Nothing.
That's all I have to offer.
Why do you want it?

Here's to the writers—

You have the power to paint words
Into beautiful art—
To be able to touch a soul—
To touch one's heart

You can make the stormy sky blue—
Stop the waves from crashing to the shore
You can make all the withered flowers bloom—
Turn winter into summer, a glimpse of gold

You can make someone's dark day colorful—
Gather hope to put in between your words
Make them feel that they are understood—
That they aren't alone in this cruel world

You can mend someone's broken heart—
Put love in between your lines
Let them know that they are enough—
That being hurt is just a part of life

Yes—
We can make a whole new perspective—
We can create a world of our own
And no, we don't speak only for ourselves—
But also for all the lost souls

—Thalia Bautista; Just keep writing

My melancholy,disquite muse,was the one
Who taught me to empathize with,beats of
Waves, moon lit nights, mermaid songs
Whale whistles of lovelorn moments,
Heartbreaks ending failed love affairs
That haunts the hearts like unmitigated thirsts.
She walks me through the garden path,
Taking my cold shivering hands
            ....in her warm trembling palm...

I see the young blooms fallen from
The lap of the vine, that held them close,
Fondled with such affection, showered for a lifetime.
I see all of them,trampled over,crumpled in the dust.

The withered flowers on bushes we pass,one by one,
They look lackluster  in the crushing
Harsh sun, my muse who refused to speak all along,
Now has teardrops rolling down her eyes.
She makes my crusted ice cap collapse, I melt
Not being able to look at my heart broken by beloved.

I look around for a bud or a sprout extolling hope
A young shoot softly whispers,"Life is here, in wait"

He asked me if my heart is tired
I told him it is
But those who are tired eventually wake
My tired heart will be just fine

I don't think you know what love is
Not the way I do
Each time you find someone new
You say
Oh this time it's real
but it never really is
you just fall in the same trap
of lust and delight
captured by their looks
or cunning wit
but as time moves on
so do you

if I tie your wrists to the arms of a chair, until your fingers turn purple and muscles tense up for lack of circulation, your limbs incapable of movement, your body no longer under your control, do you think I could match the pain you made me feel when you decided my body belonged to you?
If I lock you in a jail cell, seven feet by two, key between my palms scraping against my flesh, blood dripping from my open tissue because somehow you still hurt me even when you can't touch me, do you think then maybe I could escape from thoughts of you breaking free, able to invade me again?
if I drown your eyes in hydrochloric acid, would the color burn away like the way you stole the color in mine? Like the way you stole the colors from my life?
I can only see in meaningless shades of grey, for the rare moments I actually choose to open my eyes

when you slid your tongue down my torso and bit into my skin with your carnivorous incisors to write your name
when you penetrated my soul with an uninvited spirit to shift mine out of the way
when you decided I was no longer inside of my body, for I had to make room for you
you forgot to bury my mangled corpse and
you left me to the ground to be fed on by the animals with blood on their breath
and I'm running out of meat