Happiest Birthday.
You introduced me to this.
I’m kind of sorry,
I had missed last year’s greetings.
So enjoy your day my friend.

Jaded from your viciously captivating smiles,
Ubiquitous yet blurred and vague,
Stinging pain from this weird emotion,
Thank you for the greeting,
It made me happy just by seeing blue and white,
Naivete has taken over me, flustered red.

Oh sweet days of youth,
I yearn for you still.
My childhood memories,
They weren't very real.

As a young adult,
I am still a child.
Immature as can be,
I stride with no care.

No, I am not mature.
I just thought differently.
I can be called weird,
Starting from twenty.

Neighbors' talking,
As if it's the end of the world.
Trying to make sense,
Of all of these words.

Two different people,
Who walk past each other.
Two strangers,
With a past together.

Some nights are filled,
Some days are empty.
Two seats never apart,
That ages day in day out.

Words at three o'clock,
Flying past the moon,
Crashing into your mind,
And into my own heart.

Eyes looking at us,
Two who've become one.
Seats apart closing in.
Melding into nothingness.

The eyes blinded by darkness,
Of nothingness and emptiness.
In the moonlight shrouded black.
We talked and got deaf.

I flee in fear as the enemy grows near,
I stumbled as a bullet passes my ear.
I stand, I turn running away with a tear,
I fall down as if I was hit with a spear.

I took on this war a long time ago,
With myself I had hoped that I could grow.
I lay down beginning to rot away,
The hours passed as I begin to fade.

I wake up and I see these wounds of mine,
Glowing as if I was filled with such life.
Slowly my wounds begin to heal and fade,
And such I begin to fight another day.

Never did I knew that that day drew near,
As I remember those days fleeing in fear.
Now I stand and fight my demonic night,
And I shall die with my tears shining bright.

I lay in this self-made grave from a self-made war,
Yet again my heart glows as if being revived.
I faced myself and gave myself a scar.
Yet it was healed by an angel from afar.

In front of a silky white chair,
An aura of complete despair,
We try to contrast and compare,
This monochromatic nightmare.

I stand before this noose I dare,
To loop my neck and mark a tear,
On my skin that is not so fair,
A bright red strip exposed and bare.

I try to jump without a care,
The chair and rope comes in a pair,
Yet I loosened it with a swear,
I need to live... a life unfair.

dying is a meme
it's really ironic
it just wont die
a screwdriver?
its not effective
not sharp enough
i stopped though
but my thoughts
filled with memes
just never stop

Oh how respected!
How brave your soul is.
How marvelous you’ve been,
To me who’s despair ridden.

You of nobility or so it seems.
Of an esteemed Catholic family,
But alas you’re no queen!
Of procrastination maybe.

You whose ire knows no bounds.
Of your shrapnel-made tongue!
Remember those times, love?
Of how you hated social media!

Your hatred and trust issues,
How valuable they are to you.
Hatred of guidance counselors,
Led to hatred of God himself!

Oh how brave of you to oppose!
How mighty you are in your stand!
I don’t mean to judge, love.
You’re free to believe, or not.

You’ve become a pitiable ghost!
I suppose, maybe it’s just me…
You disappeared, love.
Where have you been?

From admiration and care,
To admonishment and hate!
You who left me in August!
Are striped of that description!

These aren’t anger filled lines.
It’s of disappointment, love.
We’re both cowards, right?
But why leave me alone!

I’ve been there for you in May!
Remember the ninth of eighteenth?
With you eating frozen watermelons,
While it rained ever so gently?

You cried and cried,
Shouting “I’m okay.”
I lied and lied.
Saying “No, you’re not.”

Why’d you become my August ghost?
Did you regret crying that night?
Why’d you leave me all alone?
It’s better if I just died…

Because I was just a friend.
Not even worth your words.
Because you left me hanging.
On the twenty-second of August.

My ****** unrequited love will come to an end!
Through a year of heartache and seething bitterness;
Wallowing in my despair of falling in love.
The truth is a cruel unforgiving mistress.
Feigning ignorance ended in damning remorse!
Sundered hearts and sundered souls are love’s currency,
So may it be paid in full; may we meet again.

Oh how time flies by,
My country has two seasons.
Where the sky cries woes,
And when the sun hates people.

We've encountered floods,
Drowning in tears and in mud.
I've encountered hate,
Burning like a hot skillet.

Yet there were days warm,
As if my tears have dried up.
Days comfy yet cold.
Lying in my bed content.

