Bukowski Jr.

i’ll tell you what it’s like to be lonely

i flip through pages of my favourite book-
about a 17-year-old boy who wore
a stupid red hunter’s cap and likes to smoke weed
in his crappy cheap hotel room
on either the second or third floor.
he carries his luggage of angst
and left pieces of them
in places, he never ought to be.
he tried pursuing a casual conversation
with a whore
and likes calling everything a phony.
i never thought i’d give away
all of my empathy.

how about creating a playlist
of sappy indie songs i have picked.
i’ll stay in the four corners of my own universe;
my humble abode
with stacks of paperbacks, cluttered posters
and sentiments that i have hoarded.
whilst tuning into the missing mush,
i would be stifled
by the whiffs of solitary.
other scents, i hardly remember them.
yet the familiarity
always finds a way to catch me
before a deep descent.

maybe i’m sick.
i do have sickle-cell anemia,
no wonder why i’m so fatigued as always,
but that’s not the only reason why.
maybe i have goldfish short-term amnesia
or whatever medical jargon that is,
i keep forgetting i’m too alone,
even in a school of floppy fishes.
i don’t know this vague disease
that has been bothering me,
it turned me into an all-nighter.
sometimes, i crave
for a nostalgia that isn’t there.

i really hate that feeling.

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Nothing Is Certain but Death and Taxes

⠀⠀⠀ I can’t do this anymore, fuck. I want to get out of here and dwindle myself among the snowflakes. Today was suppose to be a helluva great winter’s night- I had my turkey thawed and ready to be cooked, but the oven became an inferno. So I was left with blackened meat and charcoal-like residues- that was my disaster dinner. Luckily, I’m my own visitor that I had to please, at least I’m fucking thankful to taste a forty-dollar worth of turkey shit.

⠀⠀⠀ I wander around my confined space, lost and seemingly a drunkard among the aroma of burned carcasses and scattered overdue bills. I don’t drink at all, being maudlin is already embedded in my nervous system; same goes for being the most inept at adulting. There are times in my life where I don’t feel like doing shit, and when I do, it’s mostly an excuse to stop going overboard with thinking too much. I’ll admit, I’m a complete chaos; bubbles of emotions are starting to pop- I feel weird as if I’m born again with brand new chemicals in my body. I know my thoughts, they just don’t know my sentiments. Like how I know how to cook a turkey, time was just being an ass to me.

⠀⠀⠀ In all rationality, I want to stop feeling.

⠀⠀⠀ I grabbed my coat and headed outside into the flaky abyss. I was wearing my silky long sleeves, so these tiny particles are turning me into a popsicle. I was cold and pleasantly numb, it’s not that I give a fuck anyways.

⠀⠀⠀ I hastily strolled my way to the park, our local park, where squatters leave trails of their hard-earned, cheapass alcohol and haggard teenagers sleeping through their hangovers. Police would usually report them to the station the next day. Most of the time, their bodies wouldn’t flinch and they never seem to wake up. That’s how it goes in my town, a teen’s life expectancy was all chugged down with bottles of vodka.

⠀⠀⠀ But I didn’t come here to drink nor subconsciously die.

⠀⠀⠀ My hands numbly shelter themselves in my pant pockets- I was freezing like hell as I take a couple of steps. If I were to die from the cold, the townspeople would stick to the assumption that I got killed by my drunkness. It’s a repetitive death and everyone likes to state the obvious. I’d like to sadly think that no one cares about these teenagers. Though, at least they have their honourable places in the obituary section of the newspapers. I’m not here to make fun of death, I mean no disrespect, but these obituaries seemed like they were computer-generated.

⠀⠀⠀ “Elliot Bungshy passed away on June 12, 2012, at the age of 18. He was loved by everyone- his friends, families and even strangers he hasn’t met. They say that he was a diligent student, a great role-model and an innocent kid. He was everyone’s friend, a brother, a sister and even their family’s dog. Sadly, he left his mark on Comebury’s Park, laying on pits of grass with his “Smoke Weeds for Lyfe” t-shirt and his blue ripped jeans, smiling for the very last time. His death was a surprise, nobody knew how he died. Everyone thinks that maybe God has a plan for him-“

⠀⠀⠀ Bullshit. I’m rather too nihilistic to believe in the God-has-a-plan-for-you ideology. I’m not condemning any religions, I’d like to stick to my own skin, but it annoys the heck out of me to see them appear in every death statement I’ve read.

⠀⠀⠀ Now, I’m actually scared.

⠀⠀⠀ With all these thoughts of stupid obituaries, I switched to distracting myself by staring into the lonesome twilight. I noticed the Christmas decorations hanging loosely around the streetlamps; there was also a superficial gingerbread house on display, it was obviously made out of recycled cardboard and other miscellaneous you can find in a D.I.Y. kit.

