Sometimes dorms stink of stories,
Of drunken romps and late night melodies
Of no-good ramen smashed down sinks
Broken hearts and centipedes

Sometimes late at night,
(Tonight)
Showers reset arteries,
'Til we smell of peppermint
And scrub out grime and memories.

He became a reason of many.
A reason to laugh,
A reason to love,
A reason to be.
With every doubt I ever had,
It was like a cold wash of rain,
Wiping away any negativity that creeped upon me.
There was a wholeness about him,
The calm in the word safety,
A steadiness in the way he talks,
It became an overspill of excitement,
Much like the tide on a sunny day.
He reminded me of cold drives with all of the windows down,
The sound of an acoustic guitar when being plucked,
Drunken laughs and soft whispers of delicate words shared between breathless kisses,
Quiet hums in the still of an empty house.
He became my reason,
He became my home.

kung ganito nga talaga
kasaya ang malunod
.
wag niyo na akong sagipin pa

It's always here,
In the loud, long nothings.
Always in the cramped quarters
With my legs woven,
All stiff and wound up like some morose marionette.
I guess that's where the words grow.

I like to imagine cars are horses
Running free, wind spirits of the open plains
Not machines.
I like to imagine I'm some great poet,
Inky pleasures flowing from mind to parchment.
Not just me.

I'm always imagining.
Especially here.
Imagining myself,
Imagining people notice me.
I don't much care how.
I imagine because it's harmless
And mine alone to taste and to have.
And I don't wish my imaginings were real.
For I cannot own experiences,
Only fantasies.

It's always here that I find myself tangled tight,
Sewn and enshrouded in words and thoughts and imaginings.
Maybe it's the dark or the late or the loud or the long
Or the routine
Or the nothing,
But it's always here that I find myself somewhere else.
Always here that I tie it all together, somehow.

tw: self harm


It’s 3 am
I could sleep
I really should just sleep
But if I wanted to...
If I wanted to take out the knife...
I could
And honestly
I’m just waiting
For some part of me to give way
So either I am forced to sleep
Or allowed to cut

sometimes
                late at night

i remember how it felt

to
    be
     locked
             in your
                    embrace

and then i feel

a little bit better

Do you think it's too late for me?
I mean, am I doomed to be
The person that I am?
It's not too late for me
Is it?

I need you to tell me
That it's not too late
I need you to tell me
That I'm a good person

I know I can be selfish
And narcissistic
And self destructive but
Deep down, underneath all of that
I'm a good person

And I just need you to tell me
That I'm good

like the heads coming out of the cinema screens at night, tired.
a trail of tiredness accompanied with them  
like smoke ends following their coats.