a poem at night

Your hands
Intertwined in mine
The feeling of warmth, safety,
And a whole lot of 'paasa'.

Your smile
Directed at me
Dimples showing, eyes twinkling
And a whole lot of 'pakyu'.

Your voice
Laughter filling the air
As your mouth speaks with sweet words and promises;
Also a whole lot of 'sino’ng ginagago mo'.

Hold on.

Hold on for as long as you can,
Because this pain won't go away easily.

Hold on to whatever you can grab,
Because the sliver of hope I'm holding
Is slowly becoming out of reach.

Hold on to whatever makes you happy
Because the things that mattered
Slowly faded into the background,
Simply out of focus.

Hold on to me please.
Because I'm losing myself in the process
Where I'm trying so desperately
To find a reason to keep going,
Despite my mind screaming to stop.

Hold on please.
There's something I still need to do.

Please help me.

My biggest fear,
I realized after drinking,
Was probably
Not being loved the same way I love.

Maybe I was terrified
Of giving too much
That people can't even give me
Even just the slightest love

Or maybe I was scared
Scared that I gave a lot of myself
To others
But they didn't want any.

Maybe I was scared of rejection.

Maybe I'm terrified of being alone
Alone, lost in my thoughts,
Unsafe with myself, and
A high risk of hurting myself.

I hate my self.

Maybe I promised myself
To never say
"I have no friends"
Because then I'd sound selfish.

But sometimes
I'd rather not call them 'friends'
Because they seem happy
Without the need to drag me.

Sometimes
I wonder what their life
Would've been
Without me.

Would it have been better?

Maybe I'm too heavy. I'm sorry, then.

It's a wonderful thing, really
To be able to wake up
To be able to get up
To be able to do anything, actually.

Because when it hits you,
Yes, "It",
The dark entity forcing you
Down on your bed,
Its entire mouth, drowning you
As you try to breathe and stay afloat
All to no avail.

It never used to be like this.
It somehow,
managed,
To pull me deeper into the crevices.

And the worst thing is,
No matter how much you try to explain to people
How bad your situation is, trying so hard to float on that dark sea called your thoughts,
They'll simply dismiss it.

But what if
I hadn't called
For help
At all?

Strange
How the outside world
Makes such a blaring, disturbing noise
Yet only the silence settles between us.

Strange
How I'm right beside you
Sitting straight,
Yet I don't seem to even be here.

Strange.
How simple the world can be,
How simple we could be,
But you don't even exist.

It was 3 am,
The darkness still covering the skies,
Except this time, I wasn't alone
With my thoughts.

3 in the morning,
And i hadn't drank or eaten anything,
I felt sick,
Not just physically but mentally.

And in that unholy hour did i feel
The unpleasant rush of emotions,
Waves of overlapping thoughts,
And all i ever wanted was it to stop.

It was 3 in the morning,
The noise of alcohol drowned
In a sea of probably my consciousness,
And the only help i was able to ask for was

"I want to die."

But a poke on my forehead
was all i needed to tell myself
That maybe, just maybe,
They understood my call for help.

Why am I sad?

I ask myself that question all the time,
And I never seem to have a definite answer
Besides the occasional
"I don't know."

But what if the reason
Was that there were actually too many reasons,
And they somehow merged into one big mess,
And so I could never really identify which was the actual problem?

Why am I sad?

Perhaps I will never really know.

Until then, I'll be drowning in this sadness.

My vision, slowly losing focus,
the bright lights fading into
bright circles,
the world eventually fading away.

My hearing, drowning in the silence;
oddly enough, there's a
loud buzzing, screaming,
telling me to stop.

My breathing, quiet, sniffing every now and then,
the movement of rib bones going up and down,
the feeling of a knife tracing my chest,
the way it poked me and made my heart bleed.

My mind, my heart.
Filled with feelings, yet almost none left for myself.
I'll always love other people,
but there isn't enough for me anyway.

