking down with an almost loving look.
There could not be a more fitting way for my life to end.
I raise my hand to touch her cheek, but she gives me a gentle push, and let the currents claim me. I drift further and further away from her, my hand still outstretched. Her eyes never leave mine.
I almost panic when I reach the head of the waterfalls. But those eyes arrest me with compelling power. I cannot pull my gaze away, and I do not want to. My body feels like it’s in the air, and then I’m falling… falling… and those eyes follow me all the way down to oblivion.
