It just rained.

The sky is pale blue and
the wind is surely pleasing.
I might just think that the weather is perfectly made for me.

I see some tables and chairs,
some drinks and snacks,
some variety of people
I only see during this time of the day
and only during this kind of weather.

It's 6 PM and
it's almost as dark
as the deepest of the night.
The sky now is indigo blue
and the moon is already peaking.
It's smiling.
And god, what I'd do to smile like that.

I see drinks, I am holding a cup of rootbeer
while my friends hold a cup of red horse.

We talk about life, and how scary it is to live;
we talk about ending it, and the many ways we could consider trying;
we talk about enduring it, and how strong we are to have ourselves survive 'til today;
and we talk about staying, just because we're still here.

Though we're barely breathing,
we are here,
and just like the moon tonight,
with the cup of rootbeer in my hand
and with the cup of red horse they have,
we are smiling.

It's almost 8 PM and
the wind is still as pleasing.
It's touching my skin
and
it gives me a different feeling.
I see hands holding a grip to its last cup of beer;
I see eyes looking down, sleepy;
I see eyebags which I guess I can say as deep as the night;
I see crooked teeth;
I see imperfection.

Though we are as imperfect,
we are smiling,
we survived,
we're on our way home
with car lights reflecting on our faces.

We wave goodbye to the bottle of beer for two and my rootbeer.
We made it through the night.

you loved beer with an alcohol content more than your body could contain. he's lovely and you nudge him in the most delicate of ways because he's beautiful. you whisper the words you wanted to hear and he whispers back. you crawl up in your sheets and submerge yourself into your supernatural thoughts another brain deserves to hear. you walk in the most dangerous labyrinth of the island under the orange street lights thrusting up from the earth and still hear the humming birds eating biscuits dipped in yellow honey — it was gentle waves and light brown eyes tingeing its soft edges hands touching in the cold weather kind of safe. you end the night together with too much alcohol and red cheeks with a numb swollen feet but it's still what you wanted.

you went everywhere and you love it. he's a fictional varmint, too beautiful to be real, but he is. like how the shadows shifts from his small eyes down to your shoulder blades. everything about him and you were like carved on tablets and trees with names written on love letters. you love him because he's real, his rawness engulfs your soul and you know it, he's made for you and you were made for him because you've seen him without using your eyes, how your limbs would fill in the gaps and how the sound waves of your laughs will echo in the chambers of your organs.

you love wine and pour them every single morning and it tasted better than water but he's still the same and everything gets better and better like how your night lamp dimmed in reverse and in the worst of the worsts — a series of perpetual warfare and a great pertinacity of agony kind of worst — you still cling to the moment the Founder of the universe and all the elements of fate, time and space brought you to that day you met. in each accession of the most unfortunate circumstance, there is something that you wanted which makes you want to feel another mili second of tomorrow and another and another.

What am I
To a million people
Whose names are numbers
Waiting to be counted?

What am I
Other than a mispronounced name
And a character of no value
Who often becomes forgotten?

What am I
Aside from being a drunken thought
Whose name you scream
And whose heart wrenches at your drunken sight?

What am I
When I become frustrated
At how much I love you
But can't find the right words to say?

What am I
To you
When all I've ever been used to being
Is nothing?

Long tiring days,
Destination home,
Idyllic waistline,
Perfect head,
Must be frosty,
Delicious barley,
Always, makes the week worth it.

Ain't no hope for this restless soul.

My work is the only piece I find whole.

The rest of me I am yet to see.

The rest of me needs to get away from me.

My bitter past is holding me back.

Future needs to be fixed, stacked on a rack.

Maybe next year I'll find a better replacement of you.

Or I can start this year,  while my beers are still cold and new.

I was stumbling in a field.
Firelight in my eyes,
Burning bright red
in the camera lens.
It wasn't a trick of the light,
the drugs or the beer;
it was a glance of love.
I was stumbling in a field.
Red-eyed and smitten,
Crossing minefields to you by choice.
Perhaps that is the only way
to walk the course of love.

I went to the fridge
to get my beer
but oh dear
I spilled my beer
all over me
Mu sweet Bud
your odor I reek
So kiss my cheek
Get drunk with me.