Some Excuses

We can write letters
that seems like the logical excuse

we can seem sorry
that'd seem appropriate

what would happen if we stopped?

No one answers that
No one ever really tries too

A Holiday In Blood

I feel inebriated

I slice the flesh
I can taste it

but that would feed

no purpose

the pulse that tethers

on the leash that is

myself

how I bourne the blade

she dies

no words said

She needed to be

a butterfly

a real cocoon

for me

her pupa

her chrysalis

creates

the shell for me

It's easy

It can be done

It will be written

with papers

newspaper clips, photographs

videos

to stimulate

my erogenous

my mind

my soul

carved on my back

carved on my bone

I shall ignite and be one

with the dragon

Difficult Issues To Think On

Sometimes, all I need is a song or a little touch and it stops being hollow for the moment. Not that I feel hollow all the time but sometimes it's quite inescapable actually.

Listening to my friends talk may lull it. That feeling of being so coldly gripped. It's inescapable. I sometimes hated him for not knowing about it. But, possibly he did. He did have a life though - moulded before all those began. I respect him but I cannot always accept that he was wiser than me.

I know - if anyone hear's this they will definitely go like they expected this from me. The Chosen One speaking trash as if he is God's gift to mankind.

But...it isn't like that at all. I can just say what I am feeling. I can't just say what I am feeling. There are responsibilities and then there are responsibilities.

But...it's the truth that sometimes I hated him severely because in a kind way he was being severe. Despite my high regard of him. I had to admit it felt easier dealing with the bastard than him at times...Albus Dumbledore...

Sometimes I even hate him for leaving me with the Dursleys. Despite the good it did me morally (I don't downsize people like Draco does due to blood lineage and all the fuck), I really felt isolated all the time. It wasn't a right feeling to have for a child. I don't recall any child wanting to be sadistically isolated. I can't fully thank him for that contribution.

At times we would talk and the Dursleys would come up. I would scowl, bite my lip and really be mean. Dumbledore merely smiled. I guess he knew it wasn't completely the right choice. I guess a part of him regretted it too. But, what is done cannot be undone. I felt like hitting him those times because he was being apologetic. I wanted to scream at him and tell him that being apologetic does not really always work.

I wanted more than a damn sorry.

I know Dumbledore does good calculations of fate (I think he'd made a fine Divination teacher) but I don't think he could predict Dudley's eventual acceptance of me. I guess it was just a hypothesis stirring. It's difficult to be sure with people who has been taught to hate as an absolute. As a religion. But, Dudley got around. And. I guess that's all I wanted. Dudley to like me. Aunt Petunia and Uncle Vernon are rats I don't give a shit about.

That hollow feeling...the one that sometimes devours me...it's a feeling related to my parents. I think my friends saw how a song or a touch makes me mesmerized and be either lost or glum but in an odd way content. It's a satisfaction that they may not know nor need to know. It's a satisfaction of having a hold on memories aborted.

I won't have a mother to nosy me like Ron's nor a father to talk to about facts like Hermione. I think it's best that I have the made-up memories. I can weave its possibilities. The good side to this is that my parents will never be rude to me in these sessions - they will be perfect as their best and I can eat every bit of it. The bad side is too real that fathoming it is as sickening as drowning in a endless wave-void in an ocean. Those may not be them. Those memories are me in a detail of perspective. Not truly them.They are flotsam of hypotheses that I have nurtured maybe not with the right seeds.

It is painful but true. It's good to acknowledge it.

Dumbledore, he reminded me of their valour. I felt hitting him at times when he did that. I wanted to yell at him and say that it was his fault too - why couldn't he, master of probabilities, predict this would happen?!

But...then I realized it would be unfair to do such a thing. After all didn't I just mention that it was impossible to do so.

Though Dumbledore was difficult at times. His kindnesses became a cruelty. A sort of sadomasochistic affection. I know I have no right to label these as such - but, won't one think it's hard not too?

He encourages me to do better. Complains when I am not. Seduces me with phoenix tears and lemon tea but always pushes me towards death and decay. I wish he would sometimes say he was sorry and it had nothing to do with being not the prefect (on a personal issue I had no qualms of not being made one, however, Ron - though he is my best friend; I don't think making him one was a great choice nor would be Draco Malfoy).

Many people consider me too noble - Dumbledore had that ideology too at times. I felt like slapping him for believing that. I am not noble. Look at how I dissed Ron - to be perfectly honest I'm not that psyched about him being with Hermione either. They don't look like they fit. But who am I to complain? I liked Cho Chang once and that did me wonders. At one point I wanted to rekindle our relationship for the heck of it but she was biased about the whole thing with Marietta and I thought she was matured enough to understand that.

Clearly, she wasn't.

I got interested in Ginny and I guess it's working for me. I don't know. I will admit that Ginny has grown up. I like her change in personality. I like the fact she is no longer nervous or easily seduced by outer appearances (a.k.a. Tom Riddle) and isn't vulnerable. She has become bold and is able to face challenges head on. I'm into that. I'm not like some boring guys who are into what they called "feminine" girls - those girls are too giggly and they annoy the crap out of me.

I like Ginny. She's beautiful - she has a beautiful, curvaceous figure...her lips are..full...her breasts...umm...they are quite...great...but so are Luna Lovegood's - Ok, this is odd. But, it's there. I guess people will laugh if I stated that I had a crush on Luna. She isn't that bad.

Sometimes I thought I would end up with her. Oh well, I don't know these things well.

So, yeah I'm not too noble. I have these confusions. I just get angry because I think Dumbledore always gave them second seat to my roles as the Chosen One or whatever. The Boy Who Lived lives only to be a statuesque stereotype?

