I’m a dead poet,
Buried six foot deep,
With vivid memories
That form a heap.

I’m a dead poet,
With words etched
In my heart, and
Fire formed art.

I’m a dead poet,
Covered in snow,
Rose petals and a
Withered glow.

we all come to avenues
ones so filled with thorn bushes
like a sea of future scars and pain
and we must traverse each one

no matter what is chosen, that will be the song

the melody that plays as a harp across the fragile chest of the fog

each crow a lone choir

trying to save your soul

every tree a pillar of sense, that you look with an apathetic gaze

these avenues are presented clearly, and yet they are hazy

like a gamble you didn’t make, you are left with the sins of an invisible fate

that has casted you with no fault of yourself, the walk of a lonely element

that will whiter away by the heavy rain, and the long winters

but forward is all you can go, so that is the way

it is a raw deal, a ****** kind of tragic play with no sort of brevity

just those avenues

I am poet dressed as a sheep

More like a wolf who's covered in sheets

**** with me wrong, and surely I'll eat

I'm here to destroy, I'm here to defeat

close my eyes
think of myself
being there

to where
screams
are free to roam,
then bounce back,
immune to tortured souls

allowed to spread
in       wa     e
                 v     s

for some reason,
Ararat comes to mind
right now
but to be honest,
Arayat would suffice

surrender...
surrender,
surrender

                   all these rocks

Can
I
disturb you?

Even just this once...

let me
let out
my

sanctioned screaming,
and release it to these mountains.

Umahon ang buwan mula sa kanyang pagtulog. - sabik na sabik sinagan ang sanlibo't isang nayong naghihintay sa kinang niya.
Madilim at malamig; makapal ang mga ulap sa langit. Higit ang pagnanais sa kanyang pagdampi.

At siya'y lumiwanag.
Kumislap.
Ang kinang ng sigurado sa alon-along pagtatanong-tanong.

Ang nag-iisang tiyak sa langit ng duda.

Buong gabi niyang niyakap ang mga pueblong hitik sa pangamba. Winalis ang takot na dala ng langit na obskura.
Buong gabi niyang tangan ang bawat pulgada ng bahala.

Hanggang sa bumangon ang araw mula sa kanyang paghimbing
- sagisag ng kanyang muling paggilid.

Sa gilid.

Sa gilid ang kanyang pedestal.

Ano ang laban sa kinang na hatid ng araw? Lunduyan ng liwanag, sastre ng pagtitiyak.

Sa gilid ang kanyang pedestal.

Pagkat alam ng buwan na iba ang kislap niyang hatid - kinang na kikinang, ngunit 'di maglililimlim.
Kinang na pupuno lamang sa langit ng dilim; sa gilid

ang kanyang pedestal.

Pagkat iba panghabambuhay na paghalik sa pandaliang pagtangan;
na iba ang gusto
sa kailangan.

Embrace me through the night
And let me feel you sigh
I want to feel your heartbeat close to mine
as it sky-rocketed through the sky

Hold me tight
Keep me warm
Even just through this night
I don’t care if this won’t last
as forever never do really last

Lie to me if you must
But don’t tell me this isn’t real
for tomorrow may be gone
and this moment is enough.

Lie to me if you must
but make me believe
even just this once
that your heart beats only for me
and this is nothing else but real.

Every artist has his own stroke, creates his own distinctive masterpiece. he realises, art is subjective and is incomparable. he knows every writer has his own collection of words that personify transcendence. There are uncanny strokes of paint brushes; drops of ink that transudate out on pieces of parchment;  he understands.
But then again when it comes down to him, the voice within his head that is clubbed along with introvert in him, the constant thought to remain an incognito and the feeling that throws him into a chasm of loneliness, makes him tally himself against the odds and deadpan.

I looked feverishly at the sky thinking how naked the night looked, and slowly glanced at myself.
I was covered in a blanket; wrapped up in the dark sky with a thousand shiny stars shimmering all around me.
The twilight chills seeped through me, causing my bones to clench themselves and hold on tight, and they made me realise:
If the night sky; a mere fragment of the universe loves to expand itself and love its cosmic-self, then I should be able to love my own body no matter how cumbersome it is.
I can conjure my body into a canvas and paint it. I can be my own chromatic artist.