123

we drove into the horizon, you and me
the road seasoned and broken
tar cracks and lines that are no longer distinct
the air crackled with static
of the radio of you and me

we fought for breath, for life
for those molecues of poison air
that filled our skins
and tattooed across our fingertips
the road rolled along

no junctions up ahead
only the long road to nowhere
and yet everywhere that we want to go

you and me
123 kilometers towards the horizon
i close my eyes
(and you’re gone).

little pug, little pug

you think i’ve forgotten, i haven’t.
and everytime i see you i’m reminded of the scar
your knife left in my back.

dont be silly, it wasnt because you were my friend–
you weren’t.
it was because for nearly half a year
you made someone dear to me believe i was something
i wasn’t.
you didn’t understand– you didnt understand me, or the dynamics,
or the history, or the players in the game.
and you stuck your stupid fat little nose in
and acted like you were the queen of the frickin world.

i dont care for your scrunched-face smiles.
turn your face somewhere else.

wanderlust

khlong-moung-beach.jpg
a little walk down memory lane
skipping on the copper-coloured cobble stones
a dance, a trip, a bruised knee
hand in hand and racing pulses.

those nights that we’d sit in the car
these dreams in my head
of new york in pinstripped trench coats
of manhattan with a cosmopolitan in hand
of new delhi with slippers and white linen suits
of beijing wearing mufflers on our ears and fruits on sticks
of australia riding the surf and having ice-cold beer
of mexico and food that makes your eyes water and hats too big
of krabi with bikinis and mojitos
of maldives and reefs and lounging
of westminister abbey with books in bags and oogling eyes
of paris and side walk cafes and mussel soups

but for now, wanderlust.
and vicarious decadant living.