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. . .

a comeback with
a draw is no
comeback at all
no matter how
rigged the game is

we are demanded to
be ******
to end the fight
with a ****
no matter how
rigged the game is

and for sure after
each fight
the worry never
stops because
the last one means
there is
a next one coming:

another comeback

why do we go back if the
audience expects another
comeback after the last one?

o well
after all
we are the modern ****-gladiators
and before us are
the unentertained gods of insanity.

depressing cities.
depressing jobs.
depressing train stations.
depressing streets.
depressing homes, houses.
depressing people.
depressing lives, souls.
depressing cover-ups,
lies and fake smiles.
depressing body composures.
depressing malnourished
street children, stray dogs and bums.
depressing skies.
depressing movies.
depressing books.
depressing stories.
depressing music.
depressing real life stories.
depressed writers, artists,
working class heroes, soldiers,
students, mothers, fathers, cousins, brothers, uncles, sisters, priests, pastors and sewer rats.

life doesn't do much.
problems, shades, nostalgic memories that you never thought
you have.

you can choose to be happy,
but the world will remain
the same;
you may choose the lifeless path,
and the world will show you its true colors.

death brings us closer to one another. . .
if it's not our own.

you can have many friends,
as many as you want;
the perfect roster for your funeral

the world remains the same,
but you can choose any color
you want to paint it,
but the world remains the same.

the rats in the sewers knows
this too well.
they only know one color.
one place.
one same foul smell that never gets bad or good.

rats are immuned to depression.

some humans turn into rats
but the world remains the same.

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. . .

dead bodies moving dead bodies
you know the theme, the scheme,
the thought and the idea

the bodies, dead, paying the bills,
moving dead past the dawn
eyeballs rolling up as windows
closing and doors close and open

the bodies, mass production,
lots of bodies
Monday, Tuesday, Shitday
Thursday, Friday, Saturday
and Christday

Neighbor Allah never greets anyone
and he talks to himself in echoes
Buddha is all smiles and virtues
but no muscle, Buddha's daughters
are out clubbing tonight ******* their
oriental curves, selling their oriental
scents and cold white skin
to Allah's *** deprived sons

Christ is the only father and
he disowns his nieces and nephews,
I knew years back that I am a distant relative

just dead bodies, yours and mine
produce, corporate livestock,
labels from the heaviest bills handed
over in sinister alleyways,
sinister exchanges, hitman to hitman,
extraction to extraction, fraction by fraction,
bodies serves as platforms,
nonliving chopping boards for the butchers
dressed up as elves

the bodies, limb by limb, sagging skins,
rivers of hairfalls, scratch marks,
Ms. Universe stretch marks, the *** tapes
of the cheerleaders whom silent and wise
boys yearned for all through years of fading
innocence

Closeted gay professionals keeping their pointed ******* when nothing's wrong with them until consent turns from probationary to mandatory and hate and red and blue and green and yellow flags and pedophiles and bigots and white supremacists and Allah whisperers and Allah fanatics and Buddha hypocrites and China takes over the world and feminists, and third and fourth and fifth and so on genders and Trump and memes and Filipinos and mental health and memes and mental health and memes and literature and literature and activists and who ****** who and politicians and what Americans, Australians, Chinese, Japanese, British, Candian, Irish and and North Koreans and K-Pop plastic lips and hips who young girls and boys from isolated islands gets ****** for and hipsters and the nine to fives and the ***** to give and the snobbish *** girls in parties, in clubs, in alleys who wants to get ****** by all the celebrity status ***** all just becomes a tiny pinch for the dead bodies not to see and point the flower and shoot the gun to end the human war.

Since when did the heavens get so cold to me?
I was once the night who soared through each
broken dreams and piece them back together
Into something all hearts wished to possess.

Yesterday the street was leading me
to the glowing
of the fallen humming birds;
I yield and hope that
may God breathe life once again
to those who had no choice but to regress.

I must continue.
The heavens does not stand with me
on this one.
Not this time.

I have to lift my cadaver
Higher than the clouds.
Self-motivation will never be enough.
I may fail with this one long leap.

