My words; my words are my paintbrush.
My words; my words are my voice.  
My words are my expression, my thoughts, my way of life.
What I write are my words.
What you write are your words.
Like a painter what I write is a masterpiece. To me.
My words have meaning, my words have life.
My life, is my words.

Forged by Hephaestus himself, tempered in Satan's heart.

It moves too fast for the normal eye to see,

But leaves traces of moon glinted footsteps in the fissure of heaven's breath.

In the harmonic tune of clashing instruments, an orchestrated chaos is present.

The chord from the bowstring beats time on wooden shields.

To this, their blade waltz continues.

Their cadence unmatched by surrounding performers,

The maestros continue their viperous style.

Just as a painter cannot take away a stroke of the brush,

A swordsman cannot take away a stroke of the blade.

There is a vast depth within me,
strange and inexplicable
even to myself...
No words exist to explain
the truths that lie there.
Only pigment and brush
intuitively composed
on blank canvas
by hands none other than my own.

She is not just an empty canvas for you to fill up your filthy art
She is not just an empty canvas for you to flow out your dark desires in red seduction
She is not just an empty canvas for you to write out your ***** poetry in paint
She is not just an empty canvas for you to colour her in pink and purple that are made up of your lies
She is not just an empty canvas for you to throw out your anger in chili red and orange like fire

Hawak ko ang tintang bilang ang kulay
Pero di pa ganoon kabihasa,
Di gaya Mo.

Posibleng maiguhit ko ang langit
Pero paiba-iba ang istilo nito
Nagbabagong bihis ang ulap
Pagkat hinihihipan siya ng hangin.

Kukuha ako ng litrato
Para lamang makuha ang detalyadong anyo
At saka ko titingnang muli
Unang tingin, pangalawa, pangatlo
Ako'y nabibighani.

Maaaring magaya ko ang mukha
Pero pag ako'y titingala't sisilip
Hindi rin pala magtatagpo sa iginuhit.

Itatapon ko ang lahat
Maging mga mamahaling kagamitan
Pagkat hindi abot-langit
Itong istilong tila pangmakasarili
Hindi pasado sa panlasa ****
Panglangit din ang batayan.

Ako'y bilib Sayo
Pagkat sa pagsuyod ng panaho'y
Hindi Mo nauulit ang larawan ng langit
Panibago araw-araw,
Mula ulo hanggang paa nito.
Walang kupas, walang katulad
Gaya Mo, Eksperto sa Larangan ng Sining.

Ako'y mapaluluhod, sasayad sa lupa
Ihahain ang palad
Hanggang sa kalyo na ang mga ito
Pagkat ginagamit Mo na,
Gamit na gamit Mo.

Hindi Ka napapagod sa paghalo ng kulay
May lungkot at saya ang timpla
Pahiwatig mo'y ganyan ang buhay,
Pabagu-bago ang, Ikaw lang hindi.
At markado Mo ang araw,
Saulado Mo ang lahat,
Pagkat Ikaw ang Tagalikha
Oo, Ikaw, Ama.

Gusto kong magmana Sayo,
Sa guhit **** hindi ko makuha-kuha,
Sa istilo **** walang katulad,
Pagkat iba ang Iyong paningin,
Iba ang pag kumilos ang Iyong mga kamay,
Lahat kayang hulmahin, lahat kayang baguhin.
At ako'y isang hanging bula,
Maglalaho't liliparin ng bukas,
Bagkus ang bukas ay habambuhay Sayo,
Salamat sa matamis na kahapon, ngayon at bukas.

I saw your eyes that day
so focused, so pure, and so much passion
At that very moment
I thought I heard a heartbeat
beating... beating...
drawing closer to mine

and as you stroke that paint brush,
as you breath in a silent way
I can hear nothing but
the beat of your loving heart
beating... beating...
same time with mine

The wind blows my hair
and the yellowish street light
glaze upon your eyes
and I can't stop myself
looking at you, looking at
those sparkling brown eyes

Since then I always wanted
to see you, be near you
hear you, and to talk to you
wondering if you could be mine?
Then one day... you told me
a joke that I can't ever forget...



"kim, I have something to tell you..."



"I love you,... can you be mine?..."

Today I bought a square plate
it's not for me, but for an enemy
that I could do worse things to, if I was a less noble person
as the things they've done I will not speak.

The plate is porcelain and quite finely made
elegant and excellently finished for how not so pricey it was
hints of history seems to hide in it's shell--
as seams are weaved into
what has probably lived a long and unused existence
this handcrafted masterpiece.

Separately painted by some fancy artist
to whom I do not recognize the name of,
although it is said he may have done something wrought with his ear
or did this man's uncle make this plate, oh well, I am unsure.

It is these very details to why,
I am now in possession of this piece of the past
that will be priceless to those who know more craftsmanship,
at least more knowledgeable than the man who sold it to me.

From the gleaming in your eyes
I can tell this plate may even mean a great deal to you
is this true my good friend?
oh well, I guess I can give the plate to you
instead of the devil I spoke of before.

*As I handed my prize to them
it began to feel heavier than any ordinary plate should,
gravity granted the greatest reprise I've ever sought
as the demon's face whelmed with depression
and mine satisfaction--
for being such a convincing storyteller.

My mother said to me, 'If you are a soldier, you will become a general. If you are a monk, you will become the Pope.' Instead, I was a painter, and became Picasso.