howcanibetogether    but    alone     at        the         same          time?

Death comes at any time,
Maybe tomorrow or even tonight.
One day they're here then "****!" they're gone.
So say "I love you" before it's too late.

What is beauty
Is it that perfect skin
What is beauty
But that perfect body
What is beauty
But happiness
But I give it the *******
The fact about beauty is that
It causes a walking skeleton of
Our daughter
The fact about beauty is that
Boys pump themselves
With steroids
The suffering that beauty brings
I see
Soon, I will have it the
*******

I like to say,
I'm an esteemed poet,
A vibrant fan of literature.
I'm an avid writer,
I recite some too.
But the first time I heard "The Raven,"
Was on the Simpsons.

you call me
your princess
but i haven’t been
to your kingdom
in a while.

They fly in groups in the sky above,
Filling the air with God's love.
Flapping their wings with joy in their hearts,
That's how the sky reveals God's art.

Quicksand eats up who's in it
much like this bed
        that houses my body
                        solo
           a lot like depression
                it swallows too
                  just like ******
                      and heavy set couples
                      at the all you can eat buffets.
                       choke on the spit,
                           chicken legs
                             or that guy you met in the
                              bar last night
                               before last call.

I forgot what this poem was supposed to be about.
Started typing away trying to curb the want for a cigarette.
Smoke to feed the old man who lives in my lungs.
                  The bottle of whiskey whispers
                   at me
                   just like before but it's quieter
                  now
                   almost like a whistle
                    I think it's flirting with me
                   Maybe wants to crawl in
                    between my
                    sheets    
                    touch my lips
                    make these cheeks hot and red
                           I don't think it can compete with
                   him though......
                     I dunno
                      Maybe I'll let them all win
                          The quicksand
                             depression
                                cigarettes
                                  the ******
                                       ***
                                        bourbon
                                         that old man too

                                            ***** it

Some are my
angels
Halo'd and winged

Others my
demons
Horned and singed

These words I speak of,
these ill-fated feti,
doomed remnants on the yellowed page.
Lie lonely,
and shawled

      found in attics and cobwebbed mem'ries long gone
      in scrapbooks and photos of loved ones moved on

Wicked words can devour
the feeble and weak
as they bump into walls in the night.
Sightless,
and hushed

Yet there was once a vision
They once had a voice
And I am not God.
The weak make their own choice

I am no good with words
staring at the ceiling
Finding the right words to
Describe the poem
that i've imagined
one hundred times
in my mind
Coffee in the yellow mug
that is later unfilled,
filled again
to fuel my nerves
Polaroid from the past
Scattered by the train
like a leaves
Too fast, i cannot grasp
Crossed out letters
Crumpled papers
Under my bed
Pendulum tirelessly
spinning
I am a newborn
A baby
Clueless in the world
A tabula rasa
A baby
Clueless in the world
But you,
you are filled with associations
Attached with threads
in any objects
that I laid my eyes on
The tip of your needle
follows me
wherever I go
Pinned me scornfully
on the shallowness
of my bed
Untill I bleed sentences of
how your eyes disappear
when you laugh
or touch your earlobe
when there's a storm
brewing in your mind
The pen is getting smaller
cold coffee
my back aches
paper after paper
The poem in my mind
that i've imagined
one hundred times
In the library,
museum in Manila,
in the grass field where
you pluck the string
of your guitar
while I sat there
and drew
every
form
of your being
One hundred times
in my mind
Remain hidden In
the shadow
Veiled from your gaze
Because I walk on the book
While you thrive on the ground
Would you read me?
I am no good with words