Same Old, Same Old

We made it back to your building at 5:17 AM,
holding hands and sharing the same bottle of wine,
running across the lobby,
trying not to be seen,
and giggling to ourselves with red, blushing cheeks.

The elevator couldn’t decide
between smelling like intoxicated students
or smelling like your hair;
a cheap cherry-bomb shampoo from Asia
I bought for you as a little inside-joke
about your least-favourite Tyler, The Creator album.

Taking turns sipping the wine,
arms latchted on to each other
and holding tight
as if it’s what we once were.

We made it back to your floor at 5:35 AM.
Going up 4 storeys had never felt so long to me before
but I’ve found that time tends to go slowly
when you’re just living for the moment
— like a late-night with old college friends,
walks back home with your favourite album playing,
or catching up with your best-friend.

We made it back to your flat at 5:38 AM.
Gradually undoing our layers of reticence,
and reminding ourselves about our little inside-jokes
from the years we’ve known each other,
just in case we might’ve lost them
to our time away from each other
or to our mutual intoxication.

Laughing about our Uber tonight
then making fun of your flatmate who’s never there at night
and always receives obscure packages through the mail in the morning.
We must’ve been so loud,
thank God your flat was sound-proof.

I played some Curtis Mayfield songs on your phone
as you prepared some toast and coffee for us.
We were always too restless to sleep at this time anyways,
remember how we’d be up this late around this time last year too?
life was different when we were underage
— forbidden from buying our own alcohol or visiting clubs,
yet our souls managed to stay the same together.

The morning was slowly climbing up your window
I could see its head peek through the gap in your curtain
to see what we were still doing this late at night
— it probably recognised us too;
our familiar howls of insobriety
and constant celebrations of youth.
I wonder if it hated us.

Seconds and minutes weren’t an issue
but rather the calendar which showed me
the few days you had left here
and the several months you’d be away.
I checked that calendar routinely
before I slept and after I woke up,
you’ll just never know.

We let our secrets fall on your bed again.
They found new homes between our strands of hair
and our lips which burnt of Merlot and Chardonnay.
The sight of you in front of me,
the scent of cherry-bomb shampoo,
the sound of Curtis Mayfield’s music,
the lingering taste of wine on your lips,
and the touch of your skin,
made me remember all the times we were together,
and forget about the cold days, long nights without you.

All the packets of cigarettes in the morning
and boxes of beer bottles in the afternoon
trying to describe you to my friends and family
as if you were a long, crazy dream I had.
People either got sick of it or didn’t really care,
so I always found myself rolling in the backseats of my friends’ cars
like the bottle of wine on your floor.

The reminiscent feeling overwhelmed me.
I shed a single tear and you somehow noticed.
You asked me why and I told you it was nothing,
“hard to explain, just a rush of nostalgia and stuff, I guess”
you laughed then said I haven’t changed,
I laughed too, agreed and replied “you too”,
but if only you really knew
— no one stays the same.

I wonder if she checks her calendar as much as I do.

I made it back to my home at 7:20 AM.


Pride & Spare Change

I don’t know if I like art
most of its “abstractarity” just makes me feel poor and stupid
gently reminding me of the immigrant I really am
like the times I was advised to keep my aspirations as low as my voice
by teachers and classmates who’ll never see poverty like I have
I kept to myself for years about it
as I heard the privileged talk about harsh ghettos
as if they’d actually been there
and spent their adolescent years experiencing it
I resented a lot of people who thought they knew it like me
who thought they knew it better than me
all without really knowing it
until I saw a homeless man in Queen Street ask me for money
as if he never had a chance to earn it himself
why did I hate this man for being broke?
why did I hate this man being like my family back home?
I was disgusted
by the way the man presented himself to me
as if his life really depended on petty money
but maybe it did
so I condescendingly spared him some change
and watched him desperately clutch on to what could possibly be his drug-money
seeing him preciously hold on to it
like when I when I was a kid
and received Christmas and birthday presents from mum and dad
without knowing just how much they were financially struggling
I sat by the bus stop across from him
and saw another man compassionately pass him some change without a second thought
as he carried on walking his way with an infectious smile on his face
then I realized
that sometimes
it didn’t really matter where we’re from
or what we did
because we’ll all be in the same parties and streets anyways
— I’ve been broke and down before too
so I know how it feels.

