I’m the invisible man who can’t stop staring at the mirror"

Fall Out Boy – Pavlove


    I lighted my last stick of cigarette the moment I went out of the door. I sat down the gutter of the empty street, watching as the drizzle fall through the streetlight’s luminance. The chill that the wind brings makes me shiver; so cold, unemotional. Then the thought of you came into my mind. 

    Nicotine clarity. I realized that the drizzle turned into raindrops. I puffed as the droplets of rain touch my face. But I feel nothing. I guess I died the moment I realized that I am the painting of a man that you don’t want to be with. Every inch of me depicts something that isn’t your preference. I wondered how i missed it. I am drunk by the idea of us being together. But like alcohol, it was a false promise and now that I finally reached sobriety, there comes the realization. Then later, comes pain.

    I huffed and puffed until the fire reached the filter. The heat burned to my lips and tongue and throat. But still, I felt nothing.

    I’m dead.

    But I will keep on breathing.

    I will keep on smoking.

    Until I could feel my heart beating again.


I been drinking a lot lately. It might be a coincidence that over the past several weeks, there’s a party or an occasion and I am here to celebrate it, of course,  by drinking. But there are days when – just out of nowhere, after class – I decided to “git rikt” and get drunk. It reminds me of the quote I read from a friend:

“And this is when the alcohol becomes addictive. When you sober up and the sadness returns, when you long for the comfort of the temporary with a false promise that for a night, just for a night, you’ll believe that everything is fine and that you’ll be okay even though you know you’re not. Bask yourself in sadness, accept it for what it is, and when you
finally recognize what it is, let go”

Yes I’m sad. But the reason why? I have no fucking idea. Or maybe, I do know, but I’m just too stubborn to admit it. Both ways, I’m not happy, and drinking is my way to forget everything, be high and be happy. Even just for that moment. Even if the price to pay is a head ache while I throw my stomach out; dehydrated; but unquenchable because even water tastes like poison.

Maybe I’m a masochist. Because I love the feeling. I have willingly submitted myself to the bondage of alcohol. Because the high I get when the world seems to turn upside down is like orgasm that releases the shivers from my body and thus, gives me pleasure. 

I can get over this.

How can you say you love one person when there are ten thousand people in the world that you would love more if you ever met them? But you’ll never meet them. All right, so we do the best we can. Granted. But we must still realize that love is just the result of a chance encounter.