Backstreet, open doors,
Small town, empty pockets for the poor:
That's where they go
When they linger on the last shred of hope;
Only flying toward a blank journal page
When the writer's have lost all passion in their artistic haze.

Closed minds, wings that were not meant to soar,
Tired eyes, broken hearts falling to the floor:
That's where they go
While they ingest sorrow on a withering soul
And they march on weary feet
To a battlefield drenched in defeat.

Puffy faces, starving stomachs demanding more,
Feeding hatred, love dying like never before:
That's where they go
As the wind blows
To a place of shattered picture frames
And tombstones carved with their names.

But, where do they go
When the judgment begins to *****
And they're left on the last shred of hope?

When I close my eyes
your all that I see
Wearing a smile
thats meant just for me
your face like the sun
always brightens my day
you voice like a song
leading the way

you lead me through thunder
you lead me through rain
you lead me to the bright-side
where I forget all my pain
I don't have to worry
with you by my side
I'm perfectly safe
with you as my guide

I know no ones perfect
but who really cares
we both have our issues
that we can't compare
Our lives have been tough
but we will stand tall
if we stand together
we shall seldom fall

you are more important
than you'll ever know
you saved me from a fate
where I was likely to go
I was a mess
and you straightened me out
you helped me to see the world
and what life is all about

you are an angel
fallen from the sky
sent with extra wings
to help me fly
but no one guessed
that I'd fall for you
and that my heart not brain
for you grew

That morning, when I left for school, I kept on looking back as I walked away. There was this feeling inside of me, something tell me that I left something, that I had to back. But I didn't. I walked to the terminal and got on the jeepney.

I wasn't even halfway yet to school when I got a call. A trembling voice on the other end of the line told me she was gone. I knew who she meant but I had to ask again. I got the same answer.

I cried all the way to school. Everyone told me I should go back. I did. And I cried all the way home. As I got nearer, my heart felt heavier and there was a lump in my throat that I couldn't seem to swallow.

I came back at the wrong time.
I came back when it was too late.
I should have walked back home that morning. I should  have entered the house and kissed her goodbye instead of walking away.

I wish I didn't need to write about this.
Six months later and I still am.

Six months later and it still won't sink in, the pain just surfaces.
Six months of coming home to an empty bed in your room.
Six months of no goodbye kisses and no embraces. I wonder how I even made it this far.

Six months of feeling alone in this home.

Trying Hard, To Just Be Me.
To Love My Self & Just Set Free.
Escape one day, From The Misery.

An excellent plan
Will never be realized as such
If it is executed poorly

- Hadrian Veska

death leaves
an awful aftertaste
that only surfaces
long after you've taken a sip

it will numb your senses
it will strip beauty off of things
it will blur the most beautiful photographs
it makes waterfalls out of your eyes

and in between
the night
and the daylight
it will wake you up
it will make you wonder
why it hurts so much

why you were given a taste
why you're still alive.