dark alley

the problem is, i don't belong here.
i belong to those solitary creatures who eat words and letters for breakfast. and yes, they thrive in what the society dictates as "gloomy, silent creepy streaks of a midnight dilapitated alley that is either prohibited and otherwise weird, which to their subsconscious 'they would not go dare near.'
and so they label me weird, anti-social, and every antonym a perfectly sociable human being is. and so what? so what, perfectly sociable human world. you expect me to conform with the norms. norms, norms, norms. i don't eat norms. they rhyme with worms, don't you think.
i do hope i could see one creature to invite me in that alley - where everything is perceived as the darker side.
there, i will find my light.

FOR SOME REASONS

the ink has become dry. its fluid, stuck to its tip - without movement, without meaning. i am experiencing drought and it is the worst drought the hand could perceive, could imagine. no itch. no inspiration. i just couldn't write. for the love of letters, speak. for the hatred of indifference, speak. for the purpose and meaning, write.

bakit hindi kumakati?