Tag Archives: dream

rusty mailbox

you’ve got that

american blue in the very pits

of your iris,

and sometimes it feels

almost electric

but i know i’ll just end up

with a black eye if i

keep on staring

i’m not usually this brand of rude

but i can’t help it

if i’m cliché suckered

by that beach-at-early-gentle-dusk

kind of blond,

figure i could still taste

sea salt in my throat if i inhaled

hard enough

maybe you’re afloat

waiting for

a false breakwater romance

drowning siren song

with a hateful kinda endearment

and speaking of

you hate sports and my visual arts

but you like virtuous

green heroes

and staying up for 38 hours

and i like monochrome serial shows

and the number of

sweets i could still spell out

if i threw your full name

in an anagram machine and let it

run wild, here’s one:

cotton candy

maybe that’s no fun for you

don’t worry, it’s no fun

for me either

but it’s always fun to dream a bit

afternoon stargazing

spitting grey fur

overthinking about it some more

buttercup, that’s not one

but i quite like it pinned on your hair

if you won’t mind

i don’t live near a garden

but we could always find some way

or another

to quote a reference

for something

you probably don’t listen to—or do you?—

i’m never gonna see it

all in bloom

because now

it’s almost late spring

(summer ’round my axis)

and not fantasy football season

and i think i love you

all the same

so maybe i’ll just stretch

out my stiff spine

write a generic letter with no

return address

and turn the unplugged television on

just to see how it all

pans out.

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Rise and shine, sleepyhead

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Good morning, sunshine.

You are a slow sip of icy coffee on a sweltering summer day, sweet and bitter and decadent and satisfying all at the same time. The yawning sun is barely peeking out of the horizon, still playful and forgiving; bathing you in childish glows and warm reverie. Life is nothing more than a bite of honey-dipped pastry and freshly-made ham and cheese sandwich, a shared table with an aged stranger, a silly dream full of friendship and fast times and flirtation—life is nothing more than fleeting polaroid snapshots of blurry smiles and quiet contemplation. Now melt the ice between your teeth, let the chill run down your lungs, and let the wandering words on your pen speak for themselves.

It is only morning, after all, and the universe is still quite hazy. Breathe it in. Make it last.

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Filed under Prose

Foretelling the Hoax

A renegade dream

All burned up in sins

Fall against reason

Fight against rhyme

.

I could stay and wait

A little while longer

But it seems that I’m

Running out of time

.

Yet to spill apart this

Chest, and carve my

Second thoughts onto

Your creased brows

.

I’d gladly let you do

The same—if only our

Fatal circumstance

Shall ever mildly allow.

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Sedate

I’m starving for medicine—

For a thousand clattering

Pills indulged all at once,

Dropping like snowflakes

On my withered tongue…

.

I’m starving for some sleep—

For a million hazy dreams

Coalesced softly all at once,

Showering like hail and sleet

Impaling my withered soul.

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Filed under Poetry

Peripheral Vision

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What a stubborn thought; to be loved, to be lost, to be loathed.

My initial mistake was to get myself foolishly caught up in the former instance, without carefully considering the ulterior consequences of my despicably reckless actions. I dived headfirst without peering in to see if there was a tangible ocean beneath me, and cried out in regret when my body got viciously torn apart by the jagged rocks awaiting below.

But, what else could I have done? And what else should I have not? I could spend my entire life painstakingly sifting through the showering grains of the hourglass, attempting to find a diamond until time runs out; or I could simply let the sand fall away to its own accord as I willingly hold out my roughened hands below—hurting, helping, hoping. The unfortunate namesake “human” is deeply threaded through my innocent nerves, shutting out the callous pessimism which only seeks to permanently cease my blood circulation; still withering against the gentler stings of anguish.

Though I have slowly faded out most of my past anamnesis, all of their phantasmic chimeras are still somehow luminously vigilant, almost even barbarous in its unremitting pursuit to frivolously preserve my already-squandered youth. Yet I suppose, no matter…no matter. For now, you are the overgrown wildflower field lulling my tired providence to rest, under fluid stars and unplucked scars and quavering sympathy—the only thankless relapse fully able to keep me awake for multiple infinitudes every twilight’s eve.

What a stubborn thought; to be loathed, to be lost, to be loved by you.

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Filed under Prose

Saudade

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my source of discomfort stems from sweeter apathy,

the one that subtly shifts behind frayed sweaters and

bubbles up from under clogged drains; the kitchen sink

is stained with petrified rose petals, your disinfectant love

creeps like cold chlorine under my tongue, and your kisses

taste like taking a deep breath under a swimming pool

but i don’t know why i cough up sea salt in my lungs

and the sand gets in my eyes and my fingernails, the

irritating grit keeps me vainly scratching all throughout

the night. you don’t seem to mind, for you have the covers

wrapped tightly around your body like a quilted cocoon, and

there’s a steady rhythm humming beneath the sweaty pillows;

of oxygen, and slowing pulse, and being unable to dream

while i dream up enough nightmares for the both of us

and the noisy skeletons in our padlocked closet. nobody’s

around to witness me jumping to conclusions, just an

inch of mattress that translates to transcontinental throes

you are so impossibly distant, whilst i quietly sit in the same

chair by the jammed window for hours and let myself wander—

perhaps i might chance upon a fairy tale place where home

feels like home, and not simply another temporary kingdom to lose

your keys; and where you are no longer a strange extraordinary metaphor

but rather, just a tiring contrary cliché that i’ll be more than glad to call my own.

