Monthly Archives: February 2019

29 – january candy canes

go ahead and raise up that scarlet umbrella

to fight against acerbic deception and winds

and sing me as song as fragile as the moon

.

of idyllic interludes of a thumping piano

decadent as the afterthought of samsara

but not quite as disenchanting as a eulogy

.

and frailer flavours of icy mint and failure

mingling with petrichor and soft lemongrass

so provoke my lullabies, while you still can

.

for soon, i’ll lose the ability to fall asleep

and when the weather turns cold like this

the rain shall only be another dying wish.

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28 – hesitant hope

i know you aren’t sick

of that five-hour coffee yet

or even making a mess out of

expensive watercolours

but you better stop laughing

while you’re down and out

.

and you also don’t care

for the farewells and five a.m.

headaches making a mess

out of your cheapest apologies

but you better start fixing

that wretched old life of yours.

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27 – musings on gil puyat station

oh, she’s like this cardboard city, with the subtle way she’s barely holding herself together.

she’s an anachronism, of late-night guilt and freshly-brewed coffee; no sugar, no cream, barely sipped. she intertwines her deepest confessions inside my vulnerable chest cavity and suddenly constricts without warning, completely sucking me dry of resentful consciences and clever second thoughts.

though i talk with corroded shackles beneath my tongue, i care not for the sharp tang of rust. while she solemnly weeps for fictional infinities on the other side of the country, i impatiently await that impending reply as i absently gaze outside the window of a clattering train, basking at this city, built upon centuries of dusty grey smog and busy promises—of fragile bodies barely touching, barely stopping to breathe, barely existing.

she has an irrational need, that insensible girl, to save what can no longer be saved, to control what is far beyond her means, to create as it destroys her. the pleading words on the dull glow of my screen are a tangible whisper, tasting of colliding tears and bitter shame. “i want to help you, like they always did for me, but—i fear…i fear i cannot.”

can you not, indeed? my ulterior rejection is swift and bordering on impolite; but i still listen, and descry for mutual understanding. for though i shall never admit it out loud, your blithe persistence undoubtedly plagues me; to the very throes of my lavender dreams—resting beneath the stars as i turn my back upon that flimsy conversation and that paper metropolis, and allow myself to think clearly again.

to her, i am the eternal glue that holds her together. to me, i am the stranger who mercilessly ripped her apart in an attempt to reconstruct her to my own selfish beliefs.

who is right? what is the relative concept; of wrongness, of forgiveness, of sudden change and reconciliation, of the flismy trust that you broke, and the tested faith that broke you?

and who am i to tell?

the verdant landscape of laguna finally greets my wandering eyes and thankfully pulls me away from the echoing cries of that city, that poster past of a coalescing city that fills up my thoughts with a charcoal haze and renders everything else an unfamiliar slate of grey. my sighs are comforting once again, and she no longer appears to be just another one of the million impostors i came across today.

she means well. she meant well.

though—call it nihilism if you may—at the very least, she should be tolerable to her qualms and fear not the fortunate reality of losing me; arms unfolding, heart reaching, mind forgetting.

and fade away, i will. a plastic boy like me has no place in a cardboard world like this.

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26 – madness, malls, melancholy

i chase for my friends

forgotten i may be

anticipating the warmth

and better memories

.

breathing the anxiety

in countdowns from three

homesick, carsick, plain sick

hoping for deluded tricks

.

until my blind eyes light up

and my voice gets too numb

from talking, laughing, and

cheering at every little sound

.

though there is a disconnect

that sadder sense of longing

to know they’re moving past

without my outlier belonging

.

i’ll still chase, even when i trip

and show up at every single revelry

with crass smiles and crude gifts

hope i didn’t ruin your birthday party.

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25 – revelations

my schizophrenic shadow wistfully overlooks the edge of the world, and i despair; and i despair.

my vulnerable screams are plangent and writhing, yet no hands clamber for salvation, only mine; only mine. the blood from my scars clot and turn into vicious rubies, scratching under my skin, entangled arteries blocked with the sound of desperate confessions and faithless escape. soporific gazes puncture my eyes like clever sin, injecting doses of pity and false concern, and my diseases lie; and they lie.

against commas and halos, only the propane in my dry mouth tastes of sleep. though the sourest hints of fire is nothing but another bad affinity, another chaotic weather, another apologetic insomnia last night; was it last night? i find myself distraught with overwhelming furore, pervaded senses intruding the compromised chambers of my chest and colliding against my ribs, my painfully-starved ribs. my taut insides churn and hunger against me angrily. i deserve nothing less.

