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two heads with vendetta- conspirators hanging on my room
the words: “you can only regret what you don’t do” flash from my memory bank.
milk stains follow my mouth as i force a smile.
before i finished my milk, i remember my discussion with a dear friend about pride; that when you are breathing with pride, you have to set a timeframe, a deadline because pride suffocates and it slowly kills.
example:
“ok, if he doesn’t call in 3 days, it’s over.”
something like that. why the deadline? pride suffocates.
it kills.
the cockroach never moves from its place. i wonder if it’s dead or just playing dead.
or it could have suffocated from pride.
3 comments:
First of all, I could get fucked by that mask and love every minute of it. I love it.
Bulits, if you should be kind enough to allow a metaphor, then let it be this -- Pride is that dead cockroach. Never saw any good employment in that abstract concept, none, not once in all my thirty years. Let go already, will you?
I don't really swallow because I find it better, but sometimes, I do pride. Regret is such an awful thing to live with.
@momel and manech:
you guys just made my night. :D
seriously, you made me smile.
apir!
@momel: yes. i did. i think. :D
@ie: i am and will always be a fan of your wordplay. apir!
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