I'm Late

People 

They are always

No,

Most of them are always

Too Late.

They're too late 

to work,

for a deadline,

to apologise,

to say thanks,

to even ponder.

But most of all

they're just too late

too late indeed

to be human.

I was always labelled as the good kid in the house.
or at least that's what I heard people talks. What I'd heard.

Earlier this foul night, no, it's not that bad. Just hot.
Earlier, BaaCha talked of death. How Haha should check on her for her pulse.
For her very existence in this world.

Her words, though..... BaaCha's words, hit me.
Like bullets? No.
More to the winds brushing through my skin.
See, I not that good.

Just like the wind, it pleasures you with the coolness but it ends.
Yes, it stops whenever it feels like it, not considering the heat that was still on us; and left us wanting for more. That's how it is with her words.

I blamed it on my skin. My oily, dry, pimple-scared skin.
They sips, they absorbed every moisture that brushes through, including her words.

Am I a bad child?
Indeed, I know.
What I wonder is, the degree of badness one can be.
My degree of rotten, spoiled behaviour.

I'm aware. I think. I thought.
Thousands and thousands times over.
But did I do anything to change it?
I thought I did. I did.
Or so I think.

That's indeed my punishment.
Mental torture is definitely more fun than physical.

Yours truly,
Forgive me dear Allah,
for all my sins,
done and upcoming.

Ien.