as he made his way
towards her
end of the day,
she was all that happy,
looking at his
endless beauty,

his arms intertwined
with hers,
her melody reaching
his chuckles and screams
and cries.

they leave those soaring
individuals,
roaming inside the familiar,
spectacular room.

then they walk
along the busy
pavements,
with sounds of
the pouring rain.

as she steps away
from her light of day,
as the sun sets and
the moon awakens from
its slumber,
she remembers and treasures
every foot step he takes
away from her distance
and slowly, gradually,
she writes a poem,
a letter, a song,
about how she loved
how he walks away.

a person of truth
my cure
innocent look
devilish book.

a person of kindness
too soft
too subtle
too hard to
tell.

velvet lips
auburn eyes
curly hair
mysterious glare

from those
raining rays
of sunshine

from the
singing sound
of winding
breeze

she felt his warmth
from across the room
she felt his stride
towards her side
and he
grayed her sight
she felt the
slightest, and most
gentle touch
of velvet.

the cont.

forlorn thorns
and sweet peace,
were carried out like
leaves of trees.

she thought
her "love" was
ineffable.

in those ephemeral
moments when
infatuation seemed love
and
lassitude was masked with
scintilla of joy,
nothing hurt like
the words,
"i'm sorry,
we're over."

tears leaked
from the sparkle
of his eyes,
a plethora of
sadness woke
from its dormant
slumber,
waiting for the clock
to tick and tock.

he may have hoped
for a sanguine
ending, which she
did too,
but the paradox of life
led her to decide
that love was far
from over, near,
and ever after.


she was ebullience
and she hoped he was too.

she
beyond the desperate
twinkle in her eyes,
lies prestigious
gestures that
only he understands.

it's the way
irony wraps
itself, tight
in her arms,
then her hands,
her legs,
then her feet,
and one day
she found out,
she was covered
in a hoax
of adoration.

he
the crevice
behind the
face of trauma
lies a beam
of serendipity,
of love,
and of liberation.

it's funny
how moments
like this
collide like
atomic particles,
it makes us
feel heat,
light,
and life.

they
and there
they were,
in complete
awe of such
luminance,
faded
and branded
in the cromulent
beautiful skies
of wonders
and of idyllic
setting.

suns and crescents
well-spent
and transparent.

everything rotated
with her,
she,
and me.

everything smiled
like it should,
would,
and could.

everything~
except me and
you.

you looking at me
you listening to me
you liking me

everything was but a nightmare
a torment, such scourge
or plague, i tell you
or was it a dream, i think
beyond what words
can sentence
beyond what music
can note
beyond my anger,
my loathe
what distress you have
shower me
from giving me
such false, untrue hope
and i fell, seriously,
to the trap.

Lust.

Youth never fail to exceed my expectation. I’ve been living ever since God has made this world, the world of pure love and life.


Love and life could be made a one true pair, I think… This OTP that’s everlasting. I never had eyes like yours, lips, nose, hands, hair, feet, and teeth? None of them. But I know, I have life. I’m intangible but you can feel me, right after your mom’s gamete united with your dad’s.

I have had so many children and I’m only telling you one of the simplest. Leo Smith has been a popular kid in their school, lots of girls would be tailing him every day just to say hi or confess.

On the other side of the world, here’s the beautiful mysterious one in their school. No one seems to talk to her. She was always alone, holding the same book. She’s been seen wandering all the time.


It’s the 23rd of December, after mustering up his courage he sent a letter to her:

Hi! I'm Leo Smith from the other class, will you come to the campus library tomorrow? I just have to tell you something.

She, kind of startled, smiled.

When you are born you have talents you simply grab by your innocent hands, but I’ve held you long before you reach out to them.


I am Love. I exist, in your heart, in your mind, and in your body.

on a wintry,
frosty,
fulfilled night,
he said "stuff"
which left
her some
misery
and trickery.

falling for every
trap, she had
to trip,
all over again,
forgive,
all over again,
for the usual.

angry,
yes, she was?
no, she wasn't
******,
yes, she was?
yes, she was
and is.

some words
aren't meant
to be heard,
but rather
felt.

blithe
or blythe
superb it really
is
having him
see and hear
her gestures
her songs
this unwanted
creature
is just so happy
indulging
every sensation,
every affection,
she feels for him,
she gives to him,
and she receives
from him.

maybe she's
clamoring for
this empyrean
man she so seeks
his heart of a
celestial nymph's
his soul of bravery
his obscure love,
her haven,
her puppy,
her endless
trickery.

