I revoke any thought that upbraids your beauty.
You are indeed peculiar and spontaneous.
But like my lover, I can’t love you.
Because of the memories attached.
It significance and implications.
No dispute to your beauty
and what shades you were made from.
For these hurts, traumas and memories,
I must hate you to save myself.
I don’t hate you, I hate what you inspire.
Well, you’re a replica of my lover.
I still find reasons to defend the violence you invoke.
Maybe you’re an excuse to exit this in-vain-love,
Because I can’t dare to put an end to it all.
Or just because I can’t bare to say these words “It’s over”.
Till the day my courage walks in,
I’ll continue to put the blame on you.
By Omale Rex
From: FLOWER’S MONOLOGUE
THE SAD GALLERY 