What is me? Is it me who speaks or a societal version of me? What is me? What constitutes me? What is behind this skin of pathetic falseness? Is there a possibility of finding oneness? Why does this heart thump in vain? Is there nothing left other than pain? What is this pain? Is it really mine?
Is there a monster lurking inside that's directing this parody? Or was there a monster all along acting in this tragedy? Do I ever speak my mind? Or soul? Or anything that is remotely me? What is me?
Is it all about a stage play of emptiness? Who is the playwright? What will the playwright get from inducing so much pain in the story? Where is the drama, the movement, the charm, the symphony? Who's watching this play? Why is the audience dead? Will no one buy tickets to see this dread?
Our relationship is built with role-plays and fore-plays, You ask me to be someone I find hard to portray, Sadly, I still do it for I want you to stay, But I am not just some actress leading in your stage play.
ang dami **** gusto lahat na lang pinapangarap. sana nga ay sapat ang panahon o 'di kaya'y sobra-sobra pa. mataas abutin pinipilit pa rin kung mababa naman, walang kagana-gana. nasa'n kaya 'yong tamang-tama? hindi na makuntento kahit kailan laging nag-aasam ng bago lalo na 'yong naiiba para bang moda na papalit-palit. hanggang saan kaya ang lakas na makakaya? upang itong mundo'y hubugin sa gusto at ayaw ng iyong sarili? masaklap kung minsan ang buhay na ito kaya kailangan ang tibay ng loob. umasa sa liwanag na dala ng pag-asa, konting tiis lang, umaga na naman.
I’m going sideways break like a wave listing scribble on the depth of your page. Our love is a stage 1,000 words 1,000 days 1,000 monkeys 1,000 typewriters writing our play we'll recite ‘till the day you split and quit and leave me here to break. I’m listing sideways drifting sideways. Turn off the lights. Lock up for the night. Leave me here. I’ll be missing you just drifting sideways.
He couldn’t take his eyes off of his living room’s mirror. His own reflection was staring back at him.
Mesmerized by his self’s own image-re-presentation as he was. Wanting to see himself through an-other’s perspective. Desiring to be seen as somebody else. He went on to become one with the famous imago.
In an endless arms race, an endless metonymy, drifting as it is called, He tried to achieve the unachievable. He tried to attempt the impossible. He wanted to do the non-doable.
Always, from a young age, feeling inadequate and insecure. Because he deemed himself incapable of stretching his own existence, To make it fit with the family’s ideals.
So he spent the rest of his life trying to be recognized as something. As something which he wasn’t at all? Yes. (How tragic. How sad.) That left him with nothing but rage, hopelessness and despair. A bipolar marionette of somebody Else’s deadly painful pleasure.
Powerless as he was, he went on living while construing ******* solutions. So that he could just "get by". A coward hiding behind somebody Else’s wants. And then one day having said to everybody, everything that made him upset, he left this place. He never came back.