trees performing
pirouettes,
lights glowing
like stars and embers,
busy feet stumbling
upon the boredom
of pavements,
flickering lights of
airplanes filled the
deep blues of the
pool of clouds
which embraces the
tears of the heavens,
calling out for
the he she can't see.

then,
a sad, sad, sad
glance
was seen
far from a sight.

there he stood
where no one else
could.

there she loses
her ephemeral
self.

in front of the auburn
trees, swaying
with the wind.

she hung herself.
he fell to the ground.
he didn't lose her
she lost him,
once upon a march,
underneath
the wooden arch.

can i say something
way beyond
what you
thought
i was?

you said
"i love you"
on the 14th
holloween.

you said
"it"
countless times,
nothing rhymes,
oh dear,
it's been made clear,
we've been circling
from hi's
then hey's,
now none?

what did i do
what did i say
what did i miss
what did i?

aren't you too...
selfish?

he let words
of his own
criticism
be heard
by her.

those remarks
he confidently
made with no signs
of remorse
nor humor.

after another
daylight,
he said
it was the means
of himself,
it was him,
such enormous,
kind,
insensitive, and
silent inconsistency.

once done more,
will it be just as it is?
or will it turn into
a consistently done
habit?

she was everything
to me
she was my
eternity,
my endless jewelry.

i loved, cared for her
and cherished her
with all my kindest,
finest manners.

i chased her for
a couple of years,
had her when i'm
in pain and in tears,
hugged her for oxygen
kissed her for love
and owned her for me.

we broke up last spring
i found a new tranquil
person who found me
when i hid myself.

however,
she came back that summer.
the midnight sun's watching
far from behind
but she came back like
everything "was" nothing,
asking for a new treaty,
getting back and back
from the past.

i was pestered,
when she had
the homecoming.

clasping his hands
were nothing but pain.

embracing his goodbyes
and listening to his
wrath,
were more than hell,
and lesser than any
mundane pleasures.

but letting go
of those torns
which she once loved,
held, and touched,
gave her peace,
joy, opportunities,
and open heart.

she loved him indeed,
he loved her too,
but,
they were just
a chapter in each other's diaries
and their wisdoms and
memories
both shall live
and fuel
their pens
to write their
own stories.

she tried to understand,
even if it meant nothing
to that person,
knowing
everything's
a given,
"a...given."

this event severed
her.

this event killed her.

on a wednesday
yet saturday
or whatever-day
he went somewhere
far, too far
he drank somewhere
far, too far
dark, too dark
far, too far.

he needn't have to ask
just tell
but,
why lie?
oh well.

far too evil
yes,
too evil.

wordless,
deaf,
and cold.

she thought
it was a hundred
and eighty degrees turn
but
it was a three hundred
and sixty opposite turn.

every answers
she ever
wanted.

there's not a
a girl
in this world
who never
had a
mr. Black.

mr. Black
is everything,
is cute,
is gorgeus,
is lovable.

mr. Black's
cover doesn't
really matter
and
others would utter,
"why?"

mr. Black
is mystique,
unique,
different.

he accepts,
he declines,
he's rough,
he's smooth,
mostly,
he's dubious,
he's idyllic,
he's an unvivid
character
in the blank
pages of some
chapters
of her diary.

he can make
her feel
such halcyon moments
that no one can
ever do,
he can make
her indulge
such gentle
nuzzles,
tight hugs,
and forehead kisses.

after friday's love
comes nth-day's love,
she then awaits
the next
mr. Black.

the sensation
of every needle
puncturing the
fair leather
was more than
pleasure.

it's the way
the threads
drip from
those complexion
down to floor,
what a beautiful
enamor.

it's not to ****
the vessel
we don't own.

it's not to hurt
the one thing
we borrowed.

it's just our
escapade
for the
darkest shade
of happiness.

we all have our
endings
happy,
******,
mad
and sad.

we were given
lots of treasure
for ourselves to assure
we know what's love
from attachment

i doubt myself
with every word
from me, he heard
with every
"i love you's"
from me, he deserved

but
has it always been
me?
or, as well,
did he?

"before"
i was doleful
in one way
or another
it is he
who i prefer

i was willing to
die in the arms
of an angel
or an impurity

i was living
with my eyes close
mouth shut
ears are deaf
and
music? "dead"

i was out of it
life's a bore
nothing's all you'd ask for
life's so lifeless
all you'd get is stress

"maybe a daily dose
of inspiration"
(says a friend)
would work

summer and barren weekends...


"after"
i met you
under the autumn trees
you were beautifully made
musically gifted
mentally capable

i heard you
your words
talks about how
i should accept
"before''
and never clamor
for arid days
never seek
for stark bleak

yes, i was afraid
i might fall deeply...
deeper than what
i can handle
and contain
deeper than what
i can say
and digest

love in the winter...

