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analog child Aug 2017
lilikhaan kita ng isang kundiman
kung hindi man –
tatagal ang ating munting awit
maalala mo sana tayo sa bawat liriko
maalala mo sana sa bawat ritmo
ang tibok ng puso mo
noong mahal mo pa ako
inspired by seventeen's "don't listen in secret" **** i am So Sorry. i noticed that this was such a short one. and as much as possible, i don't like making leav-esque poems but this is the only thing my mind can spit out rn.
analog child Mar 2017
the stars don't shine for us.
they shine for themselves.
women own themselves. they are their own. they do things for themselves. mind blowing information, i know.
analog child Mar 2017
i only ever thought of death in the winter
how happy he must be
to have some company
out of doomed and regretful souls

i only ever thought of death as a spectator
an audience, a witness
i never thought of death as something more ?–
more than a plague to be avoided, a sickness

i only ever thought of death at three in the morning
about how life has me as a gift for it
about how we live to die, but still die to live
i think about my own wake, where i’m not even awake
although i might as well be, if i hear people crying and mourning too loudly

i only ever thought of death
not once knowing of, or knowing anything about it
because if i had known death
i would have recognized it when i saw you at **first sight
i should've known better, with the way you held me – a doomed and regretful soul as your company. // man in the moon, won't you come home soon?
  Mar 2017 analog child
We're dying to live and yet we're living to die.
Just thinking out loud.
analog child Feb 2017
origami boy, with your folded sides and creased edges.
with the tips of your fingers, and the pads of your thumbs —
you made caricatures and imitations of life.
from swans, to flowers, to butterflies —
every day you folded papers, until your hands went numb.

one day, you were out of paper
and all i could offer you was my heart
you took it, and folded, and folded, and folded.
a plane, it became, a plane to be held by the dusty old clouds.
a plane to reach places you've only ever heard stories about.
a plane you made out of my heart.

i've always loved every piece of art —
that you have made, except for that one little plane
for it distorted my heart into corners,
and took you away from me.

now, i could only wish that the cuts my little paper heart will give you would hurt as much as missing you.
well, does it hurt? does the pain remind you of me?

— The End —