imperfect

i was caught in a jam along my way home, feeling fucking tired and lost. It was a horrible congestion, the cars were not moving AT ALL. and so, as usual, i stoned for the whole hour.

you know the song The Story by Brandi Carlile? it makes me think and think and never stop thinking. my small raisin brain just couldn't stop running. please tell me how to look good at the mirror when í feel like a piece of fucking shit. you suck. really fuckup.

the driver beside was smoking, i stared at him burning his stick. the cigarette gets shorter as time ticks. It reminds me of life. every puff you take, it gets shorter. same goes to your life. it gets shorter too. so what does that mean? nothinggg. ahh crap. puff puff puff. keep puffing.

life is great, everything will be alright. it doesn't make any sense to me right now. life is a burden. life is selfish. it will never be a perfect symmetry. its moment like this that make me sit back and mull over non sensible things. "what am i doing here. why do i exist? please delete me off." i tried drawing a perfect box on my lecture notes or worse, on my exam answer scripts for the past three years. i'll never be able to draw a perfect box. :(

my memories are too many that i may build a cardboard house on a street corner and label ''let go''... i hate my heart and i would like to put my heart in that cardboard house. if you found it, please jolly well stab it. better still, burn that house.

at the same time, i wonder how the world will be if i'm blind. trying very hard to create illusion and colours. have my own version of rainbow. imagine how ''beautiful'' the world will be. i hate what i see right now.

sometimes i hope a car will just bang me down intentionally. run over me like a chef roll the pizza dough. i dont think i want to feel how it feels. but just do it please. someday we will die, so why not earlier? holy shit. this is ridiculous. what am i typing over here. rubbish. but then again, so what! Live your life as it is. and fuck care about how you're emotionally hurt.


bahhhh


You see the smile that's on my mouth
It's hiding the words that don't come out
And all of my friends who think that I'm blessed
They don't know my head is a mess
No, they don't know who I really am
And they don't know what
I've been through like you do
And I was made for you...