third side of the coin

she bathes with the dullest colours,
the bullet shells screens a notice that their war is in suspense, if not over.
heaven’s in a grudge, so she ends with crutches.
her people wont budge, her face is unclear like them
she sings to them, and they keep silent,
it stings god how he’s designed helpless. painless. numb, static and shamed.
how he is no different, the promised return that never came.
keep off my shoulder, so she scrapes her lips.
its blibical, the new life concieved faces down, thinner hips,
poisoned tips and shit jokes,
she swallows her words. and her epiphany chokes.
she points her finger in comfort,
she feels like us, guilty by birth, filthy and insecure,
to care’s a duty, so she fucks her chores with crotchets and rests,
sex, mary and apples so she feels like the rest, less.
less.

so i remain seated…staring at the ceiling. the fan gently sways and rotate, pushed by the wind frm the window.
it’s too chilly to have it on, and i’m too lazy to put something on. the pc’s quiet and so is the guitar. it’s too dark to make out what i’m really feeling, but the dim lights of the computer’s enough to remind me life is yet but over and that promised eternal bliss, if any, comes much later, miles and miles in a horizon, one that i cant even visualize right now. the lightning shrieks through the window once in random while. the thunder does it no justice, but the neighbour’s dogs are wailing. dog-whale, i wonder how’d those would look like if they were real. what they’ll eat? god i’m glad i’m not god. i’d make millions of elephants, and maybe a man or two to add a lil spice. but then again, the last time that happened, we killed em all, and made the world a living hell for any nature activists.
i feel relaxed, i’m still refusing to look at the time. instead i’m staring at the pencil art of Pei’s self potrait of Vincent Van Gogh. impressive if you could see it. i made it my wallpaper. i find it inspiring. another pioneer ahead of his time. you’d think man would actually snap and realize what the fuck we’re doing to ourselves, and actually do something about. we keep screwing up the last part. i still think god should’ve made more elephants.
blah. i rant. kick me.