Tag Archives: jealousy

I Died on Valentine’s Day.

I died on Valentine’s Day.
Paramedics hauled my indifferent corpse
To an ambulance 10 minutes late.
A pretty girl had dropped her red roses,
Petals now blown by the cold wind
Onto my face with pale eyes wide open.
The police was questioning the woman,
“What happened to this guy, ma’am?
“Why is he dead on Valentine’s Day?”
“I don’t know, Sir,” she replied.
“But it is indeed the tragedy of all tragedies.”
“Some people are that unlucky,” said a banker
His tie bright red for Valentine’s Day.
“Some get robbed on Christmas,”
Some get burned on New Year’s Eve,
And some get death
on Valentine’s Day.”
And the girl nodded sighing,
The police shook their heads frowning,
As paramedics hauled my corpse
To an ambulance 10 minutes late. Continue reading

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Rhymes with Crimes

I don’t like it though you may like it because you have done it before. But I still don’t like it and I won’t do it and there’s nothing you can do no more.

Sink my shoes into mud, burn my pinky with boiling water, and do everything, stuff you’ll forget.  I fear my old grade school teacher, fear that lay-off, (No wonder!) but most of all, I fear regret.

And I’m tired of rhymes
When I don’t feel fine
And I feel you’re not mine,
Same crazy lines over and over again.

I don’t like it but it’s there and it’s happened before, so I’ll just work to death on my chair.

There’s no purpose to beauty, when this thing’s clearly dirty, as dirty as filthy things in the shadows. Light won’t touch it and I won’t hear it. Doesn’t matter ’cause people don’t give a sh*t.

But I’m tired of ryhmes!
This pocketful of dimes!
Same futile lines over and over again.

This painful demon won’t die, so just give it a try. Hire a cold-blooded assassin or do it yourself.

Come on, let’s not kid, or heaven forbid, my frail, sickly mind may be changed. And then when that happens, one tiny push from you darling, believe me, I will be deranged.

Stop me now darling,
So we can go fleeing, and flying, and fluctuating, and flirting.
Do it now! Do it now!
Cause if you do it now

I would bow out of the stage,
Offer myself freely to old age,
And be a hermit somewhere or a sage.

You know I can’t do it because I’ll never like it, though all the world’s done it before. But the fact doesn’t change, like my heart and my range, so I won’t ever do it

Never now, never then, never hither nor yonder, never the day after, never as tears fall the night before.

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Scrap

Someday, when the page no longer begs for my ink, when I can sit in front of the TV and actually understand what’s going on with all those explosions and visual effects, when my arms are contented squeezing a simple, soft pillow, and when my mornings are finally as predictable as a cliche first sentence in an amateur essay, jealousy will die. By then, I may remember a thing or two when my vision lands upon a familiar book on a bored Saturday stroll in the mall. A thin scent of something like coffee or mocha may make my nose sniff uncontrollably. People would be talking about important stuff but my ears may hear faint laughter or “oohs” and “aahs.” Perhaps I’d be too tired then since I’d have too many Saturday strolls and too many TV marathons. So what I’d do is just find the nearest bench from where my weak feet are planted on, and I’d sit there, breathe deeply, put my hands in my pockets and let my fingers feel the scraps of the other day. I may pull out an emotionally crumpled piece of paper and a cheap, greasy pen and start writing something. The first sentence would be a complaint about the music of the times and the second sentence would be a glorification of yesterday’s food. The third would be an apology for another mediocre blog entry on the Internet. The fourth would be about the futility of plans and the constant vacuum of the past. The fifth would be about some old room in an aged building that seems to have plans to stand eternally. And at that point, I’d have no choice, but not to finish writing or whatever I am doing, breathing perhaps and sitting, because at that point, I’d have no choice but to think about you.

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The Complexity of Coolness

Multicolored lights slice through the darkness.
Sweat splashes through the thin air in some
Headache-inducing bar that pulls brains out of ears!

I picture such a thing in the embers of the dying cigarette stick,
With its fire throbbing violently on the floor.
I stare at the complexity of coolness right in the eye,
Hang my head down like an insignificant man in the street.

How many words does it take to enter that door
So I can join in the laid-back musings of free, creative creatures?
How many rhymes do I have to invest
To match the haunting power of a song?

Failures strangle this cause full of wrong angles.
The coffee sheds off heat as I am captivated by defeat.
Oh, if I can only conquer histories with a qwerty keyboard!
If I can only grow groupies by fertilizing the floor with ink,
You might come with me somewhere crowds don’t dance,
Performers don’t prance! And then I’ll have my precious chance
To make your eyes look up at the ceiling to the beat of a sigh.

What should I do when I run out of magic tricks?
There should be shops where I could buy more awesomeness.
What should I do when I run dry of enchanted wit?
There should be plenty of inspiration in bitter dreams.

I’m an old fragile statue amidst booming, glowing towers,
And you are a spotlight that brings life to the night.
My eyes turn watery as I contemplate your deep love,
While your tongue shoots needles on automatic.
You carefully asked me what I am thinking.
I hesitantly said that I am merely listening.
Nothing else I could do but cower at past giants,
Admit that they deserved such enviable heartbeat.
I stare at the complexity of coolness right in the eye,
Hang my head down like an insignificant man in the street.

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Jealous Thoughts on Jealousy

How do you get rid of this feeling?

That is the right question to ask. People always ask “Why?” but the right question to ask is “How?” The feeling is torturous, so it doesn’t help to just stand there questioning yourself for minutes, days and weeks. One must quickly find a solution or risk losing something precious in the process.

But how do you find a solution when you are irrational? It’s not a stretch to say you’re semi-insane or semi-paranoid about everything. You are aware that you’re foolish, stupid, totally irritating, dumb, boring, depressing, dark, and a pain in the @ss, — but what can you do?

You only need the slightest hint or a barely visible detail to create huge ugly monsters. Your brain is smoking a mysterious magical drug that drives it to the amazing depths of ridiculousness.

Is it ridiculous?

Is it not based on something solid?

What if there is a tiny, fragile, nasty logic in it?

What if a part of your heart firmly believes in it?

What if you’ve already discovered the seeds of doomsday?

Is it ridiculous?

Questions go on and on, raping answers along the way. Answers die by the thousands, their blood and guts becoming a red smelly sea in your mind. Your mind is a wasteland. Eventually, you lose yourself and forget how you got there in the first place. You’ve built your own labyrinth and now you’re trapped in it with your mouth gaping open.

Sometimes, I’d like to think of the feeling as a human being’s natural equipment against factors in the environment that might compromise his dominance and power. I mean, in a group of animals, the male always has to guard his partner from other determined males that also want to propagate themselves.

It is definitely a sick way of looking at things. I’m revolted at it myself.

But aren’t all these thoughts, all these letters and words and paragraphs, just another bunch of proofs of the irrationality that that feeling brings?

Maybe people ought to just shut up when they’re jealous.

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