Poor, thou, little girl who thought
Love would get to thee one day,
Bet thou never thought to expect
It would culminate in doom.

And I am the resurrection in thy tomb
And the life that speaks of mercy at close of day,
Muddy Waters carry thou so far away
From Polonius and Laertes,
Tears in bloom.

Denmark's Prince in shambles thine heart left,
Dissembling and conniving against kin,
In his heart only one ambition firm:
Take back his rightful throne and fair Gertrude.

Neither Shakespeare nor Victoria save thee could
From the evil of the quill, it's own mind set.
In the labyrinth of the parchment thine fate met
"To be or not to be?"
Aye, there's the rub.

Kini ang bulak nga hilig gayod mamakak
gakson ka sa tunok sa kainit niyang mga hagakhak

Kini ang dila nga tam-is mulabtik ug mga atik
duyog sa dagat na mga awit kong gipangtagik

Gidulaan ug gikutaw ang mga pulong ug silaba
duyog sa hangin ug uling sa kalayong gabaga

Bisayang pinulungan ang ugat sa katingalahan
mahimuyo sa dughan bisag mapalong man ang adlaw ug bulan.

What has become of me?
I've turned into such
a reprobate.
Watching ****, and
neglecting writing.
I think of Nin and
Henry Miller, turning
lust and clitoral
stimulation into
****** literature.
And here I am...
*** stains on my
laptop, and looking
sadly at the miniature
bust of Shakespeare on
my writing desk.
Even he looks disgusted.

I may have loved you too much,
but;
A part of me still loves you to this day

Your sweetness allures me so,
Like honeyed days we’d stare without shame
You were irresistible to my heart and I knew trouble cornered me

I’d shoo away the laughable thoughts,
Aiming to mail you a letter of love
To which you’d open it fresh with a scented kiss

Flower petals would descend from your heart
Your cheeks adopted a sunflower
The stars entertained you that night

You told me you always dreamed of late evenings
Informing me of the curtain of constellations
That you’d like to sleep soundly in

Of course I’d be willing to offer you anything in return of your smile
And the night we escaped, you gasped softly at the surprise
Your simple happiness was all one romantic would need

No matter where we dreamed,
Together we are one
Standing besides one another 

Fate draws near, echoing our future
Your bleakness eats me devastatingly
Tomorrow we are still...one being

But overseas, I send you my farewells
So that you are found in perfect health
And that we consume truly divine harmonies

Made only for the sweetened couples
Whose stories fade ever so forlornly in the past
I love you brightly as the sun

You illuminate my pathways
But one kiss erases my existence
Continue to please those around you;

Without me, the world withers

Please remember my love,
And be gentle with it
For it is delicate as the world

My eyes see a star
But yours fail to see within that darkness
The gloom that retreats before you arrive

I am part of that campaign
An honorable being among the troops
Yet your continuous ignorance saddens me so

See me now,
Find me wanderlust in this world
And somewhere, we can swiftly enrapture ourselves

Whether it be in the meadows of glistening rays
Or the places that calmly send the earth into slumber
Wherever we are destined, I’ll always be there for you

Even if tonight’s curtain unsheathes
And you are no longer the image of love,
But rather, a friend I could love with silliness on languid days and somber nights.

My days are gone, wondering,
I am alone,
terrain full of thoughts, lost,
I’m
dying of thirst in the
want of life.
Nothing more to weep for,
I’m dying

I.
Fireman, censor of literature and destroyer of knowledge, with his mighty flamethrower. He loves his work. He loves trouble and strife. He loves fascination with the people next door. Mostly, he loves his hammock. But sleep will be his final unrest.

II.
A gift for the darkness: reading from the forbidden kept hidden in the air-conditioning duct. The walls within turn on and off like Cora Pearl. His wife listens to far winds and whispers and soap-opera cries, sleep-walking, helped up and down curbs by a husband who might just as well not have been there. They walk on as an extinguished connection. In the flickering of his eyeballs, he dreams of driving recklessly to Dover Beach and drowning her.

III.
Burning bright. He is burning so brightly. In the factory of mirrors, he takes a hard look. He's a flammable book. And it's a pleasure to burn. "What are you doing?" She asks. "Putting one foot in front of another." He answers.

My thoughts come to me differently.
They find me in the form of riddles
And the form of prose.
Both of which I must pull apart
And study each piece separately
Before I can finally be sure of their meaning.
As if I am 16 again,
Sitting in my high school English class
Debating the meaning of a newly introduced piece of literature,
The only student in the room
Who truly cared
If the author colored the curtain blue
Due to an emotional turmoil he faced
Or simply because he fancied the color.
Because studying the work of literature greats
Who have long since passed from this world
Offers me the smallest sliver of hope
That I might be able decode my own turmoils
And be able to truly face them
Instead of running and hiding
When my mind once again becomes a whirlwind of unintelligible monstrosities
Made of my deeply hidden fears
And hopes that I can’t bear to look at in the light of day.

I tell the made-up stories of raconteurs
pouring their hearts out on empty paper

I help people learn, love, and laugh;
They dream with others as a source of
happiness, hope n' stuff

'your name' appears in books
that makes people cry

I am somehow a sanctuary of
people with dreams that remain fruitless
They use my name to fantasize about the times
they can never fully feel;

I, y/n.