Radical changes!
From two states of emotions.
Warm love and cold hate,
Fluctuating with the seasons!

I'm walking two steps,
Taking three backwards.
I want to confess.
With nothing coming after.
No pain and regrets,
Just my empty words.
As I pour my cup,
Of cold coffee as it rains.

I said it last June,
That I promise I'll confess.
It's been just two months,
Yet my heart's racing faster.

It flickers like the seasons,
Burning and freezing!
I'm confused and dead anxious,
As I try resuming.
I heat up my cold coffee,
To tackle a my day anew.

As I start my day waking up from bed,
I would start my daily routine of dread.
"I woke up yet again,
From my slumber of ten."
My ten hours of sleep from waking up dead.

Everyday happenings,
Saddened mishaps,
Emotional misgivings,
Intellectual fallacies,
Sensory malfunction,
These we all have in common.
Mistakes were made,
Because we're all cliché.

— ah, you love the trickling rain...
Beside you, an umbrella’s reign.
It shields you from the pain;
God knows you’ve feigned-
Again, a beautiful smile shown,
Ignoring your shattered bones,
Leaping and dancing in the rain.

To be left empty,
With shards of what used to be.
To be abandoned,
By a ghost of your own dreams.
It leaves you longing in pain.

Have you ever felt grey?
As if you’re in the middle.
I just want to kneel and pray.
My mind emits white noise.
I go out on a bright sunny day.
Yet my eyes see nothing.

Confusion and chaos sets in.
I stand my ground as it shakes.
My brain shuts down as I grin.
As if a demon took over me.
My mind makes noises; it’s sin.
I write aimlessly with imagery.

See that dark sky?
No it’s not dark.
I didn’t even open my eyes.
It’s all in the mind.
When emotions run wild.
There are no more rhymes.
Only static and failing images.
That could come to mind.

I used to wander feeling blue,
Underneath the sky's hue.
As I walk the sky falls true,
I'm at sea limbless and fugue.

Suddenly it all turns green-
An old mango tree I've seen.
A sense of tranquility so serene,
A stark contrast from the marine.

I must have flown from an inlet,
From drowning I must've willed it,
Surviving alone on this islet,
I wear a regal cloak of violet.

I dream of a house colored red,
Ghosts appear, I hide under my bed.
To retreat into my scarlet shed,
This travesty is all in my head.

Sometimes I miss my grandmother,
Younger days with fried chicken supper,
Some mismatched candles I offer,
She would like a splash of color.

All these colors come to fruition,
Whirlpools of colorful emotion,
It all spirals down to destruction,
As I drown ghosts of hallucination.

Sloth* hath taken me
Envy seeps within my soul
Yet I keep *righteous

Telling myself lies,
With my smile as a disguise,
Through tears in my eyes,
I hope that it would suffice,
Until my heart turns to ice.

~

Completely honest,
I deceive my empty heart,
That it is now filled.

~

White lies fall like snow,
In this tundra of a home.
Snow now piles on high.
I tell myself I’m just fine,
Ignoring planks in my eye.

~

I’ve been honest right?
About my lies and deceit.
Putrid honesty.

