Nothingness and oblivion are same thing when you find yourself nowhere inside you.
It’s 3.30 in the afternoon. A sting in the air, perhaps I could see that pub in the corner…
it always rains there, all year long…through the time of the death of a reptile.
I have never tried to go there…but I always thought about the possibilities,
that’s what we all do.
I had a friend here a while ago.
We were talking about something…I can’t remember it now,
but whenever I was rolling a beautiful joint,
his eyes were shivering in disbelief,
he still thinks lollipops are way cooler than these clouds of weeds.
I didn’t blame him. We were talking and talking and perhaps at some point I mentioned her about one woman I had sex with…with sculptured ass…
and how she promised me, she would never want to see the animal inside me again.
He laughed at it…he thought I can’t have any wild beast inside me… craving my sanity…
He thought I am too good a poet to be a butcher of raw and thick meats.
Truth has always been lonely and awful in socializing.
And most of time I haven’t been sensible enough to fall for truths or to die with lies.
There’s a bed infested with holes here,
I can still hear the sounds of rains dropping on concretes…
a woman ordering some poignant scotch. She is unsettling but beautiful.
I am sleeping…it’s the perfect time to unchain my animal…
It will run havoc through the unkempt hairs.

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Photograph: Phil-Cho.