valexposed

"I have loved the stars too fondly to be fearful of the night."

All the crazies are looking
for someone sane.

They don’t realize, you need two
halves to become

whole.

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And if I should dive into my own mind,
I will go heads first.

Find the glitch in a pool of broken alphabets;

however dark, however deep.

You light matches in the wind
to watch their smoky deaths
(like you, their warmth never lasts)

20 minutes

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I have found joy in going to the laundromat recently. Something about the sound of the machines and a good book. 

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Reading between absent lines

One for the road?

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I’m in the bus on the way to Bagan and its three hours into a ten hour journey. We arrive at a pitstop. A lady hands me a packet of tissue and a toothbrush.

“30 minutes”, she says.

The guy sitted next to me in the bus, Tham Zaw, from Thailand, joins me during this little break. We barely understand each other, aside from general handsigns.

He orders a beer, and so do i. Nearly everyone working at the rest stop smiles and laughs. Tham Zaw looks at me to reassure that a beer was what I ordered. So I gave him a thumbs up.

I would prefer to use the word rarely but with all honesty, I have not once seen a Burmese lady drink or smoke a cigarette.

I felt out of place for a bit – am I being rude? What’s so funny???? But it’s really good beer and I figured it’d help me catch some shut eye during the bus ride.

While they laughed harmoniously, I laughed alone wondering, is this so rare? I then ordered my second glass. 10 minutes left.

Tham Zaw humoured with the random faces around us; he spoke Burmese aside from Thai. Not being able to comprehend what they were saying and to know that it was about me, the glass of beer and cigarette in my hand – it became amusing more than strange.

If I could only pick a handful of Burmese men/women and gently drop them in Clarke Quay on a Saturday evening. A thirty minutes pitstop maybe?

I wonder.

23:13 – 16/12/15

IMG_20151213_024510                                                                                                                                                             Reminding me                                                                                                                         of all the things                                                                                                                        i often wish,                                                                                                                          but cannot do.                                                                                      

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These demons they linger till dawn, but they are not
gone- an afternoon nap, vital for midnight perversion
and infallible travesties.

Between the fingers of shadows lie the making of a
caricature that buckles the core of your mind and
exploits the seeds you have so carefully nurtured.

Mute, so you listen gingerly to waves that make no
sound. You gaze blankly- roads and people turn into
white walls, but then you hear it.

You hear the thoughts that is masking your sight,
disfiguring the outlines of your expression. No longer
seeking words or sounds, taste and smell but absent.

Transition.

Noise

My skin has lost color and scent, i am faceless with doubt. Have you seen my eyes? I seem to have misplaced them. My mind fills with grain and noise, a photograph overexposed, too much sunlight or maybe barely enough to see a clear picture.The little dots in a jibber-jabber, i do not know what they say. Are you talking about me? Am i talking about me? Am i even in this picture?

Tears fall and i do not know why. The grains and noise disappear, yet the photograph remains unclear. Was there a subject to begin with? My mind now empty, i can’t stop the puddle in my eyes. I am broken for reasons i am unable to understand. Why?

My eyes focus on an inanimate object but i am not staring, barely looking, what am I glancing at? The foreground blurs, my eyes begin to hurt.

#@!? &$*

Raging like a battery that leaks acid right out of me.