What's the whole point, then?

there's always this kind of unsettled feeling,
right at the pit of your stomach,
growling, restless.
nauseating, even.

it makes you lose appetite, interest,
for the things you love the most
it makes you feel like
you'll never even get out of bed.

in times like these,
all these nasty thoughts kick in;
what hope should i have?
what am i left to do?

Maybe it's the alcohol
Running through my veins
Seeping through all of my pores
Invading my skin, crawling,
Leaving a trail of heat and numbness.

Maybe it's my mind
Trying to twist myself into
A wringing mess, unconscious,
Undesirable for the current society
Whose words weigh millions.

Or maybe it's just me.
Overthinking, in a dark room.
Laying there, paralyzed.
Contemplating. Typing. Thinking.


Tap,
       tap,
              tap.


I'm tired.

We wake up, opening our eyes
And basking in the sunlight
Or not; burying ourselves out of sight
And the silence replaced with sighs.

And despite a horrible morning,
We end up chanting a mantra hoping
That somehow the day gets better
Or negativity a tad bit lesser.

As we reach school, we face
Numerous formulas and boards
All with problems in hoards
And an anxiety that stays.

And as class ends our eyes meet
And a smile creeps up to my face
And of course, you never missing a beat
About the heat on my cheeks

But I pretend I feel nothing
Because by the end of the day
I pretend we were something-
No, I’m just another idiot today.

The day you told me
You believed in me
Was the day my brain thought
“I guess I’m not that flawed”

Because you were the guy
Who everyone painted as dangerous
And to be friends with you,
I couldn’t get myself to buy.

I gave you what I thought I could give you:
Thoughts, words, promises
And yet I realized now
How stupid I actually am.

I believed in an us:
Something we could’ve been
I believed I was something, somehow significant
And unfortunately I was wrong.

I can’t write poems
Or sing good enough to be acknowledged
Or draw pictures of what we could’ve been
Or have talent, simply because I can't be your type.

I can’t write poems
Because I’m a complete failure
In typing and scribbling out words
To even create something comprehensive.

I can’t write words
To string up to create a poem
Because I can’t even think straight
Because I can’t think of anything.

I can’t write poems-
No, I don’t write poems
Because I can’t tell you-
No, I love you, I love you, I loved you.

I'm alone again.
Not literally,
But mentally alone.
Trying to battle my thoughts.

I'm lost again.
Not literally,
But emotionally lost.
Staring blankly, dejectedly, at my reflection.

Attempt 1,
7th grade.
I was ridiculed for self harming,
Since my "cuts weren't even deep."

Attempt 2,
8th grade.
I tried swallowing everything that said "Do not eat"
Hoping I'd lose consciousness.

Attempt 3,
Still 8th grade.
You made me feel like whatever you did was okay; it wasn't.
To this day, I continuously beat myself over it.

Attempt 4,
9th grade.
I tried looking up harmful effects of overdosing on iron,
But it only left me with scarred intestines.

Attempt 5,
10th grade.
I tried to hang myself, hoping I'll succeed.
My mom came home.

Attempt n.
I tried cutting myself, hoping I'll bleed to death.
I tried asking for help, but I realized I was just doing it for attention.
Maybe this sadness isn't real, they said, and I believed them.

Attempt x.
In between these mentioned attempts,
There were still too many attempts unnamed.
But who cares?

Attempt y.
Today.
I tried killing myself again today.
But maybe if I did, will my classmates joke about me hanging myself?

I don't want that.

Maybe my depression and never-ending self hate aren't real.
Maybe I'm just assuming I have depression.
Maybe I'm just overreacting.
Maybe I should end my embarrassing self.

I'm sorry.

These are some of my
Almost-midnight thoughts,
Lurking under dimly-lit surroundings,
Trailing behind as if shadows.

These are the thoughts
That resurface from the pitch-black bottom,
Much like how bubbles make their way
Up to the sea from the depths of the oceanfloor.

These are the thoughts,
The ones I've been struggling to put down,
Much like a crazy person flailing about
While the doctors and nurses try to restrain him.

Almost.
I almost ended it.
Almost.
But then again, here I am.

Trying to make things work.

