Time doesn't steal anything from you,
it changes you.
It lets you watch your grandmother,
a strong woman, sturdy,
a force to be reckoned with:
shrivel,
become small.
Her size reminding you
of when you'd lay beside her
as a child.
Her back to you, watching her massive shoulders move
like calm waves on a shore with each
breath.
The presence of that giant
chased the nightmares away.
And you realize that it was the only time that feeling small
felt so good,
and being big now
felt so terrible.

Time doesn't steal anything from you.
It conspires with your brain
to help you perfectly
remember
the time the boy you loved gazed down from above you,
the moment
before a kiss.
The moment that will always feel longer
than any other in your life.
But time obliterates any words that were said
from memory.
Obliterates any useful information,
any conversations.
Does not allow you to remember
each
and every day.

The momentum of time allows you infinite moments
to live in your past
today.
Like living in the moment
that you woke up on your 5th birthday
to your mom who spent
all morning
blowing up hundreds
of balloons.
Time let's you remember that feeling
of opening your eyes
to magic.
Remember feeling more loved
than you will ever feel.
Time gives you this moment,
but takes away
the day.

Time is indifferent as you plummet into the future.
Dragging behind you the images and words of
an optimistic kid
that you hope to keep alive.
Time is indifferent
as it demands you wake up,
and start over
again
and
again.

I'm falling endlessly
into a pit,
poor timing when I jumped.
Surely this
is the end?

Heart pounding,
darkness makes way for light
and for a moment
I forget
where I am.

Turning restlessly,
the vaguely familiar blurs that my
poor vision allows,
I find your face and realize
my jump
was a dream.

It seems sleep gave you back
years of your life.
The sand in your eyes make you
a boy again.
And I can't help but wonder
the dreams you could be chasing
or the lack thereof.

Your breath comes slowly,
your chest rising
and falling.
The broken gears
and cut wires
of your small frame
coming together
to create
a smooth running
sleep machine.

For a moment
I'm jealous,
it looks so easy to do
when I'm watching you.
Like you're more capable than I
of rest
and relaxation.
You found the switch that turns off
your brain
that I
was not built with.

The next moment,
my thoughts
are far.
I struggle to tell the difference
between what's happened
and what's dreamt.
Panic sets in
and as I sort reality
your eyes
flutter open.

Eyelashes shaking sleep
from your face.
Like fallen leaves
taking off into the sky
from a sudden
wind.

Your eyes focus
on me
expectingly.

Like before you woke up,
you knew exactly
where
you'd be.

Your lips stretch
into a lazy smile
breaking my daze with a dreamy,
"Good morning".

And once again,
I'm left to wonder
if I'm here
falling
after a poorly timed
jump.

Rough edges shape their calluses to my own
We bite softly at first
Tasting shadowed limitations
Deeper flavors blossom wet and dark along thirsty tongues
I need closer
To render you tearful, speechless
Peel back each layer then climb inside
Saturating my parched surface
With the dewy fabric of your subconscious mind
Ebony pupils widen into the spalunking expanse of my own
I could explore your depths for a lifetime
I would still be left wanting

A shriek resounding from inside,
Filling up cold deluded transgressions.
Aggressively clawing at a reality unsolicited.
Slowly the burning starts to reach closer to the core,
the final chapter about to unfold into a hollow scream.
Echoing in desperation to be heard for some resolution,
a lament looming over all that was left.

The shuffling of feet against cold marble slowly come to a halt,
and came the realization to what has become now a dream.
It was a rush of rejoice washed over a heated forehead filled with aching sighs.
The undying feeling floats against the surface,
as a reminder to the haunting memory of hope.
The foolish thought of a victory owned against a done deed.

Once more her legs give out as she can feel her body heavy with defeat.
A struggle shows against the creases of her soft tired face.
As if escaping the last fight her lips curve once more into a grin,
cracking slowly and faltering to an emotionless line.
Her lids shut and her head lulls back as she feels the soft breeze against her back.
The final realization of what was to evolve finally hit her ragged frame,
and she let go of the her convictions to shrivel back to her old ways.

Your smoke has intoxicated me long since my dad stopped driving me to school. I am scorched by the touch of your atmosphere that I will never get used to. I can never take back the money I've spent on ***** ice cream and orange quail eggs. And despite your ridiculous amount of potholes and how every corner of you is corrupted, Manila, you are still my home.

I will forever treasure the nights I've spent walking through your pavement. The lights of you will never fail to fascinate me. How every monuments and art musuems becomes a portal from the past to the future. For all the laughs, tears, annoyance, and anger that I've had with you and the inside jokes that only we know. For the people I've met and will meet inside you. For all the streets I've walked and will walk onto. Despite your lack of snow and intense evidence of climate change,  Manila, I am still and will always be in love with you.

I leave them behind, staring straight ahead despite their pleas. The starry night beckons me. It promises to set me free, so I leave. Cries of anguish echo in the nether realms, part past part hell, where the darkness instills itself.
Nighttime brings terrible dreams, but daylight is where true nightmares come from. My boots disturb the grey cement kicking up clouds of dust. Smoke obscures the empty spaces where ****** faces once laid. Scarred flesh painted red with life’s fluid.  Blood oozes and drips down the now cooling skin, then flows forming a small red river with tiny tributaries. All this is captured in a greyscale distortion.
I missed the moments of violent percussions. The sounds of man-made thunder crashing and smashing everything in sight. I was only here for the aftermath. Still, that is enough. Dark blue body bags hold the terror of two twins decimated. Gaping wounds appear as if something had been chewing itself free from their stomachs. Normal skin rolls into mangled and exposed muscle then becomes bone. What a sick alchemy of flesh.
Their faces follow the same empty stare. They almost look alive. Eyes open in accusation, pointing in a parallel direction. I can feel the full force of their claims as they silently scream “Why.”
I cry, but my tears come just upon the edge of numbness.  Anger, and sorrow so extreme that my mind cannot handle it. I disappear, pretending that these are merely photos. I immerse myself in the delusion that this is a thing of the past. I am not here. They are not there. With a digital click, the camera becomes my emotional filter.
I stumble, a step away from losing what is left of my sanity, then cross the threshold in reverse, till I am outside. A small woman cradles something in her arms. It is a charcoal baby doll. Tears streaming the woman screams, holding that incinerated thing, but it’s just a doll. Black flakes fall, baby doll’s clothing turns to dust. I cough it in and out choking on the musk. I am grateful that it is just a broken doll.
I feel fear bringing me to edge of insanity. Her screaming seems strange. Her eyes look deranged. The doll’s legs have little calcium protrusions. Do burnt bones blacken? It’s just a doll. Scorched porcelain doesn’t look like skin, but it’s just a doll. Please let it be just a doll.
I pull myself from the situation. Detach what is left of my impartiality from my sanity. This is just a picture. This is just a job. Auto pilot takes over as I keep clicking photos, leaving any sense of self in the past.

Does it really matter? Because time becomes ephemeral when you're spending it with romance. The way his fingers latched with mine was gone the minute he saw his friends. What is more important is the memories and the thought that you've lived long enough for you to meet him. What matters is the thought of him coming in as oxygen, intoxicating your system even though he left immediately as carbon dioxide, someone you don't recognize.

he is brazen electricity along your veins and
a sputtering drumline in your mind,
he is tongue and teeth, skin and bone
with his lovely notes scrawled on restaurant napkins and
that half-smile on his lips which makes your knees shake;
and he is perfect, he is lovers’ breath, entrapped
and when your hands are cold, your sheets tangled,
smeared makeup beneath the dark circles of your eyes,
you can nearly taste his words on your tongue