Sleep is deadly.
Loneliness is silent.
My heart is on stealth.
The world observes.

I won't let you do that to me anymore.

My body and mind will always
stand against you
as
the heavens
and its disapproval
may end me soon.

you just can't simply
get away with the words
from your writing,
the people who reads them
after all, have minds
of their own
to begin with.
minds that went down
when the real thing
went out of style.
i get the urge from it,
the feeling to stop
writing about it,
surrender,
put an end before
i even begin.

before it,
before the very first
unwise word
ever comes out,
i see the world
in a reflection
as it shows
me the same;
pretentious *****,
arrogant *****,
unimpressed *****,
sexually disoriented *****,
spoiled *****,
sad *****,
***** that are also
keyboard bigots,
rich *****,
loveless *****,
poor *****,
dense *****,
and all the rest
of the *****
a man
could ever provide
in his lifetime,
and then
there's
me who
for the record
could fall in any
category
the same as you do.

so yeah, got any memes?
funny ones?
those that makes
fun of our
current condition?
alright.
i'll join you
and the others
in this
great narrowing
of our lives.

some other days our twenties dry like dry leaves
no cold establishments would take our souls
hey I just lost my job let’s drink with what’s left of my paycheck
I’d carry us a little bit higher than the rusty rooftops
if not, we’ll carry on as dreamers as the belligerents failures
of the previous generation into the four corners of
this small apartment

it’s a gathering of the minds

it’s all there is for us other than what wings that covers us
in our home, in the suburbs, in our comfort shelters

I get so tired of letting people know
that I just want to take back their idea of me

and of course, anyone of you who’ll lend me

the phrase “we’ll figure it out in the morning” will be much
appreciated

no need to force our depression-embodied bodies to work
we can bathe in alcohol lose another day loosen up lay down
get laid get high wake up late and despise the industry..

I thanked December way too early
now it has taken things way too seriously.

March 2008
I found my legs shaking
trembling before my schoolmates
somewhere
I hid it under the table, under the first
bottle of Generoso, yes, so local you puke with hate

There with me is the formidable lesbian
I fell so badly in love with back then
at first I knew coming along was a bad idea
but let me tell you, first times are as fickle
as those ******* your **** got used to

and yeah, the first drink of the grape
straightened my frightened legs
gave me courage
but no, it’s not what you think it is

I snubbed her all the way
that is right
after she got a little bit tipsy in the middle
and told me how she’s gonna tell her
big brother that she’s gonna get herself
a boy friend

and more fellow schoolmates came
most of them look up to irrelevant
people like Tupac, Snoop and whoever
it is that can speak fast on drugs.

we reached the denouement
of the unplanned gathering
I wasn’t able to handle myself
for I was ******* everyone off.

three of them even tried to gang up on me
but the tides sided with me
as Deo who almost died last year
sent me home.

my father was so ******* furious
when he first saw, smelled and heard
his son drunk
it was a replica in progress.

Hum. Hum. Hum. Hum.
Hum. Hum. Hum. Hum.
Notice the notion.
Hum. Hum. Hum. Hum.
Hum. Hum. Hum. Hum.
Faster.
Hum.. Hum.. Hum.. Hum..
Do you celebrate such occasions?
Linger into the presence of your
long lost friends and different
hidden enemies?
Hum.

What do you want?
Stay on focused.
Your attention is driving you crazy.
If only you’d close your eyes amidst
that notion..
hum! hum! hum!

It’s all in your head.
Hum.. hUm.. huM..
Carve your way back.
Your growing gnarls everywhere.
It’s grotesque but that’s alright.
hum!
You developed the early signs
of decay.. humMMmmMMmm

BREAK!
Inhale like a hero about to
unleash his full potential
against a formidable fiend!

Exhale! Like the last of
your power is beyond the
rites of your will!

REST. . .

Admire your heroes:

Bukowski finished beyond
comprehension.

Mercury came to ‘em all!

Nobody does
The DDT
like
Jake “The Snake” Roberts.