One cold, dark night
As I lay there, my mind running,
Screaming in agony, the silence shrouding it in,
I remember your question:

"Why do you inflict pain
When I can't even imagine
Hurting myself?
Why do you cause yourself harm?"

The answer is that I'll never seem to find a way
To ever represent how much
I hate myself,
and how I wish I never existed.

And this is the only way,
Truly the only way
I'll ever manage to express myself
Without anyone ever making fun of what I think.

The sight of myself truly ******* disgusts me.

For an audience
Of hues and shades
Of a sea of black and gray
Don't devour me

For a mind
Of palettes that tear mentally
Of violent reds and loud violets
Don't scare me

For a piece I'll never perform
Because of how scared I am
To battle myself and the world
Don't forget me

I'm sorry
For breaking my promise
Of not hurting myself
Ever again.

I'm so sorry
For being the blade
That cuts through
Myself, bleeding, thoughts whispering

I'm so sorry
For not being
The perfect person
You've always wanted.

And I'm sorry
For existing
If all you ever wanted
Was for me to vanish in the first place.

What am I to you?
Ugly. Insecure.
Disgusting. Pathetic.
Exists only when you need me.

Flowers grow where she walks
But you grow thorns and thistles
I don't hate you.
I just miss the 'better, kinder' you.

I never really succeeded at anything;
not even suicide attempts,
not even anything memorable.
I've just been unfortunate enough to be unlucky at everything.

No matter the spotlight and attention
Or the sea of applause
Or the congratulations from everyone
You still think I don't matter.

No matter what performance I do
Or show I make
Or the difference it makes
I still do not matter.

No matter
What talent I have
If I wasn't him
I'll never be good enough.

Hello, death?
Yes, uh, hi. Calling because I wanted to clarify things.
When I said I wanted to die, I meant alone,
not with friends.

I don't want them to get caught in my selfishness,
Nor do I want their families to feel loss.
So yes, at least keep them safe; I'm fine with dying, I guess.
Anyway, until next time, death.

when the wind blows,
ever so strong, the trees shaking in their roots,
the little grasses holding on to dear life,
i simply shut the door.

but eventually, i've learned
to embrace the wind, the rain;
i've learned to flow along with the wind,
and cry under the rain.

but now, i guess
it's time to stop trusting the wind and the rain;
it's time to shut my heart out once again,
and hide in my own closed space.

Please, I beg you
With all my strength
And all of my will
Don't touch me

Your hands touch me
In places where it shouldn't be
I'm terrified yet no one can see
I can't speak up, help me

After several instances
of your arm accidentally brushing
against mine,
can I assume I finally like you?

Can I finally say that
you make my heart pump blood
faster than when I
go to the gym and workout?

Can I finally say that
you lift my mood up, as high as the heavens,
and make me write poems
as sweet as artificial sugar?

Can I finally say I like you
even when you don't like me too?

"Do you love me?" No.
Because the sun's still shining
And the Earth is spinning
I did, but now I don't.

"So much that it hurts?" No.
Because I finally managed
To move on
Past the things I used to hold on to.

"That it's scary?" No.
Because I've let go of everything
That included you, me,
And every little thing in between.

"I loved you." That's great.
"You rejected me." That's fine.
"I gave up." Congratulations.
Because I'd hate to have toxic people around me.

A deafening silence settles,
Leaving only dust and some movements,
Rustling in the sheets, tossing and turning,
Trying to get some sleep.

But where is the peace in the silence
When all you can hear are
The whispers, an illusion,
Yet there is nothing to be heard.

Slowly, out of reach,
My hand tries to grab
What is left of my own sanity;
And every night, I wish it were over.

End me.

When the sun sets
And the skies are painted
In light orange streaks and hints of pink,
It signals the end of a day.

And when a warm bluish purple
Transforms the night sky into
A yellow sunrise, warming the Earth,
It signals another start of a day.

But why am I filled
With a desire
To only see a sunset
To signal an end to me as well

i'm deathly afraid
of falling, gravity embracing me,
and continuously feeling adrenaline
coursing through my veins.

i'm deathly afraid
of falling, crashing hard,
my feelings all placed in one bet,
risking it all as i keep falling.

i'm deathly afraid
of heights, the wind blowing,
my legs shaking, my body unsteady,
the ground seemingly a thousand miles below.

but what if
i jump off
to, as they say,
'conquer my fears'?

