Tag Archives: disgust

wine and roses

‘ll always be a mystery, things happen, things come and go, little things and big. but they’ll never tell you who i am. what will, is how i adapt to them.

i’ve decided to omit drinking from my routine as part of a self improvement pact i’ve made with myself, yet the world without the beer goggles is much uglier than i’ve anticipated. i can clearly see how putrid things are and how the simple things you once believed in have a second prickly, crusty face that isn’t noticeable at first glance.

simple words and promises are for the feeble-minded that aim to appease a part of you that died with the days of wine and roses. that you’ve never been born with, but those days of wine and roses are and have been through.

you gradually discover your buffet plate, in which you’ve been stacking up as soon as you were brought to the table has filled you up long ago. yet you keep eating and gorging the things you know you don’t want to eat. a mutual disgust is shared with everyone else in the line and a choreographed mass vomitting should take place. if not to openly show how everyone really feels.

in the span of a week, i’ve discovered something i was receiving in which no request was made, lost the love of my life, and found out i’m going to die of cancer or a tumor. neither of which would result in flowers and laughter and wine and roses. perhaps to some. i apologize for my cynicism, i’m just purging the filthy ideas inside me.

man came from the sea, and to the sea he will return, enjoy your meal.


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The Sweet ain’t as Sweet without the Sour

I was 23 when it happened. “Fell in love,” as most would say. Don’t worry, I’m well aware that I’m too young to fall in love, even younger to think about marriage. Yet, every now and then you hear of a story that starts out like this and that story, til this day, hasn’t finished, and perhaps I was coerced into believing it could happen to me through hearsay. And it did. She proposed to me during my vacation to Chicago, on a frigid horse-carriage ride through the South Loop. I said yes, kissed her, and ended up fondling each other for the duration of the ride across Michigan Ave. Beneath the blankets.

Two seraphically blessed months later, she passed away. I never got the chance to go through the whole wedding ceremony, never got the chance to hate my step-parents, never even got a chance to fight so bad, one of us would scream, “I want a divorce!” She just packed, and caught the next flight to St. Peter’s gate.

I didn’t feel so surprised, I felt like how I had my coffee. Unsweetened, no cream, and overcharged. I kept the ring she gave me, Juicy Coutour was etched on it. No she wasn’t so perfect, we seldom are, but her alchemy fit mine just enough to make fire. Except the departure was not as warm. Her vitality, her memory, her sweetness, her little hidden mole, stripped by the inevitably sour course of life. Was I still too young to have fallen in love, or thought about marriage? Or was she too young to die? I feel her with me, in everything I do, and it’s terrible. It’s not as sweet as they make it seem in the movies.

i got dumped twice that night by the same indecisive girl

we both died

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