You’re not special.
You’re no different.
You’re not the protagonist.
It’s just a first person complex.
Your life is not a Salinger novel.

but

don’t die before your fears.
die suddenly.
die unexpectedly.

never wanting to be a part of it all,
he just stares at them as they
carry their own opinions
and force-shove it to each other’s faces

he thinks that it’s pointless
to even think about it.

stuck in his room, wasting away,
he also thinks that his
enemies are doing fine and all

he can’t care anymore
and what matters to him most
is going home after work
everyday.

he stopped claiming people
as his friends
for they don’t really act like one.

it gives him joy to see
people enjoy the simplest of
things without any
stains of narcissism like
that family he and his girlfriend
saw at the mall,
where the father and the mother
are making the most of
their sons’ 9th birthday.. .. ..

well..
he hates narcissists.
those self-indulged,
self-righteous
people of all sorts
who really don’t
contribute much.
to him they are just
another form of pollution. . .
(and if they get offended,
he doesn’t care much. they
can babble as much as they
please but yeah, to him they
don’t really matter because
they are narcissists)

but he loves music and poetry
and being alone.

he prefers to die young
and nobody cares about it
really.

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.

every day is a great depression
my neck lives on the payroll
sometimes it tightens up
and that's where the loan shark
shows its dorsal fin. . .

freddie mercury sang it, roared the truth
but like van gogh's audience,
not all knows it. . .

these kids who hangout at malls
will never see it coming
but i sure do now and before then. . .

jesus is an insult
his believers are an insult
and they buried the reality. . .

i am so tired
but i don't have a choice
for i have to finish somewhere. . .

at some point
in the river floating with the fishes
with a mark on my neck
that says, "paid in full."

Velvet spikes, the medium’s circular
Like a carousel for all the ordinary lives.
I spent a man’s life time
less than two decades.
The Erotes are laughing above
the picture frames in my room;
they know that I’m a poor man,
wasting away while joining the
non-believer’s lament,
forever cursed and immortalized
in stone,
in memories
and in
violent behaviors. . .

And so I accepted my fate;
and these smokes
I have been smoking,
are all just for you.

to make another poem
about love
is no different from
making another
song about California,
people don’t buy it anymore.
they’ve seen enough already,
knows it like the
back of their hands.
still,
there are
souls out there
that have gone mad
and lost,
doomed for all
eternity
and so they
say. . ,
the only justice
that could ever be done
to them
is no other than just another
lame-*** sap
poetry about love
that never fails to deceive
whoever knows who.

I am wasting away. I am angry.
I am scarred. I have instabilities.
and this deformation I succumbed
into reflects how the world treated me.
the other day I was being idealistic but
tonight I address all my worries to
how I was brought up. . . God! It
feels so ******* good to put the
features you imbued upon my hide
in use! I got half, if not, close to a quarter
over the sum of it all. This me writing
is the spill of what you pour on me;
an excess of the limit of what I can process.
Like a swaying drunk on the pavement,
soon I'll be waiting for the audience's
middle-fingers directed to me and I'll be
fine with it like a madman with nothing to
lose.

Well, that's the last hit I could take
for the day. .

i have a beak in my face
and
it’s a beak and is attached to me.

i’ve learned to live with it,
its weight and its size
that always made me look down,
its length that is longer than
my shoulders both left and right,
and its upper and lower mandible
that always made smoking effortless.  

the only time i raise it is
when i have to drink water or
swallow crumbs to eat where
i put a lot of effort and it’s
tiring really.

people never notice it that much
and i guess if they do, they won’t be able
to tell difference.

the birds in the park
including the ducks never notice it.
they fly away after the crumbs i threw
are finished.

some of my few friends’ advise is to get
wings and feathers
and i ask
whether if it should be black or white.
i’ve never heard from them ever since
i asked them that question.

i didn’t follow their advise and just
continued the way i was with my beak
in my face.

some nights i dream of not having it
and the dream turns into a nightmare.
the only time i would wake up
is when it’s attached to me again.

i’m not really bothered by it,
not anymore.

and though i think i am alone,
i’ve always believed that there
are others like me and the chances
of meeting them is small,
it’s funny because
i’m always facing down.

