The perks of being a
wallflower movie is such a knife.
Opening wounds, crippling you with unwelcomed reveries.
Doesn’t help that The Smiths made another appearance, making
the movie extra chic.
I walked from Megamall to Bulalakaw after that.
I dreamt of bicycles and a loyal gang strolling behind me
while spewing crass banters against each other’s inability to race faster.
I remember doing this---being in this friendly race.
But I
was the one pedalling in double speed, already a few road blocks behind.
Those days at the post office where my gang of misfits stole
unripen Indian mangoes. We were too bold to be able to do that in front of the
police station. Though one glance from a passer-by causes us to scarper away to the
grassy alleys.
I resorted to shoving my preference of Morrissey’s sad lullabies
to any unwilling victim last night.
They deserve to know that loneliness is overrated but it
doesn’t necessarily mean that the world's got enough of sad bastard music.
bastard = sad= music
Maybe I just need someone to stay with me through the gloom.
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