John AD 50m

Nabuhay ka sa mundo,
Para sambahin ang iyong idolo
kumakandili sa iba,
nagkukumahog naman itaas ang sariling paa,
nabuslot , naapuhap ng kadiliman
balintataw nang kasalukuyan ,
paulit-ulit mong nasasaksihan.

Pananaw ay naliwanagan,
araw ba ang nagbigay o ang buwan?
o ang dilim nang mundong kinatatayuan
Sinunog mo ang simbahan ,
Upang alamin kung may kaparusahan
nanatili parin ako sa aking kinatatayuan.

Masimod ako sa kaalaman,agsikapin sa pagpaslang,
ng mga nilalang na peke at salawahan.
ang hiwa ng iyong tiyan , aming pinagsasaluhan,
patungo sa hiwa ay ang tunay mong katauhan!

Poetic poetry for the blind

A mighty roar
Shakes the Earth
Mother Nature
Has given birth

A new storm
Powerful and strong
Lightning like spears
Thunder like a gong

It ushers in an
Era of fear
The clouds keep coming
And the sun decided to dissapear

When you see the storm that you think will last forever, the storm that turns bright days into dark nights

screams,

and hundred dollar bills


a squeaking bed

Working behind closed doors,

pleasures known to a faceless man


she suffocates in her tears

"I am happy or sad?"

she wonders


It feels so wrong,

but so right

Is this where I belong?


within a rush of a fading high,

and the agony of a broken heart


my waning spirit,

it drifts in this endless cosmos

as I watch its infinite stars,

burning out,

one at time,


to when I become devoured,

into its black hole

with my tears to the skies

"I work at the inn"

I cannot look into her eyes
the soul of a mother long gone

I hate my face in the mirror
I dread the stranger within

My sunken brown eyes are faded
Like the falling sand,
the statue of my self is erased

Life is a joke,
and I'm the clown
I perform to an empty theater,
and laugh at my own shadow

The voices are in my head,
the puppets and the songs
the whisperers and the screams

When I lay in the dark,
alone,

sometimes,
I close my eyes,
to the howls of the demons inside

Mother,
I'm married to the night

Someday I had hoped,
that when I'm done with my acts,

Maybe,
In the heavens,
where you live
We would laugh forever,
Like we always did

Sometimes I look into the mirror and i am not proud of what I have done, what I am , knowing deep within, that I have made my mother proud. Maybe I never will...

These urges keep coursing through my mind.
The feelings it brought the sensation I felt.
It was my own personal drug that no one will take. 
My body tingles as the feeling of it comes running through my head and i can almost feel it .
But almost isn't enough.
I need it, I crave it, it was the one thing keeping me sane.
And it's been gone for so long it frightens me.
The thought  of never feeling it again.
So I whisper as I stand alone in my room my hands shaking in anticipation "Just one more time, one more time and I'll stop.
  No one has to know it'll be our little secret.

If I told you secrets
the deepest part of soul
I don't believe in sins
but I do believe, in holes

Everyone's abyss
where darkness, is domain
the things I've done, not done
in light, they would complain

Doors that never open
keys discarded, melted down
no way allowed, be rampant
coming once more, around

If I told you secrets
forevermore, you'd change
knowing every weakness
and thinking me
insane

This is about as dark and deep as I've gotten in awhile :|
Not really personal, but looking around, the world has way too damn many secrets.

Compressed chest,
Fully stressed.
Is it ending now?
I crumble in the corner,
Of my few days left.
Fire swirling in the dusk,
Hard to push on.
I fear I have no second chance,
No room left to breath.
My only light,
Dim in the foreboding night.
Feeling stretched till eternity,
Wanting to run.
Can’t leave,
Needing breathe for the last stretch.
Passing out into my abysmal lost wretch
Gone are the moments I can’t remember.
In this, my awful mess.

Eppie 21h

my thoughts are shaped like
atom bombs:
bearing faces of angry gods
tearing through the air above.

my thoughts are shaped like
revolver rounds:
their loud, resounding sounds
always make my heart pound.

my thoughts are shaped like
vile things:
describing them makes my eyes sting

so i won't anymore.

intrusive thoughts

On this sacred day,
they await a Savior:
a light for the shadows,
and warmth for the long nights.
Days and days they sit
in the very same holy spot,
praying for the change.
Winter slowly creeps in,
shaking the zealous to their core.
Faith, a fickle candle,
can't stand the gentle breeze.
The wick becomes chilled,
the flame extinguished,
and the weak begin to flee.
Those faithful to the Sun
scorn those who leave the holy site.
Even as the light dies
and the world grows cold,
here they sit patiently.
Unfortunately for them,
darkness still comes to those
loyal to the day.

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