In Dreamers' Island....
More about me
I learned nothing from counting candles on cakes.
I still think that the pavement is for hopscotch boxes. I still think that balloons don’t pop when they reach this certain space in the atmosphere; they go to heaven like all souls do. There are still moments when a bag full of candies makes me alone in a place filled with flowers—a meadow of some sort. I still think that there’s only sound that comes out of a bullet’s exit, and the bullets are invisible, intangible. I still pretend that corpses that were laid on the street—carcass from car accident, an ambush, a mugging, are only sleeping; they pretend to be dead for the cameras. And this is happening live. This TV show I’m watching is happening live. Amanda still got that charming smile; her antics make me laugh, gag, until I run out of air. I feel that my fingers are still short; my legs are that of a six year old. Remember how having a family was as easy as building a house from cartons; the rice is cooked on bottle caps? I am still pretending to be a baby. It was easier back then when going to heaven was as easy as stepping onto elevated floors—a stoop where the devil can’t lay a finger on you. Much easier when the paper that runs through my thick skull is the mounding collection of trading card game.
Yes, I learned nothing from counting candles.
Because the pavement is a canvass for mortalized artisans whose works are only printed on abstract red. And, yes, there is something that comes out from a gun barrel—a flower blooming then wilting all at the same time.
And yes, they are not asleep. This is the paradox. This is not happening live. But it is happening.
And there’s only hell for us.
I am not prepared for the callous. Much more have I not on the bruises and wounds.
So now, I let go of all these balloons, look at them fly like doves; I let my innocence sit on one of them. I can still hear its laughter.
Even up to now when that balloon had popped.
Thank God, mother did not give me a cake for this day. And never will again.