What is this feeling
Of longing for
Your presence
And the safety that comes with it

What is this feeling
Of wanting
Everything and nothing
All at once

What the actual ****
Am I doing
Writing out how I feel
When I'm too afraid to tell you honestly

Why do I
Fear the risks
And hide myself
Despite knowing how much I feel?

whenever i feel empty,
I try to evaluate myself,
much like how a student evaluates
the questions before skimming for the answers.

fill in the blanks,
the tiny crevices made by sadness,
the cracks and gaps of loneliness;
help me and fill them out with human company.

fill in the blanks;
sheets of paper, empty,
an untouched screen, the faint humming of a computer,
the pens and pencils, neat and free from human activity.

fill them in; draw and draw until your mind begs to stop;
write and write until the words don't make sense;
I've been trying to do so much
just to make sure that gaping hole of pure, slow, and excruciating loneliness and depression gets temporarily covered.

I've been trying to fill in the blanks in my life since day one.
It seems like it'll never work.

why is it that
every time I get home
from interacting with other people
i feel exhausted?

it makes me feel like
they took all my soul and happiness
i succeeded in faking,
and now i want to end all of this.

it's a mindless cycle;
i fake and fake all of what i could give,
and by the end of the day, i'm gone;
used up, and fake it for another more day.

being home completes the cycle.

If I were to die tonight,
Will anyone ever wonder
Where I go
Or how I went?

If I were to die tonight,
Will my research
Be finished without me
And my friends graduate?

If I were to die tonight,
How will I ever explain
Not going back to school, or passing my requirements?
Will my teachers even care, or will they fail me?

If I were to die tonight,
Will a seat be empty
During the college entrance test
At the testing site?

If I were to die tonight,
Will a classroom ever notice
How one student is gone?
Or will they simply dismiss it as me being late?

If I were to die tonight,
Will all my bad memories
Dissipate into the air,
Or will people still talk bad about me?

If I were to die tonight,
Will all my mistakes vanish
Or am I taking all of them to my grave,
Dying with humiliation?

If I were to die tonight,
How will I be remembered?
Am I simply a stupid kid,
Or am I just dust of the Earth?

If I were to die tonight,
Will my family ever realize
How much I've been asking for help
But they simply dismissed it?

I've had a sudden realization,
while sitting in the corner,
staring blankly at a wall,
my mind running amok.

My daily train of thought consists of
overthinking about situations,
anxiety brought about by simple mistakes,
and staring off into space, while people passing by think I'm looking at them.

My train of thought mostly revolves around
endless ways of trying to better my situation, or,
endless ways of trying to **** myself and end everything;
but most of the time it's just a random blur, dissolving into nothingness.

My train of thought is simply
me, talking to myself, and reflecting
on what my friends said;
nah, I can't say they're my friends; I don't want to assume and get hurt again.

And I have lost my train of thought.
Everything fades into the background,
and everything just feels empty.
I should be doing a lot of stuff but I just want to end myself.

Face the mirror,
Insecurities.
No one sees it
But I gained weight.

'You're thin enough'
But not for me
I'm terrified of all the fats
I have left in my body

Sit-ups, planking, I am never good enough.
I'm scared, always scared
Of those digits that show up
Whenever I weigh up.

For some reason,
I'm never good enough.
My biggest enemy
Is just me, and myself.

instead of the late afternoon sepia,
darkness fills my window,
with bits and pieces of scattered light from outside
trying to come in this late at night.

instead of the warm oranges and reds
trying to envelope me in its embrace,
it's the black sky, littered with glittering stars
and soon, as the morning comes, blue washed skies.

instead of afternoons with friends, it's late nights
talking to myself, alone;
being alone isn't a bad thing, but I've been
so used to being alone that I've had too much time to overthink.

instead of coffee, it's milk.
I can't force myself to stay awake via caffeine;
wouldn't milk help me sleep?
but I can't sleep, and now I'm plagued with these horrible thoughts.