I have been thinking too much
about what others see
when I walk past them;
and the adversities of my youth
contributed so much in this

and yet this is another
one of my babbles
where I know these words
will never be enough
to be louder than the hiss in your ears.

how could you understand depression if the mere thought of it doesn't exist in this ******* country?

everyone talks about like it's light. like it's something you can claim easily for yourself and all the attention you'll get from it.
like it's something to talk about.

have you ever felt its spine chilling touch grab your head to the core?
it gives you something to worry even though it's not there.
it sends you to a blackhole. the abyss.

i hate it and it takes raw will just to get through it for no one will help you and that nobody understands.

i bet you're thinking this is emo.

*******.

He keeps all the houses healthy
As he delivers the fruits block by block
And nobody asked who he was
And what he does in his free time.
All the neighbors knew is that
He never tells you anything
But a nudge on your door
That your fruits are there.
One stormy day,
The neighbors thought that he'll
Never get to deliver the fruits
For the weather doesn't seem
To come along with the golden era
Songs on a Sunday morning
But they were wrong,
He was there with his cart;
A little bit late than usual
But he knew he won't last long
Enough for he is dying of a sickness.
The clouds were getting dark
And it started with a drizzle
Then a harsh rain
And all the neighbors saw was a man
Outside the window with his cart
And all the fruits on it
Going straight to the first door
But the door wasn't opened
And it didn't bother him that much
As he left the first basket full of
Assorted fruits and he carried on
And on even though no one
Opened the door for him.
The streets start to flood and he
Was still there leaving fruits in front
Of each door but still no one
Opened the door for him
Until all the neighbors saw was
A flooded street from the top of
Their roofs from a rain that won't stop.
They were crying and screaming for help.
Nobody gave a **** about the
Man and his whereabouts
For the neighbors are just people
Trying to live in
Peace
and
Democracy.

It’s hard to be taken away by thought
A predecessor heir to life chapters
embracing facts all at once

Facing the enormous glutton
masticating a heart
like a licorice treat

Wasting away
Wasting away
Wasting away

The madness is gone yet
I felt like I haven’t
been here before
the times went
from good to
bad

It seems we are all
like arms; weary
of holding still
in front of
the never
ending
slog

We kiss and we hug
until we’re
tempted to
bite one
another

We wished for an adventure
from the howling of the
cold rainy wind inside
a tavern where we
thought all will
be cozy until
everything
comes
back
to

normal

to almost succumbing to the heaviest
darkness that we ever felt deep
inside our heaviest breaths
like it’s a couple of our
last ones

You are a warrior, capable
of thinking above as you
see through many and I
will tell you the secret
that was there for a
very long time:

Never lose your grip for
the best people who
ever walked the
preliminaries
of hell all fell
down to
hell.

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 ****.

suddenness,

greatest flows of displeases
pleases the sides sights can never see
way out, wave the signs the tundras in nordic planes
blue catches purple but purple swallow blues
strumming all the life in powerless houses
on monthly rents and problems
we rebuild life with coffees and cigarettes
on dark rainy mornings
light on the ceiling
a cockroach a fly a moth a butterfly
creatures never to be seen out of the dark
the last yearnings
cold hands lay flat
soft lips lay still
kind intentions and premonitions blends,
in
suddenness

i am the only one

who longs for irretraceable yesterday

my voice echoes in this empty house
on a thursday morning in a time
where you no longer walk the floors
and touch the walls of it.

i imagine our time, our short youth;
the sun rays passing through the shades
of my room sides on your sleeping skin
your soft arms, everything.

i can't describe clearly enough
for i didn't get to look long
enough for the last time.

i miss you from the other side.
i can't make the perfect poem.

the roots in my head
are violently
spreading and
no certain amount of
chain smoking could make it stop.

if i'm seeing things right,
how could anyone be so
calm when everything
is heading towards a
pointless meaning
and the blinded are
deceived by the
temporal irrelevance of their
genuine hobbies.

