The Curse of Abilities

Ability to remember every painful words;

Even the simplicity of jokes being thrown at me, stays in my head that it became their home.

Ability to feel too much;

Absorbing the negativity so much that it feels like there’s a magnetic energy between me and feelings.

Ability to replay every bad moments;

Like a casette of memories that never runs out of film.

Ability to mourn every loss even before losing;

That every human beings I encounter have two, and only two, purpose on my life— meeting me and leaving, wherein “knowing” is such a big word and that being attached is the new goodbye.

Ability to overanalyze.

That in everything and nothing, there’s always something. That overthinking became my pillow and blanket at night.

These are the abilities I am not so proud of, but these are what I’m made of.

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Hail! Oh Sword of Love

I

YOU’VE MET folks, and will still welcome the mankind,
Then, now, forthcoming;

You’ve been stabbing them, neither getting exhausted of it,
Over, over, and over again.

You’ll leave them bleeding with love,
Bruised with ache,
Vested with solitude;

Frozen grief on their faces,
Remorse within their vacuous eyes;
And death within their soul.

II

You’ve met folks incapable of defending their so-called self,
Competent of wasting their so-called life;

You’ll be stabbing them with your sin-sharpened sword,
Heart pierced with vagueness.

You’ll abandon them like a butt of cigarette smoked by several lips,
A butt of cigarette being engulfed by the vanishing fire,
A but of cigarette stomped by hundreds of shoes;
And they’ll die a little death.

III

Sword of Love what a sovereignty in your possession’s,
Don’t you ever get dull?

Sword of Love all of us will encounter your cold-blooded steel;
And when we do,
Bury us!

Sword of Love you’ll have more than a lifetime,
To witness all the aftermath;
Entirely all! Everything!

Sword of Love stab me once, by your weapon,
With all your force,
With all that’s left;
And never retreat –ever.

Oh Sword of Love —