Nonchalant Heat

Henny in the early AM
I forgot we’re not talking for now
because I seem to keep having nights
I can’t remember
with women who won’t forget
— woe is me

Cigarettes and sex in my breath again
I know I told you this ended last week
but the liquor always makes me go back
back on my words
so as I walk down the main road of the suburb
it feels as though I’m dragging my corpse
through all of my mistakes and regrets

Looking out into the houses I used to bother
and the streets I used to midnight-maraud
in the years I used to neglect
with the people I’ll never forget
remembering about
the expensive spirits I’d share with my friends
and the cheap ciders I’d hide from my family
the youth I never had
but the kid I once was




I think the question of “Who’s in charge?” should be performed by our actions, and not just asked by our words nor our prayers.

The levels of opposites, comparisons, and tensions in relationships, nature, art and materialistic items serve to keep this question going for me – what am I doing in order to grow into the person I intend to be?
How do I perceive the environment around me and why is that?
How do I perceive myself and why is that?
Where does it all stem from and why is that?

Am I truly in charge?

Figure it out for yourself, I did.

Cilvia Demo For The Winter

Spilling my words in the back seat
like the bottle I finished
10 minutes ago
I mixed that with some feelings
and drank it in your Nissan
for some energy
and the memories
— cheers to the Hennessy

We live life on different sides
but that’s no excuse
for how you treat me
as we sharply drifted the corner
I held my phone tightly
like it’s how we once were

I don’t have money to my name
so I’m clockin’ in on Monday
for some answers
and distractions
but maybe
none will get me like she did
I didn’t realise I was so unhappy
until I think about my friends
and how they treat me

The view of the waterfront
reminds me of where I’ve been
where I’m from
and where I’ll be
— where we’ll be
things have been better
since I ignored you
and stopped caring about our ties

Music fills the car
I close my eyes for a moment
to find myself in another room
another drive-thru
another park
another street
another space
with new and familiar faces
I assume it must be the same
for you right now too

I crash out
too burnt out
once again
I close my eyes for a moment
waiting for an ambulance
to save me or do something
but complacently
I think to myself
‘I’m fine with this’




Know Yourself

Stopped being trapped by my ego — learned to be unapologetic instead. The difference between the two was clear: ego is based on pride, being unapologetic is based on motives.

Cruel Winter nights; my mind’s in a clearer space now. I lost all of my music on my phone for some reason so I had to make-do with importing files from my physical albums onto my iTunes — maybe the unforeseen restart between my music and my mentality was synonymous?

My perspective on people wasn’t right. I treated several passing women in my life like materials for sex, only creating and keeping ties with them for my own selfish purposes — I thought they felt the same way too, and to an extent, they did but it was naive of me to only see 1 side of the coin and take that as it’s true value.

It wasn’t even about the physical contact for me. It was more about me testing my ability to manipulate relations. Abusing it to feel a sense of superiority. Life was all about the finesse for me in that short time-period: making small-talk to ask for a cigarette or spare change, creating fake intimacy to hook-up or score a one-night stand, and acting pitiful to scab some liquor or hitch a ride. It was wrong, I shouldn’t have treated people like that.  It wasn’t like me.

I love my new playlist of old songs. I forgot how much significance some of these songs and albums held in my life for a period of time, like Frank Ocean’s Channel ORANGE or Pharcyde’s Bizarre ride 2. They were kinda like the B-sides to my Voodoo and Low End Theory phases respectively.

I couldn’t distinguish the line between admiration and lust until it was too late. I’m just glad I didn’t lose any more friends. Even some of my closest friends grew apart with me over-time but truthfully I needed the space — she’s far too kind.