Why is it that whenever someone tells me
to speak up about my problems and open up to them,
all of a sudden, they just become this
uncrossable barrier, so difficult to talk to?

Why does it feel like
they never really meant what they told me
when they said,
"I'm here if you need to talk to anyone"?

And for the past few months,
it has been increasingly lonely.
I don't want to disturb anyone
whenever I want to talk to them.

remember
how the sun barely peeked into his apartment,
the way your curious face greeted me,
the way his entire apartment was ours for a few hours.

the way you held on to me,
your hands around my waist,
your head slightly tilted, just barely resting on my shoulder,
and before we knew it, we were sprawled on his bed, basking in each other's warmth.

the way you stroked my hair,
telling me everything might not be alright,
telling me I'll find someone like you, probably better,
telling me to find someone like you,
but you're the only one like you.

telling me to move on,
telling me to be happy,
telling me to find someone to love;
i guess we both know we'll only be happy if it weren't us.
i guess we're never really meant for each other.

in all honesty, i have difficulty in perceiving what is real and what's in my head.

"what demons?" i hear you ask, and i simply smile back.
"want me to describe them to you?"

these demons,
these wretched, dark, indecipherable beings
clawing their way inside my brain,
and making it to the depths of my innards,
they're never really gone
and it will always be a struggle
to remain calm,
despite everything.

it feels like
swimming in a pool
6 feet deep
and as a 5'2 kid,
it has been a constant struggle
to try and stay afloat;
try and stay alive
because suddenly the world morphs
and the pool is no longer a pool
but an ocean, a stormy night
out on the open sea,
waves crashing, violently slapping the boats and ships sailing through the vicious currents
shipwrecks here and there, floating debris,
a havoc; hands and feet, cold, dead, floating,
and as you float there,
your legs get numb from the cold water,
helplessly moving your arms and legs to try and keep yourself up,
trying not to feel the dark, murky waters of the night
trying to entangle its menacing fingers
and grab ahold of your dangling legs.

yet suddenly it becomes a pool once more.
the debris floating around you
now become floating devices,
calmly riding the ripples made by your own movement.

yes.
these are my demons,
the ones that turn a whole world into a nightmare
but in a snap,
makes me wonder what reality am I in.

It's all normal.
And I wonder if it's all in my head.

let me out from this augmented reality
a nightmare so surreal
let me out
i am terrified

let's take a walk
alone
under the night sky
as comforting as that seems,
it never is;

it's always
empty
the skies pin onto themselves
dead ***** of gases
deceased light years ago

yes, let's walk along Grove
leave false stars in the form of phones
back at home
let's walk alone
get lost

truly,
what is there to lose
when all has been said and done
when all that is left is a shadow?

what more do i have to lose
other than the sliver of hope
i so desperately hold on to;
what else do i have left?

truly.
what can i do
when even the happiest days have gone by
and time kills as the seconds pass by?

How pathetic of me
To write poems and string up words
When those same words
Are the reason why my soul bleeds.

How despicable of me
To talk to a phone
Simply because
I just don't belong.

Mirror, mirror,
On the wall,
Why am I
the ugliest of them all?

Is it my teeth?
Is it my eyes?
Is it because I ****
at almost everything I try?

Is it because
I'm not as beautiful
as the other girls
when I cry?

Mirror, mirror,
On the wall,
I wish I could feel nothing
And end it all.

The week hasn't even started,
And yet I feel like
My arms have been torn, limb by limb,
And my mind eternally wandering into space.

The only thing keeping me alive
Is the requirements in school,
Loans I have to pay,
And compulsory attendances.

I don't know.
I find it utterly sad
To lose reason and will to live,
But what can I do?

"I quit."

The times I uttered these words
Were the times I doubted
Anything that happened,
And everything that could happen.

I quit.

I quit trying to lead a life
Where I feel insignificant,
Almost as if unwanted,
And endless thoughts of how to end this.

I quit.
I want to end this.
Make it stop.
I quit.