HURT IN THE HEAD
Allen Avenue looks brighter tonight the streetlights make the tar shine somewhat. It’s a busy, lit street, and I am here wondering what I came for. Recently, I see myself unintentionally walking the streets purposelessly. Sometimes, at the canteen after few plates of rice with no coin in the sack; other times, at the boutique. Once, I refused to pay for vodka. It tasted like the one I lost. How does it feel to get this much attention? As I roam, people’s eyes bore through my skin. I must be attractive.
Tonight, none of their concern matters. Across the road, my ex-girl stands 5’9 above the ground. Dark Leo with a cross tattoo on her wrist; long silky hair flowing down her shoulder. We don’t talk anymore.
The day she left, they said, I opened my eyes to the clouds so high; my back to the ground, and aches in my head, and noises, too. I had had a few shots of soju: a Korean alcoholic beverage, a couple of mentos cancerette and some stimulants. I must have slept behind the wheels. They said.
Now, it doesn’t hurt in the head, but I still hear voices: come, no, OK, go. Yes, go; light a candle and say goodbye; cry; eat today, don’t eat tomorrow; walk the street; don’t talk, don’t sleep, just cry; laugh; run the noise. I heard the doctor say I’ve lost it, but I swear it doesn’t hurt anymore. Or maybe, after all, it still hurts in the head.