I stopped writing poetry yet here I am again
Staring at the skies like I know how it will end
This poem makes no sense and so doesn't my mind
After all the drugs no poetry was left behind
May 16, 2015
May 16, 2015 at 3:09 PM UTC
So this is gonna be my life
I realize that I can't fly
I lay awake until 4 AM
Everyday I want to die.
Mar 22, 2014
Mar 22, 2014 at 1:35 PM UTC
I said I'd stop and I'd stay clean
But we all know that talk is cheap
I wanted to turn away from this mess
Wanted to recover from the nights I didn't sleep.
It was easy to quit under the glare of morning light,
But I can't shake the urge to give it a little kiss
goodbye.
And it's a stabbing pain, to take the truth,
That my downfall is in the moments when my fingers touch the sky.
I'll try to fix myself once more
Try to push away and kick it all.
To see that what goes up must surely come down
And that getting high will eventually lead me to a fall.
Feb 15, 2014
Feb 15, 2014 at 4:57 PM UTC
I found her through a wall of white
Materializing in photographs and letters, she was exactly how I dreamed.
I felt a connection, intangible and quick,
But so right and so destined was how it all seemed.
I don't really understand
Why she said goodbye without hello.
I guess love is like a race,
And I was running much too slow.
Feb 2, 2014
Feb 2, 2014 at 7:24 AM UTC
One Sunday night, I fell inlove,
Her beauty saved me from despair.
Between kisses, she said; "I see myself in you."
I kissed her back, replied; "It's probably the hair."
She doesn't love me back, like nobody ever will,
So I crawl back to my bed in familiar Quarantine.
There, I'll sleep forever and go nowhere,
For it's time to accept that the grass is never green.
Jan 25, 2014
Jan 25, 2014 at 11:58 PM UTC
Welcome to Manila.
Feel free to fill your lungs with the nocturnal breeze
Signed by the nation's capital as it flows its life on the roads that lie under the moon's lunar glow.
The scents of Sampaguitas, rugby, human excrement, and the smell of burning gasoline
Constituting the sources of a rising problem that pollutes the air of a land
A land where people ignore the screams of health issues
For the latest news about events in the envied personal lives
Of hypocritical second-rate and overpaid actors who have become the annoying faces
Of household television screens in the Philippines.
To the left you'll see a wooden cart filled with discarded recyclables that serve as a livelihood by day,
And a bed by night as it stands on the road lined with the gutters
The gutters that serve as stomachs of the city, the only stomachs of the city that aren't suffering
From starvation and Ulcers as they are filled to the brim with the population's toxic waste,
Reeking into the air with a stench that only compliments
The smells of poverty and corruption, as the taxes that are meant to pay for progress
Are redirected to the politician's own pockets to be spent on his prostitutes and casino gambling.
Hear the music of manila; the harmonious sounds of infants that weep
As they are trapped in a living nightmare as they toss and turn and try to sleep along the roads
Buzzing with the sounds of beeping horns through the late rush hour traffic
Mixed with the sounds of the occasional clink of the falling silver peso coin into beggars' cups,
And other homeless people under the delusional impression
That pedestrians actually care for their well being and listen to their creaking voices
As they beg for spare change, while deep down they beg and pray
For a total change in the states of their starving lives.
The dark reveals the most candid face of the nation
like an ironic twist in nature as in the shadows, more is seen than under the burning light of the
pretentious day.
The street lights are like the eyes that witness ice picks piercing innocent flesh
and purses being taken from passers-by
While in the shadows of alleys nobody sees the slow and painfully traumatic scenes
of young teen-aged girls being *****
And motorcycle gangs that rain semi-automatic ammunition into skulls of lawyers just stopping by at Shell for gasoline.
Seldom heard in the air are the faint whispers in heads that hold the scattered thoughts and memories
of depressed drug addicts walking along Chinatown near the railroad tracks
Inhabited by people who blame their neighbors, their families, and the government,
And never blame themselves for their lives that have brutally fallen beneath the vicious line of everlasting poverty.
Oct 18, 2013
Oct 18, 2013 at 3:32 PM UTC
My soul holds secrets, like the sky holds constellations.
Pulsing through my veins are the darkest whispers of the sins that I keep lodged down,
Just dripping its poison down my throat,
As my gag reflex slowly desensitizes itself,
Clogged by the great fear it shares with my lips,
Fear like a shadow that hangs around me under the horizons of the painted afternoon skies,
Fear of the fatal judgement of the general population,
As they point their fingers that are like barrels of loaded pistols,
Ready to shoot me for my sins.
Aug 23, 2013
Aug 23, 2013 at 2:21 PM UTC
The cries are heard, from the souls of the ******
As they drown in melancholia, while others watch, but fail to help.
In the ocean of pure depression, they struggle,
But their feet, constricted, by clusters of kelp.
They swallow the waves, but still starve for sympathy,
They lose their sanity, the torture, turns them wild.
And the inhuman beings just stare, at the lives being demolished,
Like the vulture, that stared, at Carter's dying child.
May 15, 2013
May 15, 2013 at 8:03 AM UTC
The willow is confused,
Thinks whether to wilt or bloom.
The lake will catch all her tears,
The lake will be her passionate groom.
I feel the seismic shakes up north,
The eagle of terror, alights to land.
We follow the cracks, on the ground, so dry,
Thee lines on the dirt, like the lines on my hand.
We sail, amidst, the howling winds,
The storm is a cyclops, and we search for his eye,
But the eye we seek cannot be found,
The storm is blind, and the calm is a lie.
Days that come, feel forever bright.
Nights crawl in and fill the clouds with gloom.
So the willow, is confused, and she can't decide,
If today, she wilts, or continue the bloom.
Apr 22, 2013
Apr 22, 2013 at 5:18 AM UTC
I will love you,
As you burn with the lordly roses,
in the zen gardens of peace.
As the world slowly turns its back on you.
I will become your disease.
when nobody hears your painful cries,
I will.
I will love you,
when your soul begins to wither,
when the oceans stop caressing the sand,
when you have fallen lower than ever,
whenever you'd need me to hold your hand.
And when nobody sees the pain in your eyes,
I will.
I will love you,
even if you try to stop the world from spinning,
even as the great seas on the moon stop flowing,
and when loss isn't far from winning.
As the fountains of youth run out
I will.
Feb 26, 2013
Feb 26, 2013 at 6:10 PM UTC