Į̨̇̐̉̃̆̓̚͏̣̤̰͍̪̮͓̗̳͚͎̝̞̘̻̪ ̸̬̞̬̭̓ͣ͂ͫ̅͆̊̈́̾̃ͨ̍͢Ğͬ̔ͤͪͩ̄̄͋̅ͥ̇̎͢͝҉͓̻̝̖̥̥́͜Į̛̟̲̳͇̖̯̳̰̮̗̱̟̒͛̎̅̄͌͊ͅ­V̶̵̴̮̘̳͎̗̘͚̱̬̪͚̼̙̭̎ͨ̿̐̐́͛͘͜E̸͕̬͖͙͖͔͙̞̥̲̪ͩ̽̃̈́̎ͭ͝ͅ ̡͍̬̘̝̭͉̫̣̲̱̥̙̭̣͉̣̠ͨ͒̿̍̀ͧ͂̍ͦ͢ͅȖ̴̳̭̬̗̮̦͖̻̼̝̠͗̆ͪ̐͐ͤͯ̕͞P̶̸̗̟͚̹͍̼̫̙̍͐̃­̌͒̓̔ͧ̏̌̄͊ͯ̏͑̕͟͝Į̨̇̐̉̃̆̓̚͏̣̤̰͍̪̮͓̗̳͚͎̝̞̘̻̪ ̸̬̞̬̭̓ͣ͂ͫ̅͆̊̈́̾̃ͨ̍͢Ğͬ̔ͤͪͩ̄̄͋̅ͥ̇̎͢͝҉͓̻̝̖̥̥́͜Į̛̟̲̳͇̖̯̳̰̮̗̱̟̒͛̎̅̄͌͊ͅ­V̶̵̴̮̘̳͎̗̘͚̱̬̪͚̼̙̭̎ͨ̿̐̐́͛͘͜E̸͕̬͖͙͖͔͙̞̥̲̪ͩ̽̃̈́̎ͭ͝ͅ ̡͍̬̘̝̭͉̫̣̲̱̥̙̭̣͉̣̠ͨ͒̿̍̀ͧ͂̍ͦ͢ͅȖ̴̳̭̬̗̮̦͖̻̼̝̠͗̆ͪ̐͐ͤͯ̕͞P̶̸̗̟͚̹͍̼̫̙̍͐̃­̌͒̓̔ͧ̏̌̄͊ͯ̏͑̕͟͝Į̨̇̐̉̃̆̓̚͏̣̤̰͍̪̮͓̗̳͚͎̝̞̘̻̪ ̸̬̞̬̭̓ͣ͂ͫ̅͆̊̈́̾̃ͨ̍͢Ğͬ̔ͤͪͩ̄̄͋̅ͥ̇̎͢͝҉͓̻̝̖̥̥́͜Į̛̟̲̳͇̖̯̳̰̮̗̱̟̒͛̎̅̄͌͊ͅ­V̶̵̴̮̘̳͎̗̘͚̱̬̪͚̼̙̭̎ͨ̿̐̐́͛͘͜E̸͕̬͖͙͖͔͙̞̥̲̪ͩ̽̃̈́̎ͭ͝ͅ ̡͍̬̘̝̭͉̫̣̲̱̥̙̭̣͉̣̠ͨ͒̿̍̀ͧ͂̍ͦ͢ͅȖ̴̳̭̬̗̮̦͖̻̼̝̠͗̆ͪ̐͐ͤͯ̕͞P̶̸̗̟͚̹͍̼̫̙̍͐̃­̌͒̓̔ͧ̏̌̄͊ͯ̏͑̕͟͝

Į̨̇̐̉̃̆̓̚͏̣̤̰͍̪̮͓̗̳͚͎̝̞̘̻̪ ̸̬̞̬̭̓ͣ͂ͫ̅͆̊̈́̾̃ͨ̍͢Ğͬ̔ͤͪͩ̄̄͋̅ͥ̇̎͢͝҉͓̻̝̖̥̥́͜Į̛̟̲̳͇̖̯̳̰̮̗̱̟̒͛̎̅̄͌͊ͅ­V̶̵̴̮̘̳͎̗̘͚̱̬̪͚̼̙̭̎ͨ̿̐̐́͛͘͜E̸͕̬͖͙͖͔͙̞̥̲̪ͩ̽̃̈́̎ͭ͝ͅ ̡͍̬̘̝̭͉̫̣̲̱̥̙̭̣͉̣̠ͨ͒̿̍̀ͧ͂̍ͦ͢ͅȖ̴̳̭̬̗̮̦͖̻̼̝̠͗̆ͪ̐͐ͤͯ̕͞P̶̸̗̟͚̹͍̼̫̙̍͐̃­̌͒̓̔ͧ̏̌̄͊ͯ̏͑̕͟͝Į̨̇̐̉̃̆̓̚͏̣̤̰͍̪̮͓̗̳͚͎̝̞̘̻̪ ̸̬̞̬̭̓ͣ͂ͫ̅͆̊̈́̾̃ͨ̍͢Ğͬ̔ͤͪͩ̄̄͋̅ͥ̇̎͢͝҉͓̻̝̖̥̥́͜Į̛̟̲̳͇̖̯̳̰̮̗̱̟̒͛̎̅̄͌͊ͅ­V̶̵̴̮̘̳͎̗̘͚̱̬̪͚̼̙̭̎ͨ̿̐̐́͛͘͜E̸͕̬͖͙͖͔͙̞̥̲̪ͩ̽̃̈́̎ͭ͝ͅ ̡͍̬̘̝̭͉̫̣̲̱̥̙̭̣͉̣̠ͨ͒̿̍̀ͧ͂̍ͦ͢ͅȖ̴̳̭̬̗̮̦͖̻̼̝̠͗̆ͪ̐͐ͤͯ̕͞P̶̸̗̟͚̹͍̼̫̙̍͐̃­̌͒̓̔ͧ̏̌̄͊ͯ̏͑̕͟͝Į̨̇̐̉̃̆̓̚͏̣̤̰͍̪̮͓̗̳͚͎̝̞̘̻̪ ̸̬̞̬̭̓ͣ͂ͫ̅͆̊̈́̾̃ͨ̍͢Ğͬ̔ͤͪͩ̄̄͋̅ͥ̇̎͢͝҉͓̻̝̖̥̥́͜Į̛̟̲̳͇̖̯̳̰̮̗̱̟̒͛̎̅̄͌͊ͅ­V̶̵̴̮̘̳͎̗̘͚̱̬̪͚̼̙̭̎ͨ̿̐̐́͛͘͜E̸͕̬͖͙͖͔͙̞̥̲̪ͩ̽̃̈́̎ͭ͝ͅ ̡͍̬̘̝̭͉̫̣̲̱̥̙̭̣͉̣̠ͨ͒̿̍̀ͧ͂̍ͦ͢ͅȖ̴̳̭̬̗̮̦͖̻̼̝̠͗̆ͪ̐͐ͤͯ̕͞P̶̸̗̟͚̹͍̼̫̙̍͐̃­̌͒̓̔ͧ̏̌̄͊ͯ̏͑̕͟͝