"now"
our journey begins
my love,
towards each other's
heart
towards each other's
hands

our love blooms
in winter
and might die
in summer

BUT, let's
thank and love
every piece of us
every breath we take
is now we make.

his eyes,
still.

his hair,
thick.

his person,
so dear.

standing amidst
the bordeline
of darkness
and
of hope,
he widened his arms,
reached towards her,
the anchor
of his
in between
till
his last
breathe
disappeared.

yes, there were
ambivalence
at first.

or maybe,
there weren't
who knows?

i had to
do
what i did
just to
dissemble
yours truly,
and yes,
i was able.

although
languor
caressed my cheeks
like no one else did
my mind
and heart
was filled
with
mild
jubilation.

felicitous
thoughts
overflowed,
hal­cyon notes
and waves
refracted on the walls,
and scenic moonshine
and sun rays
draw my days like
it was them
asking me
to saunter,
and to murmur
the words
i like you,
and that is the
denouement
of our story,
so,
will you be

he does have
those so-called
mediocre looks

he does have
those off-key
notes

he does have
those unlived
thoughts

and

he does have
a heart of gold
his soul's
way too bold,
way too strong,
way too unwrong.

he was her
current everything,
her decent wings,
her ethereal man,
her eternal friend,
her beautiful distraction
her silent explosion

during the new
year's eve,
it was sad to
discover and
remember
how he then
lost what
she has always
had.

it was sad to
utter words
which would
never come to
light nor dark.

it was sad to
end the year
with tears
and sheer
calculation
of what's today
and tomorrow.

it was truly sad
to know
that he never had
what she has always
had.

when things were
too cloudy,
too unclear,
she thought
she was hopeless,
that she was
embraced by such
langour,
hate and
anger.

she once
possessed such a
plethora of sorrow,
it caused her
more than tears,
no lesser than
blood.

and blood
became tears
and the sobs
became laughs,
she was now inured.

maybe because,
he came?
who then?
the next mr. Black?
the next apeiroginic love?
how about who?

maybe because,
when things were
at peace,
she heard such
melliflouos melody
coming from the
bluest sky
she always eyed.

maybe because,
when things were
lovely and quite
dainty,
he came,
ringing her bells,
strumming the
sincerest G string.

hi there!

simple hellos
goodbyes
and alibi
ain't enough

simple letters
and notes
won't make him
better

simple smiles
and laughs
shouldn't even be
considered

instead,
making him feel
that she still
and will
cherish him
with her
utmost love
that's everlasting
as what they would hope
but could be ending
sooner or later
as what she and he
wouldn't prefer.

hoping that these
twin and win years
would be at their favor
filled with love
enamour
and nothing more.

The unseen picture of Christ lies beyond my own imagery
The Phantom of the Opera of everyone’s dreams
The sweet mother in labor of my infancy
And the righteous guide of my infamy

With him are the Angels of the heavens
The spiritual guardians who guards us twenty-four seven
The winged creature who dances along those dazzling seasonal winds
That covered my dreams with lights of dim

The spring that flower and fly, the rebirth of love
The summer that warmed my dream, the youth of love
The autumn that rained the picture with leaves, the adolescent of love
& the snowflakes that blacken my fantasy, the death of love

Those four seasons of love that crushed the idea of eternity
But with God, forever you live, soul in state of serenity
With the Angels and Christ, you’re free
of dreaming your own dreams and fantasies

no more time
lesser will
no more hates
lesser tears
no more swears
lesser mistakes
no more scars
lesser darts.

falling out
of the stairway
was the most
hurtful thing
she ever felt.

worse than dying
worse than living
worse than worst
worst of worst.

everyday was filthy,
*****,
teary,
furious,
curious,
woe,
loathe,
gloat?

feli­citous smiles
bargained
additional lies.

feline's wet
with sweats
of the eyes.

doggo's dead,
by the hands
of her love.

he was lost
when she was found.

Once upon a time
As what stories would rhyme
There lived a girl
Living in a faraway town

But then again
There lived "I"
It all began
Last tuesday night

I was under the trees,
Trying to whisper,
Trying to converse
Trying to quench the thirst
Of finding love under
The falling leaves
There he sat
Across the street
With such endless
Melody

He waved, i didn't care
He smiled, out of respect
I did too. But i didn't care

Suddenly, he walked
And stood by me
He talked
And so i did, i didn't care

As the trees bring out their calmness
As the stars indulge skies' darkness
As the pavements lose its color
From the shadows of walking passengers
He stood out.

