The trouble is that we talk too much.
The trouble is that we don't talk that much.
The trouble is that I don't care about myself.
The trouble is that you only think of yourself.
The trouble is that we don't have money to spend.
The trouble is that we're in a story stopped to end.
The trouble is that you don't believe me anymore.
The trouble is that I don't sleep that well anymore.
The trouble is that you are fond of saying goodbyes.
The trouble is that I am not fond of making promises.
The trouble is that we are living in the wrong decade.
The trouble is that we are sinking into a darker shade.
The trouble is that my mind interferes with my heart.
The trouble is that my heart interferes with my mind.
The trouble is that we are not supposed to be like this.
The trouble is that we are not inclined to shit like this.
The trouble is that we don't know where we're supposed to go.
The trouble is that we don't mind when we're not supposed to go.
The trouble is that the Universe, especially the Earth, is very small.
The trouble is that the we don't give a fucking care anymore, not at all.
The trouble is that I am not in love with you or with him or with anyone else.
The trouble is that you are not in love with me or with her or with anyone else.
The trouble is that none of these is real, none of these is true, and none of these matter.
The trouble is that all of these doesn't matter, all of these is trash, and all of these is a disaster.
Author
Unknown
I am wearing your jacket
With my hands in its pocket.
I miss you already.
Author
Unknown
You're with me yet you're thinking about her perfect limbs, her synchronized lids, her vivid lips. You're stroking my hair, holding my hands, and kissing my neck yet you're aiming and even aching to burrow into and know her soul. We're adjacent, only centimeters from each other, yet you're wishing for her presence, her havoc, her divinity.
Do I (really) make you flail?
Why are you here with me?
Why are you wasting your time?
Why do you stay?
You're asleep beside me yet you're dreaming about her absolute spots, her meaningful sighs, her sinful smiles. You're telling me things, singing me songs, and writing me poems yet you're desiring and even dying to encapsulate around and save her soul. We're parallel, only minutes apart from each other, yet you're starving for her opacity, her malice, her attention.
You (really) make me ail.
Why am I here with you?
Why am I wasting my time?
Why do I stay?
No one fucking knows or cares.
Therefore, just --
Act dumb to feel numb;
act numb and feel dumb.
Do I (really) make you flail?
Why are you here with me?
Why are you wasting your time?
Why do you stay?
You're asleep beside me yet you're dreaming about her absolute spots, her meaningful sighs, her sinful smiles. You're telling me things, singing me songs, and writing me poems yet you're desiring and even dying to encapsulate around and save her soul. We're parallel, only minutes apart from each other, yet you're starving for her opacity, her malice, her attention.
You (really) make me ail.
Why am I here with you?
Why am I wasting my time?
Why do I stay?
No one fucking knows or cares.
Therefore, just --
Act dumb to feel numb;
act numb and feel dumb.
Author
Unknown
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Trouble Ends With an E and E Is the Beginning of End
The trouble is that we talk too much.
The trouble is that we don't talk that much.
The trouble is that I don't care about myself.
The trouble is that you only think of yourself.
The trouble is that we don't have money to spend.
The trouble is that we're in a story stopped to end.
The trouble is that you don't believe me anymore.
The trouble is that I don't sleep that well anymore.
The trouble is that you are fond of saying goodbyes.
The trouble is that I am not fond of making promises.
The trouble is that we are living in the wrong decade.
The trouble is that we are sinking into a darker shade.
The trouble is that my mind interferes with my heart.
The trouble is that my heart interferes with my mind.
The trouble is that we are not supposed to be like this.
The trouble is that we are not inclined to shit like this.
The trouble is that we don't know where we're supposed to go.
The trouble is that we don't mind when we're not supposed to go.
The trouble is that the Universe, especially the Earth, is very small.
The trouble is that the we don't give a fucking care anymore, not at all.
The trouble is that I am not in love with you or with him or with anyone else.
The trouble is that you are not in love with me or with her or with anyone else.
The trouble is that none of these is real, none of these is true, and none of these matter.
The trouble is that all of these doesn't matter, all of these is trash, and all of these is a disaster.
The trouble is that we don't talk that much.
The trouble is that I don't care about myself.
The trouble is that you only think of yourself.
The trouble is that we don't have money to spend.
The trouble is that we're in a story stopped to end.
The trouble is that you don't believe me anymore.
The trouble is that I don't sleep that well anymore.
The trouble is that you are fond of saying goodbyes.
The trouble is that I am not fond of making promises.
The trouble is that we are living in the wrong decade.
The trouble is that we are sinking into a darker shade.
The trouble is that my mind interferes with my heart.
The trouble is that my heart interferes with my mind.
The trouble is that we are not supposed to be like this.
The trouble is that we are not inclined to shit like this.
The trouble is that we don't know where we're supposed to go.
The trouble is that we don't mind when we're not supposed to go.
The trouble is that the Universe, especially the Earth, is very small.
The trouble is that the we don't give a fucking care anymore, not at all.
The trouble is that I am not in love with you or with him or with anyone else.
The trouble is that you are not in love with me or with her or with anyone else.
The trouble is that none of these is real, none of these is true, and none of these matter.
The trouble is that all of these doesn't matter, all of these is trash, and all of these is a disaster.
"Hi."
You're with me yet you're thinking about her perfect limbs, her synchronized lids, her vivid lips. You're stroking my hair, holding my hands, and kissing my neck yet you're aiming and even aching to burrow into and know her soul. We're adjacent, only centimeters from each other, yet you're wishing for her presence, her havoc, her divinity.
Do I (really) make you flail?
Why are you here with me?
Why are you wasting your time?
Why do you stay?
You're asleep beside me yet you're dreaming about her absolute spots, her meaningful sighs, her sinful smiles. You're telling me things, singing me songs, and writing me poems yet you're desiring and even dying to encapsulate around and save her soul. We're parallel, only minutes apart from each other, yet you're starving for her opacity, her malice, her attention.
You (really) make me ail.
Why am I here with you?
Why am I wasting my time?
Why do I stay?
No one fucking knows or cares.
Therefore, just --
Act dumb to feel numb;
act numb and feel dumb.
Do I (really) make you flail?
Why are you here with me?
Why are you wasting your time?
Why do you stay?
You're asleep beside me yet you're dreaming about her absolute spots, her meaningful sighs, her sinful smiles. You're telling me things, singing me songs, and writing me poems yet you're desiring and even dying to encapsulate around and save her soul. We're parallel, only minutes apart from each other, yet you're starving for her opacity, her malice, her attention.
You (really) make me ail.
Why am I here with you?
Why am I wasting my time?
Why do I stay?
No one fucking knows or cares.
Therefore, just --
Act dumb to feel numb;
act numb and feel dumb.
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Born in the mid-80s, Erin Herøin is a marveller of non-sequitur writing, cinematic films, & analogue photography.
Before, she used to be an aspiring physician; now, she is a newbie bassist who has 5.50/5.00 eyes & black tattoos on her right arm.
She's the former chief editor of Lomography's international magazine, the founder of Whilst We Wait, & the author of Paranoirexia.
Today, she curates and directs Parallel Planets, an online publication on creatives worldwide.
She dwells in the Eastern border of Manila with her pet pussies.
Before, she used to be an aspiring physician; now, she is a newbie bassist who has 5.50/5.00 eyes & black tattoos on her right arm.
She's the former chief editor of Lomography's international magazine, the founder of Whilst We Wait, & the author of Paranoirexia.
Today, she curates and directs Parallel Planets, an online publication on creatives worldwide.
She dwells in the Eastern border of Manila with her pet pussies.
