Pine Trees and Cigarette

We met unintended among thousand eyes
They were glared at unicorn at sky playing gameboy
With Merry Christmas Mr. Manhattan’s on
With heads nodded, banged
Feet jumped, hands up
We were on our own
I was
in amazement of being the only one whose heart
jumped out
seeing a boy dancing with plain white tees and parachute vest
“Twas cool,” all I could rhyme
With less than three-word small talk,
you destroy my life more than 11 whole months


How could I sit next to you as
fully-clothed twenty-year-old college student
pretending she’s not longing
her first love
so bad

Though my mind was getting dirty
to kiss you on the neck
and cheek
and lips
over and over again without closing your front door

Then air was heavier than before
You asked permission to take a bath
All I had heard outside you locked bathroom was
water splashing hard to you toilet tile
As my brain was overlapped, crossing the lines,
I still sit neatly in front of your laptop’s monitor,
like a little girl who’s paying her full attention
to finish her all-weeks homework

You stepped out
Heavier air now mixed with you fresh-washed hair
You’re drying your hair with chocolate-white strip cotton towel
The rushed of blood ambushed me
I wouldn’t let myself living in despair
after this load-of-shit mental case

I pulled you back
to the place where you probably clean your sticky white liquid
that mixed with my own

I locked the door
I was so clever that you never realize
I hide a fucking glass-piece, no, glass-vas piece
you broke when you raped me few hours ago
so harsh, won’t be forgiven, unforgotten

Then I ripped out your flesh
When I saw red blood streamed all over the tiles,
I could recall it was such a blood stream between my thighs

I changed cloth, finished packing with all your bullshit about first love
and endless love, and unlimited patience, and commitment,
and make love as a proof of worshipping each other’s, and complicated past,
and unfinished relationship, and how lovely seeing me naked,
and how you loved it being inside me, and your whimpering, and your gasping for air,
and more loaded of bullshits inside my current mind were trying to burst out

I said goodbye to you, as harsh and cruel as I could do
to a man whom I smelled his sexual-air room and sore semen
few hours ago

I locked him in his room
I released him from my room


This what I call,
go back
I'm yielding

This what I'll call
when I grow old
Memory stays

Not only pictures talk
Or taking pics with my stupid outfit
Or make a pose with beer
And some dirty talks with photographer

Not just seeing hanging drawing
Not just clapping my hands for jazz on the street

This is a coming-back trip
This is a return-home holiday

To find my self
in full shape
Full length of understanding
mending pieces of yesterday's feeling

Not just put my legging on
And my mini skirt
And let my self dance hard all nite
with trance
with shadows

This is a home-coming journey
This is life illuminated by new dawn

This is me,
returning back home