my bruised fingers are mere cowards for not pushing the rusted knife in deeper now, and deeper still. my tender flesh is weak for buckling and shivering against my final prayer for remedy, one last suffering goodbye, an unwritten note belied in self-sabotage. my crass willpower is a fledgling deceiver, for somehow fully convincing my desensitised mind that it can leave no warmth, no life, no breath inside my poorly-shattered spine, by the time she finally arrives too late to wonder why the hell i did such unspeakable actions; oh, she must wonder why.

failure, again; and again. i can do no harm—god, why can’t i?

as cascading chains of sunlight eventually incarcerate my catatonic body in an overwhelming apoplexy of pain, i simply sit in the suffocating confines of that final concluding silence, and morning awaits. mourning awaits.

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24 – no doubt

through metal and fire

sinews of flesh interred

lost restraint and desire

pleading tongues left sold

.

“it hurts to keep it all in”

hurts even more to speak

i must look rather grim

but soon overdose will kick

.

against the side of my brain

and knock me out for good

concealing all cravenly stains

before i finish what i should

.

through liars and lighters

i flayed to search for some rest

so lay me down to agony

and hope the worst’s for the best.

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23 – a lukewarm 4 a.m. shower (isn’t as bad as it sounds)

i hope i can wash it all out.

.

all the exhaustion and instability

the throat i screamed ragged

and my eyes drowning in red water

.

the hellish nightmares creeping into

the darkness when i forgot to turn on the light

.

when i was too tired to stand up

and make a better mess of myself

because no one else could do that for me

.

not the phone calls i’m avoiding

not the close friends i barely know anymore

not the faceless comfort typing on their

tiny glowing screens always telling me

.

i’ll be fucking alright, because i won’t

.

be there for them. instead, i’ll be sitting

in the middle of a cold-tiled floor, still trying

to wake myself up enough to breathe.

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22 – covet me, still.

i’m careening out of the control

i never had—i never had it in the first place

because all i’ve been doing is avoiding

and lying from ear to ear as i make

my smiles easier to disappear from again

it was a lot easier to think i had one.

but the meaninglessness of it rests like

a shuddering sigh at the back of my mouth,

almost choking me to death as it tries

to hold all of my fucking screams within...

i’m locked up in my room, throwing up all

the contrition and uneaten apologies

for the people that i nearly killed—

and for the people who nearly killed me.

i don’t know how long i could keep up this act

and i’m so close to losing more than a friend,

more than dial tones, more than myself…

i wish i wasn’t so goddamn selfish.

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21 – road rash

knees skinned

and bleeding out

arms barely bent

crashing again

.

rocks embedded

on sore red palms

and bruised elbows

cause falling again

.

ankles sprained

and depleted lungs

stinging, screaming

colliding yet again

.

injuries all counted

lost count of new pain

too tired yet too wired

cold concrete, again

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20.5 – arrow (pt. 2)

ii.) shaft

dear friend on the other side of the planet,

you make me laugh a lot, you know? it’s rather silly, but i just love your little shenanigans. the way our elated screams always intertwine together in a dissonant enthusiasm, the way we never hesitate to send our artworks and writings; trusting each other with quiet glimpses of our whimsical souls, the way you send the crazy pictures of you without any second thought—even though i’m too insecure and afraid to do the same—and the stupid way we try to bascially hurt each other with the most adorable band photos we could possibly find, relentlessly warring it out with no surrender to the end.

all of this probably wouldn’t make sense to any sane person. but that doesn’t matter, just as long as it doesn’t make sense to us either. it’s funny and i don’t think it’s ever going to get old. mostly, we just sling our constant admirations and strange motivations about and try to volleyball-pass them back straight to each other’s faces; as if trying to outdo the other one in a compliment contest—which, again, no one really wins anyway. thankfully for us.

it’s about 3 a.m. as i write this, while i’m simultaneously sending another dumb gif that’s sure to blow your fragile heart out, and my exhausted body is on the verge of imminent collapse; yet i can’t help but hang around for just a tad while longer to retaliate with another cute face one more time. i sure as hell won’t be running short of those anytime soon, and believe me, i won’t rest until i get the last word—quite literally. so be afraid, be very a f r a i d…

i know you’ll most likely never read this, but hey, all the same, thanks for those quiet moments of fun and insanity, and for unintentionally kicking me back up whenever i’m at my lowest depths. yeah, thank you for being the patty to my aws, you dumb emo dork. i’ll get you back for making me this weirdly sentimental and also for all those weird hair photos someday, i swear to ali’s eyeliner.

best regards, a sleep-deprived pasty-faced lonely swamp kid.

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