i'm restrained enough
with this work and earn thing
already and one more push is all it
takes to end this *******.

oh god, is this a trap you set
for us seers?
and if you are so great you
know what I truly mean.

this is not a secret anymore
but it is because i feel it.
my heart isn't
responding that much
and it could be the
cigarette contents.

but never mind that
for the obscurest thing
no words can describe
is how frail my body
turned out.

my tongue feels like
it is always swelling
from trying to bend
all the necessary words
i tried to speak under
these anxious episodes
i try to hide.

and my feet burns
so as that tragic
moments that took
me second thoughts
before the steps
that seemed to break
my spirit.

Ever, I remember you.
You put this curse
on me very well that I can't
seem to believe
that you got the guts
all along to destroy
something beautiful.

I will always remember
the beautiful parts.

What is your special secret you’ve been hiding for years
To a world that is filled with rumors and hate?
Who is that person to correct us all?
Now that God appears in different tastes and genres?

Desperate for expression,
I just wanted the world to stop.
The opinions.
The gossips in office hallways about the new hot employee.
The politically righteous students who just won’t stop
proving their pointless point over a preserved dead body
buried in a branded graveyard.
That guy who wants everyone to think of himself
as if he’s cool so he just doesn’t care but he needs
everyone to stay thinking about him being cool always.
The thought of I’m too pretentious and that my
thoughts and poems are *******.
That person who shoves it in my face that she
is in good hands now that she obtained
her license. (Little did she know that she
can’t brag anymore once she’s dead)
That person who has all the support she needs
when she’s expressing herself.
That co-worker, though a slacker as ****,
still gets to have a nice sum of increase.
That co-worker... ugh.. just stop.

I’m here.

My feet like anchor.
Constant.
Decaying.
Marching an endless march.
Forward is the only the direction.

My secret is I haven’t been honest for years.
The last time didn’t went so well.
I created enemies more than I keep friends.
I let an abuse gain its momentum
Until it’s too late.

For ****’s sake;
I’m sick and worn out.
People can’t really practice empathy
and learn its limitations.

This thought and that,
I’m stopping now.

what words do i need to put here next?
o yeah right, i just lost an argument today
and i didn't bother speaking out my stand.

speak out what?
speak about how ****** my life
is turning out to be?

i was late at work today
because of the ****** traffic enforcers who
delayed my travel because of their
incompetency on handling the ****** up
traffic
and funny; they make a living out of my taxes.

my fingers wants to explode,
my fists wants to punch a hole out of thin air.
this frustration can't even take a shape of a ball
and so it goes ******* my head all day

is it fair to say i'm doing my best every
single ******* day just to make it through the fire?

bukowski, i imagine your ghost
but i can't tell what would be your reaction.

maybe you'll ignore me like those desperate
writers from the past who sent you their poems
you ignored unless it was a fuckable *****.

you don't give a **** for what matters most to you is
how well you walk through the fire.

i am walking through the fire.
every day.
every cigarette.
every breath.
every dump.
every ****.

*frustration at its finest

only smoke lives inside
this empty chest now

and a book lying in my bed
is the only companion I have
during most nights
and for the following nights

I can't confide with it
or exchange words with it

only it fills the little gaps,
small spaces
that I recently have made room for

it will take time
to remember how to take
a few steps

it always does

but I'm in no hurry

one good thing
about it is it doesn't hurt
like it used to
and I wonder if it really
mattered,
all those four years
because I couldn't feel anything
from it

and I keep having
this thought in mind
that loneliness
granted for a long
period of time isn't so bad
after all

I could use some solitude,
some peace, privacy and
time and time again
to reflect

however loneliness
isn't good for
a heart that chooses
to take action on its own

it doesn't matter,
for I can always cover it up
for as long as
I could

there are plenty of women
out there
but now's not the time
for that
since
I have no use for
relationships built within
the confines of the social
standards
especially nowadays
where no one wants to
keep their happiness to themselves

hold it like some treasure
bury it deep down like
you wouldn't want anyone else
to find it once you
get your hands
on it


and this poem
is as horrible as,
serves as a tribute
to
the last relationship
I had.