I am a human being. I have emotions. Sometimes I was horribly selfish. I didn't want to care about that bastard Voldemort. I just wanted to sleep, make plans and browse through the internet in the muggle world.

I feel like I have been told to grow up more than I should. I don't see adults on a regular basis being Atlas or Jason (you know the heroic guys).

When I heard about Dumbledore's sexual preference I thought he was being too hard on himself. I didn't mind him loving a man but I did mind him never exchanging anything with Professor McGonagall. I felt her devotion to him boderlined on the romantic. I also believe that Dumbledore would have allowed himself to love her if only he allowed himself.

Obviously, he counted himself responsible for things that he couldn't have predicted.

In fact, this is the qualm I have about him. I think he overdid some things. When I tried explaining it to Hermione she said that the facts were present and it's hard to avoid them. I seriously think that at times she is the dumbest smart person I know (as I heard an actor speak once in a film). Basically, Dumbledore had flaws like I did. I don't want people to think he is perfect.

Perfect would mean he was always so perfectly fair to me. Perfect would mean he was always spot on. Perfect would mean that he was never self-punishing. Perfect would mean he never got hurt.

I seriously think I knew him best. So, when Hermione told me that I honestly told her that she had no clue and that she was being bookish as usual. Of course, she got offended. Then I intensely told her that Dumbledore could have acted in this way or that way regarding some stuff. Well, then she had to admit I was right - I did have a valid point.

Validity - this word sometimes terrifies me. It's so paradoxical. Think on my situation. Would I have to have been The Boy Who Lived if my parents were around and in doing so never have needed to have the task of killing the fuck and probably never becoming good friends with Hermione and Ron? Hell, I might have been playing test Quidditch with Draco Malfoy for all I think.

Good friends. They are hard to find. Good parents. They are hard to find too. Sometimes I envy Ron and Hermione because I think they got the best of both worlds without really trying.

Sometimes I hate them for it. I know this is envy. I get ashamed. But it's sadness I guess. I never got to hear my mother say Harry spoke his first word it'll always be Aunt Petunia saying that the boy spat a few words out today(or so she tells me).

All these things make my heart heavy. I guess I have fought some wars. No. I am not exaggerating or boasting or being heroic - I'm just plain me.

Harry Potter.

Still being never perfect as the doctrine that prevails.

Reasonable

There are so useless.These creatures called muggles. Oh, I know wizards are useless too. But, muggles are so unexplainable. I hated them. They were not like me. They could never be like me. They were always so different.

They had to be different. They couldn't be the same as me.

I just knew that was true. It had to be.

My mother. I really did not like her. Because she was different than me. She had to be. If she wasn't different then she wouldn't have left me here to rot and die. Mothers do not do that. Mothers are meant to take care of you; or, so, that's the popular mythology. Mothers are not meant to be love-struck fools. It is quite not in their nature.

The word mother - I do not like it. In fact, I have a great dislike for it. Oh, please do not get me wrong - I do not like the word father as well.

Those words are sickening. The word family even more. They have no semblance to the reality of things. I cannot like them at all. They're just rotten as the muggles in the orphanage would say.
The orphanage: yes, I did not enjoy that either. It suffers tremendously in prettying itself in the definition of a home. It too lacks life - as the dead body of my mother - I desire snakes to bite it, eat it, rip it - pollute it with the ashes and ashes I have heard so tremendously about.

There would no ashes for me. That would be a separate matter.

The orphanage is like what mazes and mousetraps are for rats. They cannot fathom anything. They only want to clothe you and cuddle you - make you feel special. But at the end of the second, minute and hour all they can do for you is to feel pity and feel grand that they do.

I don't want anyone's pity. Any time, anywhere - I will never need anyone's pity.

Clothing and cuddling - such a stupid way to stimulate life. Why do muggles have such useless ideas? Oh yes, they themselves are quite useless.

They wield no power yet act sovereign. They are ignorant. They do not perceive. They do not pursue. They have a world between them as thin as glass, as water, as air - yet, they are content in not knowing, never exploring - they love to be jammed into hinges as termites, as ants. They are the drones of ennui. Powerless yet cloaked in excrement and loving it as the swines readied for slaughter.

Yes, slaughter - I, Thank my brain for such a reasonable solution. Why not kill them like the beasts they are? Stupid they are and not so productive - well for fornication and manual labour they are excellent specimens. I cannot wait to exact this plan. It excites me. My blood soaks in the opiate of it.

Rich and so delicious...reasonable...

You may have been overpowered by them mother but I will not be. You are so stupid mother. I would have kept him dancing to my tunes. I would kept him under the spell. I would do that. Our kind does that mother.

Do you know how it felt...so good...watching him die so painfully...why not mother? He killed you too. He killed me too in a way by pretending I was dead.

Pretending he had power over me. Well father you shouldn't have pretended. You should have acknowledged your weakness.

Father...why do you look at me like that? With such eyes? I look familiar don't I? Like you? You realized didn't you?

Well, father you can be with mother now. Mother, you can't blame me. At least I did that for you. You can't say I wasn't a good son.

No one can say I wasn't good.

They will have to say I was all mighty.

Doll Bride

They said I was easy to hurt

like a doll

it's easy you know

to tamper with my limbs

you can make me wear strings

make me wear only skin

create strings with my hair

then say

I cannot feel

I am obsolete

I am not human

I am just a bride

Pretty as a Rose

a Rose that has thorns

that can be plucked

petals too

all peeled

naked

juicy

chaste

corruptible

by thine

lust

I am a bride

I am a bride

I wear petals and thorns

only

some you can't see

some you can't hear

but I am but bones stitched to flesh

just a bride

just a doll

to be forever

plucked

Guess Me

I have pink hair.
I have blue eyes.
I am a prince
Who am I?
Who am I?

Who am I?