Į̨̇̐̉̃̆̓̚͏̣̤̰͍̪̮͓̗̳͚͎̝̞̘̻̪ ̸̬̞̬̭̓ͣ͂ͫ̅͆̊̈́̾̃ͨ̍͢Ğͬ̔ͤͪͩ̄̄͋̅ͥ̇̎͢͝҉͓̻̝̖̥̥́͜Į̛̟̲̳͇̖̯̳̰̮̗̱̟̒͛̎̅̄͌͊ͅ­V̶̵̴̮̘̳͎̗̘͚̱̬̪͚̼̙̭̎ͨ̿̐̐́͛͘͜E̸͕̬͖͙͖͔͙̞̥̲̪ͩ̽̃̈́̎ͭ͝ͅ ̡͍̬̘̝̭͉̫̣̲̱̥̙̭̣͉̣̠ͨ͒̿̍̀ͧ͂̍ͦ͢ͅȖ̴̳̭̬̗̮̦͖̻̼̝̠͗̆ͪ̐͐ͤͯ̕͞P̶̸̗̟͚̹͍̼̫̙̍͐̃­̌͒̓̔ͧ̏̌̄͊ͯ̏͑̕͟͝Į̨̇̐̉̃̆̓̚͏̣̤̰͍̪̮͓̗̳͚͎̝̞̘̻̪ ̸̬̞̬̭̓ͣ͂ͫ̅͆̊̈́̾̃ͨ̍͢Ğͬ̔ͤͪͩ̄̄͋̅ͥ̇̎͢͝҉͓̻̝̖̥̥́͜Į̛̟̲̳͇̖̯̳̰̮̗̱̟̒͛̎̅̄͌͊ͅ­V̶̵̴̮̘̳͎̗̘͚̱̬̪͚̼̙̭̎ͨ̿̐̐́͛͘͜E̸͕̬͖͙͖͔͙̞̥̲̪ͩ̽̃̈́̎ͭ͝ͅ ̡͍̬̘̝̭͉̫̣̲̱̥̙̭̣͉̣̠ͨ͒̿̍̀ͧ͂̍ͦ͢ͅȖ̴̳̭̬̗̮̦͖̻̼̝̠͗̆ͪ̐͐ͤͯ̕͞P̶̸̗̟͚̹͍̼̫̙̍͐̃­̌͒̓̔ͧ̏̌̄͊ͯ̏͑̕͟͝Į̨̇̐̉̃̆̓̚͏̣̤̰͍̪̮͓̗̳͚͎̝̞̘̻̪ ̸̬̞̬̭̓ͣ͂ͫ̅͆̊̈́̾̃ͨ̍͢Ğͬ̔ͤͪͩ̄̄͋̅ͥ̇̎͢͝҉͓̻̝̖̥̥́͜Į̛̟̲̳͇̖̯̳̰̮̗̱̟̒͛̎̅̄͌͊ͅ­V̶̵̴̮̘̳͎̗̘͚̱̬̪͚̼̙̭̎ͨ̿̐̐́͛͘͜E̸͕̬͖͙͖͔͙̞̥̲̪ͩ̽̃̈́̎ͭ͝ͅ ̡͍̬̘̝̭͉̫̣̲̱̥̙̭̣͉̣̠ͨ͒̿̍̀ͧ͂̍ͦ͢ͅȖ̴̳̭̬̗̮̦͖̻̼̝̠͗̆ͪ̐͐ͤͯ̕͞P̶̸̗̟͚̹͍̼̫̙̍͐̃­̌͒̓̔ͧ̏̌̄͊ͯ̏͑̕͟͝

