This little baby / Lempar ke matahari.

I am a failed actor, remember.

Remember i shed no tears when my step dad died, when i bathed him accordingly to muslim custom, when i used both my hands to lower his body into the grave, entombing him with shovels of earth.

With shovels of earth, i’d like to be buried alive. Not with these pillows and woven fabrics on my bed. But with dirt, extra heavy maybe. To the center of gravity, just bury me there, no no, never together with my dignity. Leave my pride behind, bury me naked.

Bury me naked with your hands, gently caress the texture of my skin then quickly, scratch it. Yes, do cut several tattoos, number seventeen. Number fifteen. Number twenty eight. Just random colors, remember, just random numbers, whatever what ever a terrible actor should be tattooed with.

Crying is a feminine trait.

Crying is a feminine trait.

Crying is a feminine trait that shrinks my balls, returns me to which time the testosterone doesn’t level to my sexual maturity.

I’m a failed actor, remember. Not a baby, so don’t ask me to cry.

Okay?

Take the leather strap, fasten it to your fist, do the disciplinary things you always want to do.

I shall enjoy emo ranting.

“Bwahahahahahahahaahhahahahahahaha,”

“Hahahahahahahahahah,”

“Hihihihihihihihihihihihihi,”

“Huhuhuhuhuhuhuhuhuh,”

“……….”

Ketawa sembunyi air mata.

Macam yang selalu dibuat bloggers. Aku meniru. Mencurah padah pada kekunci bisu. Mengarah darah supaya laju ke kepala, biar terbeliak mata mata si pembaca, kan?

Kan kan?

Bila idea sudah kering, jemur kan lagi di panas matahari, biar betul betul gersang. Seribu lubang mesti ditebuk, kira sampai genap jangan satu pun kurang. Seribu tahu?

Kemudian lemparkan idea yang ringan itu menegak ke udara, sambut bukan dengan tangan, tadah dengan senyum di muka, gigit dengan bibir, rasa dgn lidah, ludah ia kembali ke tanah.

Ape rasa?