vyxii 1h
the depth of my soul can only be expressed
           among the midst of burning
                                      hearts &
the maze of my thoughts can only be
         through              br  o  k e n,
                                              -d-i-p-p-e-d   hearts.
only when my mind is
                                                 bent &
                                          curled &
                                   swirled &
                                         l o s t
can my words begin to mean something.

only when my head is                  light &             hazy

& my perception compares to that of some
can my words be

but i am happy,
                                 for the most part.

& so my words fall
                                                                                      the                    pag-


& they mean nothing.
just some

of a newly
japheth 1h
mapapaisip ka na lang
kung tama bang bumitaw ka
sa isang taong di sayo susuko.

mapapaisip ka na lang
kung tama bang umalis ka
sa relasyong alam mong ikakasira mo.

mapapaisip ka na lang
kung tama bang nawala ka
sa mundong ibinigay niya sayo.

andaming minsan
na pumapasok sa utak mo

mapapaisip ka na lang
na tama yung ginawa mo
kasi kailangan mong unahin
sarili mo.
here’s another piece i made in “tagalog”

rough translation:


you’ll think about
if it was right for you to let go
of the person who would never give up on you.

you’ll think about
if it was right for you to leave
a relationship you know will destroy you.

you’ll think about
if it was right for you to disappear
from the world that he gave you.

there’s a lot of “sometimes”
that comes into my mind

you’ll think about
that what you did was right
because you need to out yourselft first.
Dathan 21h
I see such parallels

Darkness with introspection
Depression so far reaching
Pain seeping out
Disguised in artful phrasing

I see such parallels

Not for attention
For help and assistance
Knowing you'll read it
Knowing you'll see it

I see such parallels

To myself and others
The same repressed feelings
Universally broken
combining together
Writing for relief
Inadvertently helping each other

We are such parallels
I believe we write for a many of reasons. I write as an outlet for my pent up feelings. When I read other writings, they answer my questions and gift me with blessings.
Love is more Alien
Than the undiscovered Depths of the ocean.
It’s more Foreign than the unexplored regions of the Universe.
And another thing...
Love is 10x more Painful than a knife in the Back.
How do you guys feel about love...?
still I find to feel
my arms swing
my hands clamber over
as my fingertips hastily wrap round the letters of his name.
which ink refuses to write

until it forgets his face, though sees how my eyes shot rays
of iridescent blue
and feels how my stomach would indulge to engulf my heart
until it was shredded and pure.
erased and framed back into its place when it gave up.

those letters bleed through the paper and I toss it into fire
they age and crumble
ashes settle but blow.

and I find them on my palms,
which reminds me...
12 july
1:09 okay
when will death bestow upon me
for death is not an action,
more an emotion
when there is no meaning of life
Or no emotions to spark through your body
Death is not love,
nor hatred,
for death is empty
It does not feel
but somehow it breathes.
Death is surviving,
but never living.
Death numbs your body
and takes away the sensation of feeling
It controls your thoughts,
and your actions.
death cuts into you,
without pain.
For death is not an action,
more an emotion.
Kylie 1d
I can't obtain  with any corner of my mind why I feel cynically ingrained in a black hole, in a blazing bright room full of glee, spirit and bliss, but I see grey.
grey like the shallow pavement,
grey like the sluggish clouds waiting to rain on below,
grey like a sun withered elephant skin,
grey like a fallen moon.
The pencils pointy and fine lead matches my jaded soul, grasping for light under the shadow of the darkened sun, waiting for the lights to turn out.
I can think of it now—
Without the quick pain
That hits below the heart
Like a punch to that place
That hollows out the ribs
For the glands to nestle.
Cautiously I let
The memory slip in
And I brace my body
For the rush of heat
And hormone
That we commonly call hurt.
And when the gland stays quiet
And the heart’s beat stays even
I relax
And know
I’ve weathered that one—
lucy 2d
My anxiety rocks me in its arms
And suddenly I'm a child again
My head buried in its chest
So I don't have to face the world

It sings me twisted lullabies
Breathes out carbon monoxide fumes scented sickly sweet
Closing my eyes gently and watching me fade away

It pulls me close
And gives me the illusion of security
It holds me tight and tells me I'm better off alone
Because I'm not worth the affection of anyone else

Its voice resonates like wind chimes in an evening breeze
It won't let me get hurt
It won't let me leave
It keeps me here, a china doll
Fragile and hollow inside
A shell of the person I once was
A painted on smile

I stop trying to leave
I always end up back here when I do
I think I secretly like it
Watching my life spiral out of control
In the safety of anxiety’s arms
A seething rage engulfs me.

Anger, hate and spite consume me.

I shake in fury,

And tremble wildly.

No fairness will grace me.

No justice awaits me.

I stand alone, with goodness in my hand.

Outstretched it went unnoticed.

Withdrawn it spawned distaste.

To what end is such disdain?

