His heavy arms and swollen fingers,
Can't reach for her love's lingers
No matter how he use those saved hours,
Their remains will soon be devoured..

The caressing sound made by the pouring rain
Admonishes his heart and soul of their reign
Through things that dignifies his solitary sane
That wasn't tranquility although diminishes the pain...

He was badly mistaken for what it brings..
They feed on his flesh, those hungry things..
Evenly, his dear love was melting as she sings
The anthem of the missing wedding rings..

The cries of their aspiration moaned like the wind..
Their intervening fate befalls how they have sinned..
Preaching the words of the forgiveness seen,
Judgement is already been fulfilled and serene..

It was the day when the pews were burned..
The day when the prisoner gained what he earned
The pair will be forced to embrace maledict of the lorn.
Together they will turn to ashes, sealed in urns.

Oh good Lord, may you provide us with providence..
Merry are those who are deceitful at ease..
Wash away not only my sins but also my knowledge..
These index fingers are pointing at all direction...
This unclarified purpose is digesting my head..
Why do I loathe a lot of irrelevant things?
When my existence is a part of inconsistency..
I see the world from a moon in my isolation.
More and more souls are appearing to be a nuisance..
For the voice in my head told me so..
Such is defining gravity and drowning on a sunny day..
To a soul with feet fixed on the daily tracks..
Perceptions are unnecessary for these subjects..
Relying on hope itches my pessimism..
I am so eager to scrape my enemies but I don't know them..
And my thoughts.. why are they trying to **** me?

Let’s start with these
overpriced filters
for
heavy smokers..
I choose Tarshield
for it’s the cheapest  
****** brand
there is..

and if there’s a cheaper brand
Let the light guide me
to find it
in these
self-proclaimed
convenience stores.

Works, shifting hours and
contemporary sanity, laterals
of an old
establishment barely hears
the sound of the siren

A courtesy call for the
undeserving folks in expensive
suits; I say
I-****-You-For-You-******-Us

Mothers, when they hear their sons’
pockets empty they
cut 1/4 of their flesh:
We’ll restore you back to your
youthful glow with our 20’s to 40’s

Fathers who lost their will to provide:
Do good in the afterlife,
we’ll ring the church bells for you

Yellow-sulfur stomachs in the streets,
in the slums, near the Malacañang,
who did you vote? Was it worth it?

Those untouchable ‘iglesia ni manalo’
it takes someone who has totally nothing to lose
to take your fancy states down
with a gun.

The real saviors are the cigarette retailers
they keep everyone sane, helps those in need
keep their minds on the ground, away from
the commas and the commas and the commas.

All this, a notion. Notion that has nothing to do
with, no connection with, doesn’t exist to, irrelevant to,
rich kids who call themselves ‘cool kids’

and

self-proclaimed leaders who leads masses with lies
through a microphone
religious cults that mistook money for god (is there a god?)
human resources personnel who desperately
needs to die
bosses who just don’t give a ****
presidents who just don’t give a ****
policemen who just don’t give a ****
people who just don’t give a ****
substantial earners who just don’t give a ****
leeches who just don’t give a ****.
you don’t give a ****.

you are the wishes you never
told anyone before,
frankly there's a god who agrees
with you and there's one who doesn't

and the world and the souls
that walks around it

and the time won't stop

and departures never arrives

and the promises never
dared to expose themselves

and the hopes and dreams
can only be seen on t.v.

and the happiest people are
those who doesn't deserve it

and weddings are paid for

and families and its
relatives never had gatherings

and the churches started
to appear in different genres

and the childhood memories
were as colorless as an
untouched coloring book

you're never the first one
to know how
quite awful things
have been

for all of what you've been
waking up for is all
a mad reality,
an impostor of what
you went up against.

let's clean up
this canvass
shall we?

I tried to explain in so many tidal ways
I reach for my pockets to grab a change and buy a cigarette;
go upstairs smoke away the never ending worries about the future.

It’s about to rain again, the sky is dark and the clock ticks
inside my head’s getting pretty louder and louder
each time I wonder how tomorrow will turn out to be.

Should I call some friends and invite them over when I prefer
to spend more time with myself that doesn’t do me
any good?

Is this it? I told myself that I’ve reached my limit
and I need to stop at some point many times before.
Everyone I’m paranoid about knows me and I know
I badly need to know what it is they think of me,
perhaps convince myself that it’s all in my head.

The people and their preferred purpose along with
the busy offices and its crowd wasting 8 to 9 hours
just to provide food on their tables; I am one of them
but I’m not with them.

This is living as they say it is where sometimes you win,
sometimes you lose and the truth is I’m just a soul
left unfinished.

Incomplete in my own ways, I think of things as
the world doesn’t want things to be.

Lost in this roundabout, in circles of an never ending
struggle whilst death never leaves my mind.

Brave no more as I was left beaten by what I was
up against.

This is a sleepy head trying to stay awake in an
area wherein if you sleep they are going to take
all your possessions, well all these materials
are theirs to take just leave my Bukowski books
alone or I’m going to have to think I really
have nothing to lose.

There’s an eruption,
as delicate as mid-teenagers’
jeans could topple its ugliness

There’s an eruption,
turning the streets and its
cigarette butts upside down

There’s an eruption,  
sprinkles of salt in
every man’s heart,
vivacious more than what it seems

There’s an eruption,
the veins of a business man
is clogged as he watches the graph fall

There’s an eruption,
Hemingway;
in another Earth
called for a shooting spree
all the way off to madness’ extinction

There’s an eruption,
the anxiety steams as some of us
chokes down and digest
the indigestible memories

There’s an eruption, all over selected
rooms of each suburban
addresses and houses

There’s an eruption, the words of some of us adhere
serves as the thick barrier
of revelations
buried beneath the soils of turmoils
and tumors residing inside our heads    

There’s an eruption, it keeps up, stops, breathes,
stares, flashes, keeps up, stops, stares, flashes,
keeps up, stops, stares,
flashes, keeps up, stops,
stares, flashes, keeps up,
stops, stares, flashes, keeps up, stops, stares, flashes;
keeps up forever. . .