⠀⠀⠀ I went closer to further inspect the insides. Before I could do so, it tumbled onto the ground, mixing with the snow. It was like witnessing an avalanche. I kind of felt bad since the gingerbread man must be suffocating inside. I’m empathetic enough to see my life being squashed by own edible home. If it was entirely made out of grandma’s delicious oatmeal cookies, I would rather die, thanks.

⠀⠀⠀ Before my burdensome thoughts were about to hop into my brain, I heard a raspy voice behind me.

⠀⠀⠀ “Hey, dude.” I turned around to see that it had belonged to some young guy- he’s lanky and he’s wearing a hunter’s coat. He reminds me of what Holden Caulfield would look like, especially the fact that he’s smoking while sitting on a crate that says Cumbury’s Sex Toys.

⠀⠀⠀ “Hi,” I replied.

⠀⠀⠀ He handed out his cigarette pack, “Need a smoke?”

⠀⠀⠀ I hesitated for a while, I’ve never smoked in my life. He threw both the lighter and the cigarette without waiting for my replying. The lighter had unicorn designs- how cute is that. I flicked the lighter and watched the flames engulfed the butt, I was like the modern-day of the little match girl.

⠀⠀⠀ Then, I make my way towards him to give back his lighter. The closer I got, the more his features became distinguishable. I’m not gonna lie, he’s a good-looking kid.

⠀⠀⠀  “You must be feeling the blues, eh?” I coughed as I took a puff.

⠀⠀⠀ “Yeah, I dropout outta college from a political science degree and I got kicked out of my dad’s house for snucking in some good shit.”

⠀⠀⠀ “Good shit?”

⠀⠀⠀ “Drugs- well, cocaine, basically.”

⠀⠀⠀ “Ah, I see,” I said.

⠀⠀⠀ He looked at me with his sinful eyes. “What about you? What’s up?”

⠀⠀⠀ I’m not good when the conversation spotlight turned to me. My thoughts are in charge of my mind- my comfort country, but they aren’t good at keeping a democracy with me.

⠀⠀⠀ “Um, I feel like killing myself.” I thought it out of nowhere. Fuck.

⠀⠀⠀ He gazed at me with a skeptical look and nodded, “Why?”

⠀⠀⠀ I thought of my depressing turkey dinner, my thoughts, the obituaries, the gingerbread man, my thoughts, my thoughts.

⠀⠀⠀ I simply let out a shrug.

⠀⠀⠀ “Depression?”

⠀⠀⠀ “Way worse than that, I feel like the world is killing me. I can’t stand being here.”

⠀⠀⠀ The silence stood there, creating a boundary between us- he felt like miles away from me.

⠀⠀⠀ But I chimed in, anyways. “Perhaps– God has other plans for me.”

⠀⠀⠀ “Dude, you must be fucking high.”

⠀⠀⠀ “I’m not, I’m sober and my drug tests always comes out clean. What I mean by that is, I could probably be His janitor. I’ll be mopping the floors around Heaven. Sounds holy and therapeutic to me.”

⠀⠀⠀ “Heaven’s already clean, dummy. I don’t even think Heaven has floors, fuck that. I bet everyone could fly there. Wouldn’t that be better?”

⠀⠀⠀ “Yeah, I guess.” And I puffed again.

⠀⠀⠀ How strange that is, I’ve been told, when I was little, that I can overcome anything. But it’s tough to see where my life will stop and when it will begin. I can’t even tell if my skin is my own skin, I’m drowning in bodies of waters when I should be sailing freely into the seas. Even when I tried many ways to fall down, I couldn’t, ’cause I already hit the grounds.

⠀⠀⠀ Maybe it’ll be better in Heaven. Or maybe it’s better if the night won’t rob me away, but I know He’ll come for me and other people like me.

⠀⠀⠀ However, this random, helpless stranger reminded me that I don’t actually mind being on the ground. The world has so many floors, I just have to learn to pick myself up and continue walking.

⠀⠀⠀ Wouldn’t that be better?

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Run

foreign meekly mind of mine,

travelling miles with horizon’s smiles.

back there, i couldn’t bear

to spill myself and dance with gloom.

my heart has a vast of space

to blast off great days,

leaving a room for a dark embrace.

i guess we don’t need the rain

when eyes had completed the water cycle.

puffy, reddish and rubbed from pain.

i don’t have a fucking bicycle

to ride away in great distances

because those clouds’ existence

up in the blue bed of the hidden,

don’t seem to look the same.