Pilot Jonez Running Thru My Bonez

I thought I knew all there was to do
so I put myself out in tonight’s rainy weather
and dove into her warmth
with a cold unapologetic ego in control
I charged into what seemed to be
the quickest way into her womanhood
All I really wanted to do
was to feel no ways
except her fire and desire

She picked a fruit of lust
from the tree of my secret garden
and placed it on her navel
mistakenly taking it for love
I took the quickest way into her womanhood
ironically she had the home-court advantage
“Mi casa es su casa” though, right?
She knows I saw her from afar tonight, right?

This love is just made up, honey.
I just took the quickest way into her womanhood.

Wasted Tirades

Love’s gonna get me somewhere eventually, but for now I gotta let my ambitions carry me.
I need questions more than I do answers, I don’t think there’d be much interest for me to wake up in the mornings and feel no motivation to turn new stones.
I need single connections more than I do social networks.


I hate myself for my own stupid mistakes.
I hate it when I react impulsively and only realise my mistakes too late.
I hate myself for never telling the woman I loved how much I cared about her before she left for the hills.
I hate myself for ruining my connections with the people who really cared about me.
Out of their own unselfish reasons.
People who cared about me for me
I’m trying to change
shit’s been rough
wake up
time to get my cake up


The blackout in my neighbourhood stopped me from sulking over some songs online
I guess it was incentive for me to go to sleep too
but I can’t help but repeat the lines
“Love’s gonna get you killed, but pride’s gonna be the death of you”
over and over again
Friends are growing distant but I know they’re still there for me
at least I hope so.
It’s strange to think about the roots from which I’ve spawned from
I’m a creation of everything I’ve ever consumed mentally and physically


“You remind me of your mother”
Yeah, I guess her attitude towards love willed itself into my character.
“You have the same eyes as her too”
That’s only because we’re both tired
“But your passion and spirit; your mum never had that same type of intensity”
some of the resentment comes from the relationship I have with my brother, most of the alcoholism comes from my friends and family, but all of the spirituality comes from my role-models
and the passion comes from my soulmate.
I’m tired though.
I hear myself breathing in the silence of the night
and it makes me wonder if I’m even alive because I don’t even feel it.


I’m walking on a thin line
smoking in my room.
but who’s gonna tell me off
if no one ever comes in but me


I’ve fallen for a woman recently
I met her in town one night
when I was stumbling in and out of social circles
pointlessly walking up and down alleyways
and my mind was gone
I don’t know her name
she’s still a stranger to me
like I am to most of my friends
but she let me inside of her that night
and I loved the way she moved with finesse
“what brings you here?”
“where do you stay?”
“why’d you do that?”
“who made you feel that way?”
“when do you leave?”


It’s so easy to create fake intimacy with Women.
All you gotta do is subtly grab their attention
create moments of eye contact with them throughout the night
move slowly towards them as the night passes
and start a conversation when it gets quieter
look at them in their eyes
act like you’re interested about them for them
act invested in your small talk
and don’t make any suggestive gestures too quickly
don’t look at their figure
or at least don’t let them see you looking at their figure
just talk whenever it feels appropriate
keep a smile on
look elsewhere from time to time
make it seem like they’re not your full priority
like they’re not worth having your full attention
tease them like this
make them want to keep you interested
have fun
do a dance
get a drink
smoke a cigarette
and make it seem like you’re just there to have a good time by yourself
cuz more often than not
they’re there for the same reason too
but they just need someone to lead the way for them.


Women are too easy
my best-friend said Men were easier
but I think she was just dealing with boys
who don’t know what they really want
and who they really are.
That’s also the difference between a woman and a girl.
Maturity plays a part of actions
and manipulation plays a part of relations.
Both play a part of our characters.
I could’ve tried to trick her
if I was really stupid
but she means too much to me
for me to be disregard our friendship.
I was stupid regardless in the end though.
to the whole 9s.

I’m a hypocrite

oh look
the power’s back on.




We’re looking for the same thing
but we’re goin’ about it differently
You do yours
I’ll do mine
but just to save you the effort
of repeating my mistakes
all the late nights
with wine and strangers
and aimlessly drifting
every corner of every street
racing against yourself
in the alleyways of the city
and denying your exhaustion
just makes you more alone
you’ll see it when I’m gone