Į̨̇̐̉̃̆̓̚͏̣̤̰͍̪̮͓̗̳͚͎̝̞̘̻̪ ̸̬̞̬̭̓ͣ͂ͫ̅͆̊̈́̾̃ͨ̍͢Ğͬ̔ͤͪͩ̄̄͋̅ͥ̇̎͢͝҉͓̻̝̖̥̥́͜Į̛̟̲̳͇̖̯̳̰̮̗̱̟̒͛̎̅̄͌͊ͅ­V̶̵̴̮̘̳͎̗̘͚̱̬̪͚̼̙̭̎ͨ̿̐̐́͛͘͜E̸͕̬͖͙͖͔͙̞̥̲̪ͩ̽̃̈́̎ͭ͝ͅ ̡͍̬̘̝̭͉̫̣̲̱̥̙̭̣͉̣̠ͨ͒̿̍̀ͧ͂̍ͦ͢ͅȖ̴̳̭̬̗̮̦͖̻̼̝̠͗̆ͪ̐͐ͤͯ̕͞P̶̸̗̟͚̹͍̼̫̙̍͐̃­̌͒̓̔ͧ̏̌̄͊ͯ̏͑̕͟͝Į̨̇̐̉̃̆̓̚͏̣̤̰͍̪̮͓̗̳͚͎̝̞̘̻̪ ̸̬̞̬̭̓ͣ͂ͫ̅͆̊̈́̾̃ͨ̍͢Ğͬ̔ͤͪͩ̄̄͋̅ͥ̇̎͢͝҉͓̻̝̖̥̥́͜Į̛̟̲̳͇̖̯̳̰̮̗̱̟̒͛̎̅̄͌͊ͅ­V̶̵̴̮̘̳͎̗̘͚̱̬̪͚̼̙̭̎ͨ̿̐̐́͛͘͜E̸͕̬͖͙͖͔͙̞̥̲̪ͩ̽̃̈́̎ͭ͝ͅ ̡͍̬̘̝̭͉̫̣̲̱̥̙̭̣͉̣̠ͨ͒̿̍̀ͧ͂̍ͦ͢ͅȖ̴̳̭̬̗̮̦͖̻̼̝̠͗̆ͪ̐͐ͤͯ̕͞P̶̸̗̟͚̹͍̼̫̙̍͐̃­̌͒̓̔ͧ̏̌̄͊ͯ̏͑̕͟͝Į̨̇̐̉̃̆̓̚͏̣̤̰͍̪̮͓̗̳͚͎̝̞̘̻̪ ̸̬̞̬̭̓ͣ͂ͫ̅͆̊̈́̾̃ͨ̍͢Ğͬ̔ͤͪͩ̄̄͋̅ͥ̇̎͢͝҉͓̻̝̖̥̥́͜Į̛̟̲̳͇̖̯̳̰̮̗̱̟̒͛̎̅̄͌͊ͅ­V̶̵̴̮̘̳͎̗̘͚̱̬̪͚̼̙̭̎ͨ̿̐̐́͛͘͜E̸͕̬͖͙͖͔͙̞̥̲̪ͩ̽̃̈́̎ͭ͝ͅ ̡͍̬̘̝̭͉̫̣̲̱̥̙̭̣͉̣̠ͨ͒̿̍̀ͧ͂̍ͦ͢ͅȖ̴̳̭̬̗̮̦͖̻̼̝̠͗̆ͪ̐͐ͤͯ̕͞P̶̸̗̟͚̹͍̼̫̙̍͐̃­̌͒̓̔ͧ̏̌̄͊ͯ̏͑̕͟͝

