Twenty-Two. Male.
Gay. Cancerian. Catholic.
Loves Kylie Minogue.
Aspiring Illustrator.
Archives
'09 to Present
'04 to '08
Chug chug chug chug choo!
Brrm brrm click click weet!
Pew pew clink clink clink!
Bzzt bzzt bzzt bzzt!
Jigga jugga jigga jugga!
Sssss… Zzzzz…
Wheeee..eeeww…
Brrrr… Thump.
Terminating.
Help me. I’m suffocating. It’s here, it’s everywhere. Go away. Please. Dear God, I’m sorry. I’ve created a monster.
It happened the first time. It happens each time. And each time, a clearer picture. It’s like a sport now to me. Practice. Practise. Practice. I’m pretty sure I left my emotions at the door. What is love anyway? Does it even have a part to play? Is it just me? Perhaps.
I’m usually not even there when it happens anymore. I’m just a body - a pulsating, sweaty body - void of human warmth. A corpse. Necrophilia much? It’s this numbness in my soul, like a swelling I can’t stop, and it’s consuming me.
You know how rape victims suffer from trauma and block out everything? I guess it’s pretty much the same feeling. Just that the only person that fucked me is
Myself.
Another monotonous night gone by. Fuck, no, it’s morning already. I’m bored. Stiff. And now flaccid. My dishes from dinner are crusting up. That’s gonna be a bitch to scrub off later. I need to get out. No, but it’s so late, how bout an early start to the day tomorrow? No, I’m so awake now. Perhaps I’ll go downstairs for another cigarette. But it’ll just be the same as the one I had 15 minutes ago: uneventful..
Fuck it, I’m drinking the Bacardi in the kitchen.
Goodbye angst.
I know I can deal with shit. I’ve done it before. Just turn your back, and walk away. Forget it ever happened.
No. I can’t do this. God, Colin, if there’s any human left in you, just cry. No more hard-ass bitch on the outside. Break down these walls you hide behind. All these people you have learnt to love, trust and respect, not one tear? Seriously? My tear ducts have been clogged with years of sucking it up and being strong - on the outside. Trust me, I can be a wreck, I want to be a wreck, I am a wreck. Like I always tell myself, I only know I’m still human when I cry. Why is it so hard now?
I don’t want to forget any of you. Ever.
Love you all.
I am not a very good person, I don’t think I am. I am selfish. I only think of myself - my basic survival instincts. I won’t save you, only myself. Before I get hurt, I’ll leave. There you’ll be, left wondering. Some get hurt, some have already moved on. Doesn’t matter to me any way, I’m already gone.
I can still feel the human in me kicking sometimes. Like a child, in this concrete womb I have build around myself. Void of feeling, emotion and empathy. Yet each kick sends a shiver down my spine, a wave of emotion, a surge of clarity and humanity. And it’s gone.
Cold concrete.
I’m freezing, here on this hard slab of concrete. Where am I? Gosh. I’m… Hearing birds chirping. “Morning!” Already? I’m ten kinds of smelly, lying on god-knows-who’s-sticky fluids. And the wind - god, the wind. I’m so cold. Oh right. That’s how I got here. I don’t like waking up in strange places.
Glad you had fun, gurl, now sashay - sashay away.
I guess I just got caught up thinking - thinking about life. Everything ahead, everything that could be. Good things. The possibilities are causing me spasms and foaming at my mouth. I must be crazy - crazy enthusiastic about life. A yeast infection of life. Staying up this late is fucking with my mind.
I know myself, always indulging in the past, responding badly to sudden shifts in social and physical climates, a hermit. I indulge in the melodrama of the yesteryears and present, it’s not me to look forward, it’s not like me to embrace changes, it’s…
Different.
It’s like a huge weight upon me is just. Gone. The past is not grabbing me by my hair and yanking anymore. It’s all gone - he’s all gone. I can walk again, I can run - I can run a fucking marathon. Don’t try stopping me now.
I hope I feel like this in the morning, goodnight.
You know that moment when you have nothing to do but fiddle with your phone? Everyone else seems to have something to do - someone to do. And you’re just. With your phone. You open up random apps only to close them again, you open your inbox and Whatsapp and read random messages, you look busy.
It’s when I start to read messages from you. And smile myself silly. I stalk your Facebook just to see what you did today. I check your Instagram and wish I were in some of those pictures. All this while, smiling. I wish - shoulda woulda coulda.
Just wanted to know how you were doing. That’s all. I quietly say a goodbye and rejoin the world.
You know that sad feeling that comes upon you when you realise you’re trolling around the gay chatrooms, Grindr and Jack’d on New Year’s Eve because you don’t have any plans with anyone you know so you’re perfectly fine spending New Year with a complete stranger?
Nothing to start the New Year like hot no-strings-attached sex… And that deep void in your heart that screams loneliness and a longing for that one special person to kiss at the stroke of midnight and know that he’ll be there for you the next 365 days.
Too bad for you, you’re stuck in this endless soul-sucking pit of random nameless guys, sneaking around, lying to your parents, muffled moans, the tissues and towels, dressing yourself, a hug, and a send off which has no promise whatsoever of an encore - or the start of something more.
I wish I weren’t leaving so I could have something more concrete with you.
I don’t wanna do anything. Not today, not ever, I’m useless. I feel useless. I wish I had more time, more energy. I need to say my goodbyes, I need to have goodbye sex.
I wouldn’t be back in months. Why am I just wasting time?
Wake the fuck up, Colin, wake the fuck up.