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A Spoonful of Stagnancy (The Fix)

I woke up sideways trying to find clarity at the edge of my bed

‘Cause I thought I would meet a liar, but I met you there instead

With the knife stuck in one eye and a strange leer in the other

Before I could start to understand, you held our heads underwater

.

And let contrition flood my nostrils, let your heartbeat send the tides

Where old treasure chests and pirate bones can only dream to hide

My veins phosphorescent, a sickly glow, the predators won’t let me go

Sand in your lips like a velvet bliss, send me beyond cyclones and snow

.

A traitor in my midst, our ribcages interlocked beyond befallen stars

Fine silver melts at the very whim of your ire, spin a mysterious nebular

For where the mind shall go and where you let it roam is an open road

And you dragged me by the skin and teeth, jammed inside the folds

.

Beyond lost libraries and cathedral halls and the closets of your home

Our somewhere that we both could share just to leave ourselves alone

When your iris takes on some colour and the rusty blade begins to recede

Far away from angels and enemies and god, farther away from you and me

.

As I woke up sideways trying to find an elegy at the edge of my unmade bed

I just wanted to meet another dying sinner, but you left me one instead

With the knife out of my spine and your bloodstain roschach on my shoulders

Before we could start to understand, we were ending before it was all over.

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Filed under Poetry

wanderlust

you are

raindrops

trickling into

my blood

.

the sight of

the new world

after a long

tiring voyage

.

rusty chain links

rattling against

the street youth’s

scuffed shoes

.

five thousand

ways to say

maybe i like

the way you are

.

warm sunset

trapped in

a mason jar

and buried

.

an innocent

kind of swear

the one that

draws a blush

.

the humming

at the back of

a sad song

in b flat minor

.

a ticklish

kind of green

sticky clumps

of feline fur

.

the start of

a good movie

a back-alley

kind of kiss

.

a saturday

forgotten

a leap year

birthday blues

.

argonaut dreams

and cosmic hail

and candle wax

and old poetry

.

you are all

these things

and more, but

you are not

.

h e r e

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Filed under Poetry

Macrocosmic Defiance

Heaven knows that I’m born too late
For these ghosts that I chase
With these dreams, I inflate
Painted skies in my brain
Every day, I’m Carl Sagan in space
To escape this old world

~*~

Lift me up to where the sun hits my eyes just right

Ascending the ardent blurriness of reality itself—

.

Hushed diatribes alongside dug molehills of promises,

Reaching the peak of Everest itself, our still momentum;

The gravity of the situation feels as heavy as lost comets

On the ground, daydreamers with their heads crushed

By nimbus clouds, the senseless thunder that lingered

And threatened to take a strangle at wispy-thin necks

.

Caught in a modern guillotine, but who pulled the twisted rope?

.

So hold my hands and twist my wrists nearly backwards

We shall let the gallows humour simply speak for itself again

And carry every fleeting memory to where it aches—where it matters.

~*~

And when I fall to rise
With stardust in my eyes
In the backbone of night
I’m combustible
Dust in the fire when I can’t sleep
Awake, I’m too tired…

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Filed under Poetry

lamag-lamag (the chase)

habo ko na.

masakiton magparalamag

saimo—an sapatos ko

ralabot asin raraot na

an kaherak na bitis ko puros

na sana lugad, dawa an

baga ko nagkukurulog

asin magabaton nang

marhay, tapos habo mo

man sana akong tawanan

ning hinangos pag ika

nadakop ko na tulos

.

habo ko na.

napapagal na akong marhay

an sakuyang mapapasaon na

tulang, dikit na sana mababari na

gabos—ta paghuna ko baga

pangiturogan sana ini, pero tano ta

nakamuklat pa an sakuyang mga mata?

dawa anong gibuhon ko, ika man

sana an pirming manggagana

sa kahaluyan kong pagparadalagan

nalingawan ko na kung tano ta ika hinahanap

siring ta ika mayo man sakong

maitataong kamurawayan.

i don’t want this anymore.

it’s so difficult to chase

after you—my shoes are

full of holes and damaged,

my poor feet riddled with

wounds, even my chest aches

and is weighed down heavily

and yet you refuse to allow me

some breaths, when i finally

manage to quickly catch you

.

i don’t want this anymore.

i’m getting severely exhausted

my fragile bones are close to

fracturing completely—i thought

that this was just a dream, but then

why are my eyes still wide open?

no matter what i do, you will always

end up winning, and i’ve been running

for so long that i’ve already forgotten

why i’m searching for you

when you will provide me no triumph.

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Filed under Poetry