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?

there are many of us
out there, hiding our wounds,
counting our blessings,
retracing our steps,
the world is caught
between opposing sides,
the maidens, aides of
the last aspirations
now concubines
as the last form
of defense
for
this hidden world of us,
no stars would show
in rivers and no moon
will have
two suitors at the
same time on
different places,
the last prince in
turmoil,
but there will be hope
and the words
of its own,
transcending
for the next
muse

“if your head is empty
what you write comes from
nowhere.
you have dry lips, dry eyes,
dry hands, dry heart.”

a woman’s intuition defies
her capability to understand
stated as a fact
because never once i have
witnessed it for myself
that a woman stopped for a moment
and read a man’s plea.
ask a man, any man.
perhaps any man
would rather spend
the rest of his life in solitude
once he learns of this
wretched flaw imbued in women
but the human race is
a complex and delusional
as a recipe itself.
it has never been  
made possible to reach a woman
from the same exact  
point of view.

i wouldn’t call it misogny,
it goes both ways.
the right women are preoccupied.

did i caught you right there? . .

fin.

Mesmerizing
Captivating
Tantalizing
Divine

Those are the words.
Just the words I say to describe the
happiest
merriest
of memories

all of it washed away by the rain
from the roof down to me

flickering images,
I say my heart pumps
Declines invitations

A bird in a cage, not so original
but I think I can twist this call

A dead bird trying not to think about
any Bukowski quote

Just here lying, thinking of ways
on how to sleep and thinking of
these words here. .

and just how long. .
will my lungs accept the smokes
every time wars evict me from consciousness

mom and dad
I believe you didn't brought me here
just for nothing

the only thing that is clear
is that no one understands
that natural enemies
makes a ******

I'm both.

I'm pretending.

I'm always following.

the instructions.

Though sleeping naked isn't part of it.

and smoking my life away too.

to have fun is to be rich.

but to be happy is to have a lot.
Of people that loves you and will
stand for you

And that's what my greedy business
is all about.

Most are ******* who forces
me to accept to afford loses
and give ins.

Good thing only me and few people appreciates
math rock and bad writing.

We sat ******* those university chairs.
We knew nothing about directions except the path we were heading to.
I fell hard during those times, harder than you did. At least that's what I thought.
I don't know if you felt those words.
Those were all the words before what I am today.
You weren't the only one. .
I am not the only one. .
but sometimes I think it's just me
who remained, who in at least a day in a week thinks of it whenever something familiar reminds me of you.
I know the reality
doesn't care, but the truth is,
I really want to know
how far did it took you
to condemn me.
And all I've heard was,"Hindi lang ikaw ang may pinagdadaanan Nikko."
That was the last thing I've heard
and I don't know wh-. .
what ever since. . . .



Here we are.
We are now a myth turned into a gossip during reunions whenever someone who knew our story but didn't know how it felt cares to touch the intangible memories;
the coals in the fire;
those tons of patient Catcher in the Rye books in every bookstore;
the change for the bums on
the streets;
the infected livestock meat to bury;
and yes,
this is outdated years ago,
and here I am
not halfway through
wasting away.
ughhh. . .

i feel like i shouldn't be here
or shouldn't be thinking in an
era where thinking makes you all
different and all that stuff.

because of this, i needed more
than ten fingers to count
how many times i've had
these vague conversations
with myself
discussing things that
non-thinkers wouldn't last
a second to spare to even try to
make a whim out of it with
the likes of me

i don't need everyone to agree
with all what i have in mind
but it seems that this tranformation
my slightly unfortunate
youth donated is making me
all weary
and the conversations i had
with myself is making me all
lonely

being accepted in your
natural ways is a myth
hell, the best example
is how these local band people
always act and think you should please
them 'cause of their rockstar bull
and that they do something out of
the common
well they are all narcissists to me

and these idealists are miles
away from the actualities
so there's really no way to find
a way to get out of this cycle

it's the 'nobody notices it'
part of the spark that angers
me during some occasions
when i'm having a chat with
myself that brings me to
a state of being upset
for nothing
like a teenager's angst
that leads me nowhere
but more realization
of how lonely i get.