For ages I lived among you.

Forlorn I have become.

An outsider here, a stranger there.

No closure or forgiveness.

No understanding or recognition.

No embrace. No trust.

Alone I stand, with goodness in my heart.

Presented it gained no favor.

Unused it gathered insult.

Diluted it lost its potency.

With dosage, it sparked no memory.









My kindness withered.

My anger blossomed.

My rage unquenchable.

Revenge became my passion.

Obsessed I have become.

For you I come.

For you I long.

For you I live.

For you I cry.

For you I wish.

For you I strive.

No story of light and dark.

No moral shall you find.

Your morals I despise.

Hypocrisy and lies.

No parable of good or bad.

No closure shall there be.

No victory.

No happiness.

No end.

For you I sing.

To darkness is this ode.

To emptiness within.

Your soulless greetings I abhor.

Your little talk with little meaning.

Your smiles of deception.

Your stories of right and wrong.

Your tales of superhero might,

Your voracious fantasy and magic,

And love for happy endings,

that always come,

In song or lesson,

From those who will never be,

Of that which never was.

How tiring it all becomes,

With time a bitter taste it leaves.

A visual infatuation,

A moral aberration,

It delights the eyes,

It strokes the mind,

It fucks you good,

And leaves you blind.

Stand down you wretched creatures!

Leave me be of your infection!

Your friendship I need not.

Your judgment I do not seek.

Your opinion matters none.

But, with it you deal the final blow.

For those who see the truth,

The truth for what it is.

A whisper in the ear,

A specter of the mind.

A change in every moment.

To you the box is empty.

It holds no secrets.

Within there is no peace.

Within there is no answer.

Outside there is no end.

To those within the box,

My burning rage you will not like.

My anger you will loathe.

My passion you will find mad.

To you I answer not!

Read these lines.

Read them well.

Spit and shout.

Yell and swear.

Fingers flaring.

Wild eyes staring.

Look at you!

Afraid are you?

My words are being read?

No, my words have fallen.

No care will they invoke.

No reasoning they beckon.

No thought do they invite.

No notice will they garner.

A childish tantrum label it?

A mental instability perhaps?

A weak character? Why not?

No confidence or luck?

Albeit a thoughtless rant?

A careless act of no one's pen?

No signature that carries weight?

What of it, you savage scribbler?

Of no significance you will be.

Of this we will make certain.

Too much words for such a tale.

Provoke the imagination? I think not.

Not simple are your words enough.

A tale too heavy for our thought.

Not worthy of our time.

Not worthy of attention.

Time shall devour.

Time shall ruin.

Time shall forget.

Publish it? Worry not!

Your words shall not be heard.

Your words mean nothing in our world.





No one shall know,

No one shall heed,

No one shall hail,

A worthless loner with a grudge,

A keen observer without their wit,

Thankful they are not,

For that which not was given,

We spurn thee from our land,

And rights thee never had.

We cannot bear your senseless ramble,

Condone your actions we cannot.

Isolate them.

Deprive them.

Punish them.

Crush them.

With countless rules,

With boundless laws,

With limitless procedure,

With deadly etiquette.

No chance you have,

To break our will!

Emblazoned you will be.

In words that will not end.

Forever I will leave you,

To rot in history,

To drown in agony,

To disappear without a trace,

In minds of those who dare to dream.

Your throat I slit in fiction.

Your limbs I tear without remorse,

Your body I hang in gallows slow,

Your throes for all to see.

Your ashes I throw into the wind.



Once more your death is certain.

My hands clean.

Accept your punishment!

Face your fears.

Embrace your end.

I will not stop until I have you.

Too long I waited.

Too long I suffered.

Too long my silence I have kept.

No more shall you ignore me.

No more will laughter mock me.

This fury will consume me,

To this I have no doubt.

With this I have no qualm.

I write for those who dare to dream.

I write for those who lost their way,

I write for those to shy to speak,

I write these words for all to hear.

Their goodness a beacon of lost hope.

Know my rage.

Feel my fury.

Experience my pain.

I shall destroy you,

Calmly like the breeze,

A sharpened blade shall cleave the head,

And poisonous blood,

shall spill for all to see,

With no regret.
Virapo Vol. I is a collection of 20 poems that touch upon themes of love, loss, rage, depression, and social inequality. This book is a short read, but not a light one. Drawing upon the author's life experiences and observations of society, Virapo is drenched with raw emotion and a dose of fiery passion. Virapo is a bitter cry out for truth, honesty, fairness and justice.

What does "virapo" mean exactly? It is a combination of the Ukrainian word for "belief", which transliterated is "vira", and the first two letters of "poem".  In a way,  the Virapo volumes are a series of "belief poems", but what this phrase means or implicates is left entirely up to the reader.

Available on Amazon - https://www.amazon.com/Virapo-Vol-I-Ivan-Samokish-ebook/dp/B0764HX677
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