Wednesday's made for
Felicitous demeanor
Where sun's up
Wind's chasin' butterflies
And leaves, again,
Falling from the trees.
We talked.

Thursday? T'was a tiring one
From dusk till dawn
My eyes were hurting
But still, they're searching
For him. We talked.
But i didn't care

Friday then saturday,
Nice days for bouquet
Nice days for a walk
Along the ocean-dyed walls
In front of the pastry shop
Near the cafe
Across the bench
Under the trees.

Sunday
I waited
And waited
And waited
And we talked
But i did care

Finally!
There came the first monday
Where i found love in the summer
Under the sunlit trees
There he stood
There i witnessed
What love awaits for me
What hope you gave
From you to me.

after the twenty-2nd
day, some things
came to be.

he was reckless,
heartless,
stupid,
yet caring.

he says rumors
weren't true,
that he has no one
"but i HAD you."

he says stories
weren't necessary,
that he was innocent
and he was pure.

he says it's not
like that, nor
like "this,"
that he was in
deep solitude
and no more
them's and you's.

the rumored newest
was a friend,
so sweet and lovely,
innocent and God-sent,
light and less fluffy,
tanned and less lonely?
no, less happy,
trying and striving.

she:
i didn't want to
dark-mind.
i didn't want to
self-harm.
yet, his words
contradict
what he does.
then...

endless trades of words,
of hurts, of trusts,
of pains,
rushed through
their typically untypical
veins.

murmurs  weren't true.

"not all you see is true."

why can't everything
be innitiated?
given at free will?
said with genuinity?
and done
with no rules,
no biases,
no implied philosopies,
no more laws?
as the sun sets,
from last eleventh,
she had begun
to be in deep
slumber,
she had been
lesser frustrated,
lesser stressed.

she was an
ailurophile
he was a
cynophilist
now,
how come
she likes him?
and
he likes her?
when both
can only offer
the opposites
of the other.

how did they
find such
unraveled red
knots?
when they were
too twisted,
too unread.

how were they
able to say
that they liked
each other's
symphony
with wafture
of those warm hands
reaching for such
woebegone faces
with little traces
of summery
and misery.

and finally
how can she
and he
stay with each
other's plea
in a world
full of
uncertainties?

if they could,
and would,
they are pyrrichs.

the walls
were white
and cold.

it's time for the
ocean sky to
gyrate its way to
crimson sunset.

she and he
were standing,
gazing at the
clueless crowd.

suddenly,
he began to
move and
touch her
velvet lips,
up & down,
all around.

there they went,
wilder than the
rush of the
screeching cars.

he asked for
her permission
for the stairs to be
less leveled,
less balanced,
surely torrid,
surely sultry.

as they went
with the
stairs not leveled,
lips but velvet
and still tangled,
necks' just clammy,
and their
way's so classy,
she lifted her
right limb
and twist it to
his left part,
she was
insensible.

the second time,
he responded
and grabbed her
right limb
towards his.

the time was too
rapid, too
swift.

he held her tight,
his hands
from her nape,
to her neck,
to her shoulders,
to her back,
down to her
waist
as she awaits
and made her chase
from the levels
of both's
wavering stairs.

everything ends
with a sweet
and light
touch of their
velvet lips.

the flower bloomed
never late,
never doomed.

the flower was
indeed,
hyacinth still,
but something
worth of
a pink carnation.

the day came
when she stopped
asking,
begging,
for something,
friday's love
used to have,
and
can never give.

the night came
when she
never asked
for something,
someone,
a helpless distraction,
a lovely contrast.

then midnight came
rushing like the blood
circulating within her self,
he came knocking,
like a real stranger,
mingling with
another,
and opened the
sealed green envelope.

sadly, she was right
that he wasn't
meant for her.

she gave more
than what he
deserved.

but, she got
nothing in return.

...i am made.
...carrying such burden.
...i am made.
...thinking i was broken.

...i am here
...all alone
...in a dark valley
...of tears
...all alone
...in an unreciprocated
...appreciation
...all alone
...in this nightmare
...seemingly a dream
...seemingly...

...i was there
...but
...now i am here
...here where no one
...sees
...where no one
...wonders
...ponders
...and where no one
...is alone
...but me.

am i starting
to lose sight
of what's within?

i am beggining
to reminice
such melancholy
which made me happy,
doleful, loathful and
insane.

yes,
after that night
after that fated
day, that "yesternight"
i was filled with tears,
tears, sadness, tears,
and again,
tears.

~thought
~was healed,
but then
~wasn't.