brief introductions, skipping fining judgments and
unconsciously accepting regret some days later;
i should’ve known better. . .
anna is a narcissist.
jerome is a hipster.
kenneth (also a hipster) wants to be the alpha all the time
when it comes to movies.
anthony’s a poet, at least considers himself
to be one because he writes
and stupid girls loves his generic works.
marianne thinks of herself sharp and has
nothing to say but “cliche” on art pieces
that she doesn’t like, pretentious as ****.
just because kath graduated from one of the
well-known universities the world
has ever known, her opinions and
views about everything must be and should be golden.
olivia who seemed to be a kid at heart,
turns out to be a ****-loving ****** of all sorts.
jacob who’s good at playing guitar is a self-indulged
narcissist
and thinks that anyone who’s not as good as him
or plays in band like he does can’t join he
and friends’ “clique,”
like hell it would mean the world to me
to be a part of those phonies.
professor richards who teaches literature
disapproves of my favorite writers, also a phony.
benison is a bully with nuts for brains.
to hell with this, and i’m a pacifist who’s
judgmental.

There are nights that I want to
take the world with me

and I just don't know what to
do with its burden,
I let go empty handed
and still feel the weight
on my shoulders.

I turn to people, literature,
and sometimes
to God himself
and still, I come empty like these cigarettes in and out of my system.

It's hard to stay hopeful
when the help that comes out
of their mouths stay
as mere letters in thin air.

For a world that is over populated,
I feel so empty that it's humorous, irrelevant and hidden.  

I just need a little bit of time
to reflect about everything,
from years and years back
and when it all comes clear to me,
I'll shatter the glass:

A final form, reached right
before its due.

there are no blue birds here from where I’m from
only small brown birds, flocks of ‘em
recon a fat schoolmate from years ago got one for
a pet with a string on its neck
makes me wonder how to get one
when one is so hard to catch
with tiny hands; tiny feet; tiny knees;
tiny shoulders; tiny ankles; tiny head
now they’re all grown
I still never got the chance to capture one
and cage it until it cries in despair
hoping for a chance that it may
turn blue as blue as my room
brown bird, whenever I see one
I stare at it like I too can be so elusive
so isolated but free in an elusive but
vulnerable way

I never saw him again, the small brown bird
with a string on its neck nor the fat schoolmate

out of fuel, the writer will disassemble the machine
and he,
the writer himself
will become the machine
with the rawest of wills
out he goes
out he writes
out he fails
out he lives

and the doves will finally
bond with the ravens

the last prisoner
free

the narcissists' pub
will run out of business
and narcissists

the rich whites along
with the upper class
will consider ***
with the lesser kind;
the bums will rejoice
as the politicians
and the oligarchs
take their place

and the grieving drunks
will no longer grieve
as they continue on
drinking for the rest
of their entire
lives

and the women
who left,
never existed
at all.

man has flaws.
they don't function like
those seen in pop culture.

flawed by the thorns of life;
what you see with your eyes
before every hide is a shape
that isn't permanent
and the final form of it is death,
sealed in coffins
and sometimes ashes sealed in urns;

life is good.
life tells you to smoke away.
life shuts you as if
you're aware of its murders.

life is good to you
and you have friends.

life is not fair for
you don't have real ones.

life is good to you
and you don't starve.

life is not fair for
you don't get to
experience what you envy.

life is good to you
because you don't
worry and your
parents raised you well.

life is good to you
because Jesus' followers
made you feel you are saved.

life is not fair because Jesus
only stayed in your head
but not with the actualities.

life is not fair
and you complain
more than you give thanks
and you really couldn't
do something about it.

life is good,
narrowed down
by likes, reactions,
prayers,
condolences
and kind regards like
those inspiring videos
of man getting through all
hardships
that was made by people
lined up for handsome
amounts of payrolls.

life comes after life
after life
after life.