Į̨̇̐̉̃̆̓̚͏̣̤̰͍̪̮͓̗̳͚͎̝̞̘̻̪ ̸̬̞̬̭̓ͣ͂ͫ̅͆̊̈́̾̃ͨ̍͢Ğͬ̔ͤͪͩ̄̄͋̅ͥ̇̎͢͝҉͓̻̝̖̥̥́͜Į̛̟̲̳͇̖̯̳̰̮̗̱̟̒͛̎̅̄͌͊ͅ­V̶̵̴̮̘̳͎̗̘͚̱̬̪͚̼̙̭̎ͨ̿̐̐́͛͘͜E̸͕̬͖͙͖͔͙̞̥̲̪ͩ̽̃̈́̎ͭ͝ͅ ̡͍̬̘̝̭͉̫̣̲̱̥̙̭̣͉̣̠ͨ͒̿̍̀ͧ͂̍ͦ͢ͅȖ̴̳̭̬̗̮̦͖̻̼̝̠͗̆ͪ̐͐ͤͯ̕͞P̶̸̗̟͚̹͍̼̫̙̍͐̃­̌͒̓̔ͧ̏̌̄͊ͯ̏͑̕͟͝Į̨̇̐̉̃̆̓̚͏̣̤̰͍̪̮͓̗̳͚͎̝̞̘̻̪ ̸̬̞̬̭̓ͣ͂ͫ̅͆̊̈́̾̃ͨ̍͢Ğͬ̔ͤͪͩ̄̄͋̅ͥ̇̎͢͝҉͓̻̝̖̥̥́͜Į̛̟̲̳͇̖̯̳̰̮̗̱̟̒͛̎̅̄͌͊ͅ­V̶̵̴̮̘̳͎̗̘͚̱̬̪͚̼̙̭̎ͨ̿̐̐́͛͘͜E̸͕̬͖͙͖͔͙̞̥̲̪ͩ̽̃̈́̎ͭ͝ͅ ̡͍̬̘̝̭͉̫̣̲̱̥̙̭̣͉̣̠ͨ͒̿̍̀ͧ͂̍ͦ͢ͅȖ̴̳̭̬̗̮̦͖̻̼̝̠͗̆ͪ̐͐ͤͯ̕͞P̶̸̗̟͚̹͍̼̫̙̍͐̃­̌͒̓̔ͧ̏̌̄͊ͯ̏͑̕͟͝Į̨̇̐̉̃̆̓̚͏̣̤̰͍̪̮͓̗̳͚͎̝̞̘̻̪ ̸̬̞̬̭̓ͣ͂ͫ̅͆̊̈́̾̃ͨ̍͢Ğͬ̔ͤͪͩ̄̄͋̅ͥ̇̎͢͝҉͓̻̝̖̥̥́͜Į̛̟̲̳͇̖̯̳̰̮̗̱̟̒͛̎̅̄͌͊ͅ­V̶̵̴̮̘̳͎̗̘͚̱̬̪͚̼̙̭̎ͨ̿̐̐́͛͘͜E̸͕̬͖͙͖͔͙̞̥̲̪ͩ̽̃̈́̎ͭ͝ͅ ̡͍̬̘̝̭͉̫̣̲̱̥̙̭̣͉̣̠ͨ͒̿̍̀ͧ͂̍ͦ͢ͅȖ̴̳̭̬̗̮̦͖̻̼̝̠͗̆ͪ̐͐ͤͯ̕͞P̶̸̗̟͚̹͍̼̫̙̍͐̃­̌͒̓̔ͧ̏̌̄͊ͯ̏͑̕͟͝