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Wish He Was My Dad

his eyes were

fatherly, she, dancing on tippy toes.

sad and strangely welcoming

like his daughter, truth be told.
⠀⠀⠀

his eyes were

watching over her as she grows.

a pile of toys turn into boys

when he was their age, now so old.
⠀⠀⠀

his eyes were

sorrow with twinkles and glitters

from his first father’s day card.

how he wished she was here.

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Flightless Flock of Sheep

when a feathered creature learned to dive

and glide underneath the empyrean,

his silky wings brace the ol’ buttermilk sky;

wafting herds of sheep, mounting one another,

gently moving in an all familiar direction-

all the way to the neverending finish line.

how restless they were

and the creature wondered why.

⠀⠀⠀
he explored different faces; different places

and avoided savages in their beastly phases.

when famished, he stepped on weak worms

and let his pointed beak pecked the life out of it.

in his eyes, he’s a hungry creature,

naive and absent to others’ thoughts.

his stomach growls louder and he wanted more,

how monstrous he is!

and the worms wondered why.

⠀⠀⠀
And all goes back to the little creature

when a tiny missile-like steel

touched his pounding heart,

an abundance of sheep wept,

but he still continues to fly.

not into the arms of the Shepherd,

who guarded his flock with his eagle eyes.

the Shepherd didn’t catch him,

and the creature, into the abyss he goes

and the Shepherd knew why.

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Damned

i’m nothing more than a raggedy creature,

stuck in a chamber with mice and rodents.

they treat me like a worthless tramp

and served me bones i couldn’t consume.

i am left to wither each and every other day,

and when the time has finally arrived,

my smile shall be painted on my lifeless face.

⠀⠀⠀

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One Swallow Doesn’t Make a Summer

the love i once scattered on you,

were like rustling leaves

swaying to the rhythm of the wind.

together with autumn’s hues,

from pumpkin spice

to nutshells and acorns,

those are colours to warm you,

and your soft blue lips of ice

from last year’s winter feast,

when snowflakes were born.
⠀⠀⠀

the love you once pecked on me

was like air being taken away,

not in awe, nor amazed.

and the leaves in autumn

were maliciously stepped upon,

and crackling noises were heard,

but it’s probably from my heart.

and autumn’s hues

meant nothing to you

because your lips were never blue,

yet snowflakes covered you.

no warmth, but frosty bites,

and your heart was stiff as ice.
⠀⠀⠀

and when the snow starts to melt,

and the leaves decomposed,

i shall leave you all alone.

a welcome inside oblivion’s home

might help to warm my soul.

but in thoughts, you still appear,

and sometimes, it goes to the other ear.

i may not forget you right now

because love froze into a thick winter ice,

but slowly, it will melt each day.

and one day, i’ll be the autumn tree

who shakes every leaf away.

i know i’ll be empty.

but summer’s here and i’ll blossom.

and you will see the golden me.

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Bide One’s Time

i wait without a doubt

merely for what seems like decades,

i did not bother to hesitate,

but for every date,

it slowly decimates

my inner strength of having to wait.
⠀⠀⠀

i told myself to keep it up

and look at the eternal bright side,

even the night sky

burst with shimmering dots

is helping me not to rot

while i’m wide awake

to resume the days

and not lose my faith.
⠀⠀⠀

then, there was a moment

where i don’t want to wait

because i became another bait

waiting to be devoured

by wandering fishes

of the peaceful lake,

the hook jabbed through me

was like my heart put at stake

and the crimson pouring out,

it was spread across the lake.
⠀⠀⠀

this time, i didn’t have to wait.

i did it for my own’s sake.

but it felt like i’ve made

a huge mistake,

even during the late hours,

i entered my mind’s gate

and began to contemplate

on why i stopped the days

of having to wait.
⠀⠀⠀

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Dead Sea

i carried the pitiful living beings

with life forces heavier than my structure.

souls that contained such burdens

preventing them from soaring back freely

into the wild blue yonder,

but i chose to sail further into the sea

with a rocky body, ready to tip over,

i’ll try to endure the energy,

from my thoughtless surrounding

that might make me collide into a boulder.

it’ll be sadder than the ebony void

with no shimmering stars

to help me guide

through the vicious nights.

yet, i’ll sail so far,

they won’t even realised

the progress i have been making

when oxygen is being taken

by the fallen ones

in exchange for melancholic air

that will one day turn me into rust

or badly enough,

particles of dust.
⠀⠀⠀

i’ll continue to sail, though.

however,

a complete round throughout earth

would be the last adventure i’ll ever see.

the last time I will stay afloat,

carrying my passengers.

i thought i would be like them

but i’m certain they prepared their life vests

to not descend into the deep

and to not bother about me sinking

into the bottom part of “where else could it be?”

after a long, seemingly endless trip

to the seven seas.
⠀⠀⠀

for now, i’ll remain to be

another lost sunken ship.
⠀⠀⠀

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