life is fair.
life is. .
innocent.

the world is changing
and you know that
but let me say
that neither you or me or them
can do something about it

but there is a way. . .
you can put yourself far away
from the world
and it only takes a room
a pen and a paper with
the doors shut
and the windows closed
and write how furious and sick
you are with this ******* country
and its jobs and
over-your-diploma taxes

if it doesn't sound so appealing
then you should know that
I'm speaking on behalf of
those who are sick of it all
but has no choice but to live in it

freedom exists but too often
it is mistaken for liberation,
an unconscious act of abusing
what our soldiers and laborers
fought and died for;
all to be wasted in vain by
spending too much time
on noontime shows,
watching stupid
videos of attention seekers
and listening to politician's
promises through a microphone

the political remarks
of the nation seem
to be not aligned with
what an opinion is
and is now more of a
requirement for everyone
to see how intellectual you
could be and it is *******. . .

Lourd de Veyra knows it. . .
and if he's reading this now,
he'll say this is an example of it
(forever, this country is hopeless)

many people including me know
what powerlessness is
but these words serve as a tiny spark
before the artificial lights
the media and its audience projects

no matter how you arrange
the words, the truth is,
everything is possible like how
The Philippines and its people
(including me) became cleverly
brilliant but stupid. . .

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.

your smile has always been one of the things i wonder. .
there's a lot of things i could say to describe it,
and. . .

there's a thousand reasons why but i only need one....!

it matters and i'm afraid of the truth,
that if i conjure it,

.....it wouldn't be the same for you belong to the past.

The best place for the
scarred is a nice
uncleaned room;
with it are the few
necessary things he'll
need to keep
himself going.

He could go on for
days without having
someone to speak with
and frankly he'd be
much better that way
than putting himself
out there where everyone
is sickening and annoying.

What could have caused
this way of seemingly
irrational thinking
doesn't need to be explained.

As long as there are
******* and phonies
trying to take down
one another, and others
getting dragged along
their crap,
the world will never
fulfill the rest of our lives.

dare you play the warm-hearted
character,
****** you played the caring fool.

in
the modern reality of
a third-world country
including
mine and yours,

Patch Adams,
unfortunately
isn't available in your
region at the moment.

It takes a lot of remembering
when you don’t feel like yourself
anymore. . .

And lines like these won’t fit
to the regular ones because
the number one authentic
branding is “emo”
when one is just trying
to get a hold of his emotions

so we stop. .

cemented all through out
the decades, this living
and the eight hours a day,
debts, bills
and essentials
for sustaining stability
led masses blinded,
resigned to the facts
and engraved in their veins
the blood of slaves.
the man-made monster
to rule us all now legitimized
with man-made laws
that were bent in shape
to keep it perpetually running,
and us as the moving parts
who have nowhere to run
cannot do anything about it.
and all heads can say nothing more but 'tis the way it is'
and are afraid to have their possessions taken
piece by piece
when they have nothing
to begin with.
why is it such an
impossible feat to fair
the system and its cycle?
you see, hear and smell
the oppression,
lives imprisoned
or taken with no
trace of ****** hands
but only for
the greater good as they say?
if i have the ability
to explode all parts of my flesh
before all this,
before our powerlessness
over it,
before our troubled minds,
before our weary beat-up
bodies,
before the people they raise
just because they have
money,
before the unseen,
the unheard,
the unspoken horrors
kept by the authorities,
in the name of the
father, the son,
Nietzsche,
and of the raw people of
the earth,
may my rain of flesh
and the words
that comes along
with it pierce the void
blocking our people's
senses.

it's funny that
I can only remember
bad times through another one

that just got its way
to sour me up
whenever I stare blankly
at something while thinking
of numerous ways
on how to solve it

knowing that nothing
could ever be done
to it,

nothing but the sense
of worrying relentlessly

because it's
the most sensible and feasible

way to approach problems
known to man.


I am to believe that
it's a reminder

from my own old system,
telling me I'll live through it
just like the other ones

and will remember
it in the future,

when another one
arises.