like the subtle movements
of the continents
below the surface
that triggers
small earthquakes
too weak to awaken
a sleeping neighborhood;

I was trying to compare
it to the physical
activities i feel
in the core of my brain:

a mixture of odd feelings
that shot itself from the chest
up to the head,
partly heat but mostly cold
and the color is neither
blue or purple

the strokes must've
never hit the
canvas

and I am about to
miss another shot
at happiness
and worse,

a good and
final riddance
to

apprehension.

there's blood dripping down
wipe it off
the wolves can smell it
from a hundred feet away

yeah, we are sons of *******
just some beat up strangers
in the streets
homeless
cigarette-bumming *******
asking for spare change
from gold stained hands

the cross they hang from
way up there
blocking the light
casting a shadow like
a ******* crosshair

they'll shoot us with
everything they've got
if we choose to stand in their way

how are you coping
up this week?

i guess we'll figure that out
when one of us does.

Is there a life within this life?
Every day, after my day job
all that's left of me
is a body demanding rest
just to get enough energy
for the same routine
in the following day.

I don't get out,
and I am limited in spending
the rest of my time
in nothingness.

I have blamed everything
enough that I couldn't
see the point
of blaming anymore.

I have ran out of resources
inside the corners of my brain
to explain myself or at least lay down
the right words
for effective deliverance.

I have tried so ******* people,
I have tried so hard for myself
and I don't believe that anything could possibly change anytime soon.

It's hard to be me
and no one's noticing it
except me in my own perspective.

I used to believe in friendship,
young age, positive thinking
but it seems
that the world around me
is showing quite the opposite.

What could be done?
Is there something out there
that could help me turn things
around, anything other than
the acceptance of the thought
that there is a God
who is omni present
and knows what I am
specifically going through
and that with all of his—
he'll save me?

I am in a part where
I am the only one left to talk to
about this, and for so many years
I have been with myself,
alone with myself,
I lost the capability
of remaining above
of where I am below of
right now.

I am not completely numb,
not yet I suppose
because I can still feel things
such as stress, restlessness,
anxiety and anything
that has nothing to do
with a healthy state of mind.

Also, I keep having these  
surreal subconcious thoughts
about running towards
speeding cars
and
jumping on high places
which a normal person
would never think of
but it's not really alarming,
for the average person
like me
who's
battering the body
against the ham
must also have their
subconciousness
begging for this timely
horrendous routine to stop
but I guess unemployment
would just cause us withdrawal.

Get it?

(I guess I don't know how to
distinguish the sound of
a normal person from
an average person)

brain shrinkage,
dialating eyes of confusion,
the molding of stress
in the pool of sobriety,
receding hairlines and
developing obesity,
the awry rationalization
of everyone's
depression in controlled economics,
the weariness in a blackhole,
sore feet,
sore body mass,
the lower backs breaking only for Moloch,
the lack of enthusiastic sense
to search for enjoyment,
for everything and anything,
one dead end leads to another,
the lights out hour
and
its deadly suffocating bed box
sadness machine;
as/while my relentless contemplation
for suicide delays,
I think I am more concerned
that with no savings at all,
the could/would-be bills for a funeral
may matter more than the death itself
but yeah,
this little enumeration
of a poem does no help
at all

but

a bottle of brandy
may help to make
it clear,
even for me.

sometimes i get
suicide bombers, rapists, killers, robbers and thieves
because their motives are visible through their actions.

but i never once in my life
bothered understanding businessmen, pastors, priests, muslims, religions, politicians,
and people whose motives in life
remain hidden
until caught red handed,
and also those people
who choose not to see the world naked for what it is.

maybe the UP activists are right
and that i shouldn't think of them as brainwashed kids or
just paid heads to do
what they do but their actions,
my thoughts and this poem
doesn't change anything.

i bet 100% of you
who are reading this would either think i'm deranged or seeking for attention.

i could go on and on writing
this **** and explain thoroughly
but the people's brain
are now wired to ex b's
hit single and yes,
mentioning that made
this a little bit funny but no.

as a ******* filipino
who should be typing this in tagalog, working overseas,
i've seen some fellow countrymen showed some pride
against their oppressors
from work but they don't get anywhere but jail.
i must've forgot,
the movie about manalo
trampled the one
about heneral luna.

see how helpless
we are in reality?

what's your photo that comes
with a bible verse got to do with others?

are you spreading
the word of God?
what does it do to you?

Sometimes I get
The New People's Army.
But I don't get Muslims
who runs businesses and the Chinese too.

Sometimes I wish
I could spread fake news
that doesn't harm others
and last but not the least,
I hope someday the world would stop not and smoke Marijuana all
at the same time
including North Korea.

I couldn't stop.
I also hope that these people,
those who has a lot of followers
use the attention properly but no, people are so ******* dumb and Salinger is right with Holden's, "People never notice anything"
and nothing's too big
if people will stop creating bigger things that'll only add up to the congestion clogging up the world.

and Allen Ginsberg is right,
we are breaking our
******* backs just to lift ******* Moloch.

**** your Mosques, your INC branches, your corporations, your religions, your borders and divisions, your trends that kills the minds of the youth.
**** your laws, about making Marijuana illegal.
**** your disguise and your intelligence.

I almost believe world cleansing is the answerbbecause the ant colonies are so much better
ruling the world.

I don't know anymore, my smartphone's ******
and I am not smarter. . .

. . . like a
small **** on the road.
You see, from the eyes of a man who has nothing but himself
to be fooled by the world
and hopes for a better day
or year,
I thought I was different
like I could change the ways
of the world through my own
visions but none of them
seems to work at all.
You give a *** from the streets
a crumpled bill and
next thing you know
he'll blow it all with
what he never had
for a long time
but I believe I would've done
the same because no Jesus
without a penny or dime
would waste such generosity
in this world and I
only believe in monks
who can discipline themselves
but monks are useless.
I have tried several approach
to make a difference
but nothing ever works
and sometimes I dream
with my eyes open in
broad day light that in
the dream I have the loudest
voice in the world
but even so, all ears are plugged,
all eyes are shut and
all hearts are pale.
You either die poetic
or amongst the ones
who have unturning eyes
but still you end up
in a box.
No small amount of
light could ever penetrate
the dark unless
the light is the focus,
and I just made that up
whatever that could mean
to anyone.
You can never be a
successful writer
without good advertising
and marketing nowadays
and with this awful
writing style I have,
I don't count like
those microscopic
sea creatures.

I wanted to bury what
I truly feel in this poem
but the anonymous
readers wants
to see if there's something
in this that would
push them further away
from the dead seconds
they'll be spending reading
but I keep failing them,
my sleeves are torn
and my flowers dead,
the words are dry
and the manning
operator of
the stream of my consciousness,
fat, balding and
unwillingly resigned to
the facts.
there is no more spit left
to spit and I've conjured
all the bad things out there.
All these words I have in here
are only here to expand
this poem;
and as the readers doubts
more,
I have to take this
part now to say what I really
mean:
You just can't expect life
to be as fair as how does
the wealthy have it
on their daily plates,
but don't get me wrong,
they have problems too
but not big enough
to drive anyone of them
to write this kind
of poem.

And yes,
I don't expect you
to find my shoes
appealing.