Į̨̇̐̉̃̆̓̚͏̣̤̰͍̪̮͓̗̳͚͎̝̞̘̻̪ ̸̬̞̬̭̓ͣ͂ͫ̅͆̊̈́̾̃ͨ̍͢Ğͬ̔ͤͪͩ̄̄͋̅ͥ̇̎͢͝҉͓̻̝̖̥̥́͜Į̛̟̲̳͇̖̯̳̰̮̗̱̟̒͛̎̅̄͌͊ͅ­V̶̵̴̮̘̳͎̗̘͚̱̬̪͚̼̙̭̎ͨ̿̐̐́͛͘͜E̸͕̬͖͙͖͔͙̞̥̲̪ͩ̽̃̈́̎ͭ͝ͅ ̡͍̬̘̝̭͉̫̣̲̱̥̙̭̣͉̣̠ͨ͒̿̍̀ͧ͂̍ͦ͢ͅȖ̴̳̭̬̗̮̦͖̻̼̝̠͗̆ͪ̐͐ͤͯ̕͞P̶̸̗̟͚̹͍̼̫̙̍͐̃­̌͒̓̔ͧ̏̌̄͊ͯ̏͑̕͟͝Į̨̇̐̉̃̆̓̚͏̣̤̰͍̪̮͓̗̳͚͎̝̞̘̻̪ ̸̬̞̬̭̓ͣ͂ͫ̅͆̊̈́̾̃ͨ̍͢Ğͬ̔ͤͪͩ̄̄͋̅ͥ̇̎͢͝҉͓̻̝̖̥̥́͜Į̛̟̲̳͇̖̯̳̰̮̗̱̟̒͛̎̅̄͌͊ͅ­V̶̵̴̮̘̳͎̗̘͚̱̬̪͚̼̙̭̎ͨ̿̐̐́͛͘͜E̸͕̬͖͙͖͔͙̞̥̲̪ͩ̽̃̈́̎ͭ͝ͅ ̡͍̬̘̝̭͉̫̣̲̱̥̙̭̣͉̣̠ͨ͒̿̍̀ͧ͂̍ͦ͢ͅȖ̴̳̭̬̗̮̦͖̻̼̝̠͗̆ͪ̐͐ͤͯ̕͞P̶̸̗̟͚̹͍̼̫̙̍͐̃­̌͒̓̔ͧ̏̌̄͊ͯ̏͑̕͟͝Į̨̇̐̉̃̆̓̚͏̣̤̰͍̪̮͓̗̳͚͎̝̞̘̻̪ ̸̬̞̬̭̓ͣ͂ͫ̅͆̊̈́̾̃ͨ̍͢Ğͬ̔ͤͪͩ̄̄͋̅ͥ̇̎͢͝҉͓̻̝̖̥̥́͜Į̛̟̲̳͇̖̯̳̰̮̗̱̟̒͛̎̅̄͌͊ͅ­V̶̵̴̮̘̳͎̗̘͚̱̬̪͚̼̙̭̎ͨ̿̐̐́͛͘͜E̸͕̬͖͙͖͔͙̞̥̲̪ͩ̽̃̈́̎ͭ͝ͅ ̡͍̬̘̝̭͉̫̣̲̱̥̙̭̣͉̣̠ͨ͒̿̍̀ͧ͂̍ͦ͢ͅȖ̴̳̭̬̗̮̦͖̻̼̝̠͗̆ͪ̐͐ͤͯ̕͞P̶̸̗̟͚̹͍̼̫̙̍͐̃­̌͒̓̔ͧ̏̌̄͊ͯ̏͑̕͟͝

Į̨̇̐̉̃̆̓̚͏̣̤̰͍̪̮͓̗̳͚͎̝̞̘̻̪ ̸̬̞̬̭̓ͣ͂ͫ̅͆̊̈́̾̃ͨ̍͢Ğͬ̔ͤͪͩ̄̄͋̅ͥ̇̎͢͝҉͓̻̝̖̥̥́͜Į̛̟̲̳͇̖̯̳̰̮̗̱̟̒͛̎̅̄͌͊ͅ­V̶̵̴̮̘̳͎̗̘͚̱̬̪͚̼̙̭̎ͨ̿̐̐́͛͘͜E̸͕̬͖͙͖͔͙̞̥̲̪ͩ̽̃̈́̎ͭ͝ͅ ̡͍̬̘̝̭͉̫̣̲̱̥̙̭̣͉̣̠ͨ͒̿̍̀ͧ͂̍ͦ͢ͅȖ̴̳̭̬̗̮̦͖̻̼̝̠͗̆ͪ̐͐ͤͯ̕͞P̶̸̗̟͚̹͍̼̫̙̍͐̃­̌͒̓̔ͧ̏̌̄͊ͯ̏͑̕͟͝Į̨̇̐̉̃̆̓̚͏̣̤̰͍̪̮͓̗̳͚͎̝̞̘̻̪ ̸̬̞̬̭̓ͣ͂ͫ̅͆̊̈́̾̃ͨ̍͢Ğͬ̔ͤͪͩ̄̄͋̅ͥ̇̎͢͝҉͓̻̝̖̥̥́͜Į̛̟̲̳͇̖̯̳̰̮̗̱̟̒͛̎̅̄͌͊ͅ­V̶̵̴̮̘̳͎̗̘͚̱̬̪͚̼̙̭̎ͨ̿̐̐́͛͘͜E̸͕̬͖͙͖͔͙̞̥̲̪ͩ̽̃̈́̎ͭ͝ͅ ̡͍̬̘̝̭͉̫̣̲̱̥̙̭̣͉̣̠ͨ͒̿̍̀ͧ͂̍ͦ͢ͅȖ̴̳̭̬̗̮̦͖̻̼̝̠͗̆ͪ̐͐ͤͯ̕͞P̶̸̗̟͚̹͍̼̫̙̍͐̃­̌͒̓̔ͧ̏̌̄͊ͯ̏͑̕͟͝Į̨̇̐̉̃̆̓̚͏̣̤̰͍̪̮͓̗̳͚͎̝̞̘̻̪ ̸̬̞̬̭̓ͣ͂ͫ̅͆̊̈́̾̃ͨ̍͢Ğͬ̔ͤͪͩ̄̄͋̅ͥ̇̎͢͝҉͓̻̝̖̥̥́͜Į̛̟̲̳͇̖̯̳̰̮̗̱̟̒͛̎̅̄͌͊ͅ­V̶̵̴̮̘̳͎̗̘͚̱̬̪͚̼̙̭̎ͨ̿̐̐́͛͘͜E̸͕̬͖͙͖͔͙̞̥̲̪ͩ̽̃̈́̎ͭ͝ͅ ̡͍̬̘̝̭͉̫̣̲̱̥̙̭̣͉̣̠ͨ͒̿̍̀ͧ͂̍ͦ͢ͅȖ̴̳̭̬̗̮̦͖̻̼̝̠͗̆ͪ̐͐ͤͯ̕͞P̶̸̗̟͚̹͍̼̫̙̍͐̃­̌͒̓̔ͧ̏̌̄͊ͯ̏͑̕͟͝


I give up my sanity

‪I see people struggling with what they learned.‬
‪I’ve yet to learn anything.‬
‪My mind just feels empty and blank.‬
‪There’s nothing in it but abstract forms that ellicit vague and varied emotional responses.‬
~
‪Suddenly, without warning, “it” attacks.‬
‪But my apathy would invalidate “it”.‬
‪But “it” stays there.
Waiting until I feel again.
Until “it” re-triggers my emptiness and apathy.
Waiting to be filled only to be spilt and reduced to nothing.
An absence, a darkness, an abyss of unfeeling.
A deprivation of senses as if something has died.
“It” just does what “it” is intended.
At first, apathy dismisses “it”.
But soon, I regain my consciousness.
And “it” subdues my consciousness into apathy.
“It” is an endless cycle.
There’s no other word for “it”.
~
It is just “it”; an entity that lacks words to express, a phenomenon.
An anomaly within me.

I have come of age to vote,
Yet missed the day to register.
I have come of age to be wise,
Yet missed the day to remember.

I love my country dearly,
I live in it and am bound to it!
Yet a finger I couldn’t raise,
To those who deserve disgrace!

If not for my wicked heart,
Struck by apathy and antipathy,
I would have remembered,
The cries of my own country.

I lament the fact that I’m AWOL,
During the day of difference.
What can I do to redeem myself?
If my heart knows not itself?

My heart and head stand neutral!
With right or wrong just equal!
And there is no greater evil than me,
Who watches hearts bleed out.

There is no greater evil than I,
That see blue, red, yellow, and white,
Become pure in their sad colors.
A non-voter who laments to himself!

Become pure blue due to suffocation.
Become pure red due to old wounds.
Become pure yellow due to disease.
Become pure white as death visits.

Oh, dear Philippines my motherland.
I see, speak, and do evil on your body.
I ask the Lord for forgiveness and grace,
As the church rot from inside the gates.

My love for you is conditional!
I was born in your womb, motherland!
I serve you as I live on shame!
Yet my heart is grasped by ignorance!

Let my coming of age speak,
Let youth cry out in agony.
As I wait for my next chance,
To rid myself of this apathy.

Every day has been decided,
We live out our lives deluded.
We just get devastated;
Tired and exhausted,
We lay in bed.

Waking up with dread,
click
The smell of lead;
Would not come through,
If you're dead.

I tried to read and understand,
Concepts and rules, plain and bland.
I laughed and fell out of my chair,
Delirious and in despair!
Simple insanity is grand...

I fear the unreasonable indeterminate,
Anxiety that gushes over like a fountain.
My body is trapped in lethargy,
Naught an ounce of motivation to move.

I begin to step and prove,
That my anxiety has turned me petty.
My thoughts trap me in my pain,
I begin to question my fate:

Why do I fear the unknown?
Why can't I escape?
Why haven't I grown?
Why is there a hole; a gape?

I enter into another phase called apathy.
It turns into blatant antipathy.
It exhausts my soul until I become empty.
I get filled again due to hypocrisy and piety.

I wake up; wanting to go to bed.
I can't sleep; my anxieties cover my head.
I get frustrated and I ache.
I give into despair and break.
I get fixed; inescapable, I said.

~

Repeat.

Lost in a cold night,
I have lost my mind, it hurts.
I wake up confused.