The cold seeps through the beggar's hands,
Clinging for warmth, slowly fading.
The sun is far from him right now,
He cannot chase it.

His sun shined away from him;
For he is no use,
For he is not special,
For he is but a dog.

Obligated to stay and be abandoned;
Abruptly and forced to wait,
With no warmth and sunlight.

The man can be replaced but not the sun.

I wouldn't simply flick the brush
in regards of painting you;
You're more than that to me.

I'd stare up high looking at the real ones
and use them as reference,
to at least be able to paint you in the same league...

You've captivated me
unlike any other nebula I've seen.
To the point, that urging myself to look away
and move on comes to the scene—

Because my mum told me
to never look at the sun directly.
Funny, how I never listen
knowing I got blinded by you.

However,
I also think of you as the moon.
Cold and very far away,
Unable to reach you.
I'm no astronaut,
But if I could—I would.

You've got me wishing for you,
Like lovers longing for each other.
But you are a star,
and I am but a man.

I'm nowhere near
the level of other women,
I'm mediocre at best.

But, I would have painted you better
than any other woman could.

Half full yet...
I keep
dripping,
spilling,
crying,
breathing.

Everything creeps up,
and I empty myself.

I empty... myself?
They empty me.

Thoughts past zero degrees,
ice-cold breaths give me a mouthful of red.

empty cup, empty head,
an efficient way
to keep myself there.

Fret not for being the submerged stone below.
You may hit rock bottom, and there may be nowhere else to go.
The surrounding water will harbor you from the noise.

All that matters is that you do not decide that you are bound to be there forever.

Echoes of that lying indulgence
for the ideal world left out in the open;
calls to you.

And due to the loneliest somber room
you've kept yourself as a prisoner,
all you do is try and grip the walls

Forever looking into the lens
with a filter of that serene land in your head,
a dream that you continue...
to live through.

I criticize myself
under a microscope
devoid of all hope,
as I continue to display
the raging ocean
on a dusty shelf,
left all but forgotten.

******* by the century-old life
which I created, that was never there.
I breathe in the depravity and loss.
And of you—the one that I lost.

I continue to fall under
the trance of repetition;
in addition to the grief
that crowds my vision

I have discarded
the golden arrow,
pointing to the right path,
walking 'round in circles,
how does each breath cost?

I am afraid that
I have grown to love the war,
the fear, the woe, and the anxiety of something
that looks so close but is far.

Now, every stroke of the painting
of the memories that I create,
engraved in the mind of the lonesome author
who does nothing—but over-analyze it.

.
sugar, sweet, tooth-rotting ache
you're my sugarboo, you leave such a lovely taste---
an obsession that I will not take.

i breathe out the air of dread inside of me,
and fill it up with kerosene,
oh hear me,
tis but tired me

light me up
til i cannot breathe.

I cannot see the beauty in me,
for I've tainted myself with lies and impurity
Hid in a house made
with concrete irresponsibility,
and now they hold no trust in me.

I painted the exterior as if the one who did it wasn't me,
and had the inside done with walls I can't even reach.

gone is the real me,
I locked the door and threw away the key.

a toned color of red smeared on my body,
only wishing to tear each part of me to see what's wrong and how empty I came to be.

These tears shan't fall,
my feelings are better as a rock

Try as I might,
when I break these moss-covered walls,
it'll just spew out a fruit salad of words,
along with the wretched dam,
that I've tried so hard to seal off.

So, being numb might be the best for me,
because I cannot pour these feelings out
without being mixed.

every day is a synopsis
of a never-ending restlessness
that never gets anything done.

I yearn for things
that I desire,
and to these thoughts
at the end of the night,
it forever keeps me up
beneath the clouded
and desolate sky

I can't help but,
to grasp
the glimmering
dewdrops of the sky

in the end,
we're all alone tonight

if you borrow the eyes
of those who envy,
you'll be surprised to see how much beauty
they can see— in every little thing.

.
.
.
melodies, delicacies & poetry
I indulge myself in these,
for I am drunk on emptiness
never to break free.


The life I am living as, is it--

.
.
.
I love you's,
I love you
Let me tell you something new,
I've been saying this to everyone
So that they'd do the same too.

Yet, despite doing nothing,
just being a chirpy little creature
They wanted to say, "I love you."
Which makes me doubtful;
uncertain if it's true.

Summer at your home;
thy embrace, warm.

Mondays of June,
those coffees with you
felt like love so true


-
....must we?

I like to please the likes of them,
though I am just a failure of a flower in a vast meadow
sticking out like a sore thumb;

I cannot do so,
to my displeasure.

I've dreamt of floating near the coral reef,
with fishes swarming around me
Although concerns swallow it,
I'm afraid to dive deeper.

Jenga with words seems easy yet,
every brick I grasp for,
tumbles right back at me

I've sung my heart out,
and now it's empty.

.
.
what I feel is,
confusing, fragile,
and rapidly changing

I am no Shakespeare;
not good in words but,
just a person who chained themselves
and lost the key

I write to feel, to procrastinate,
and maybe to blow off steam;
Hoping that each work bleeds
the feelings I want you to feel

being a crybaby is hard,
when you can't cry;
being emotional is frustrating,
when everything is too much

you bleed inside,
when you want to
act on those feelings,
[Not everything; can be expressed freely.]
That feeling is clawing
from the very depths of your being

They want to be free, do they not?
Despite that, they'll call you crazy
for feeling such things

Better to be rational
yet, they'll call you heartless.
maybe, something balanced would do

overwhelming feelings is a crime,
I guess dad told me why.

Society and its reality is relentless
a few several mistakes and
everything is in flames,
before you know it

we've been over this
and I know that you're
tired of it

I can't change so fast,
my pace is **** slow
I don't deserve you,
I'm sorry, I know that
I'm disappointing

I wanted to help you,
but I still feel like a burden

you deserve someone better,
and maybe someone like her

I'm trying to change,
but I'm too hesitant to speak

was it always like this?

.
.
what I feel is,
confusing, fragile,
and rapidly changing

I am no Shakespeare;
not good in words but,
just a person who chained themselves
and lost the key

I write to feel, to procrastinate,
and maybe to blow off steam;
Hoping that each work bleeds
the feelings I want you to feel

being a crybaby is hard,
when you can't cry;
being emotional is frustrating,
when everything is too much

you bleed inside,
when you want to
act on those feelings,
[Not everything; can be expressed freely.]
That feeling is clawing
from the very depths of your being

They want to be free, do they not?
Despite that, they'll call you crazy
for feeling such things

Better to be rational
yet, they'll call you heartless
maybe something balanced would do

overwhelming feelings is a crime,
I guess dad told me why.

Society and its reality is relentless
a few several mistakes and
everything is in flames,
before you know it

everything has its perfect ratio,
a little bit of this, a little bit of that;

I should've maintained the status quo,
instead of putting concentrated things,
and giving a lot more.

-Br.

.
.
Oh, why must this be!
In this pretend society,
it proceeds to drown me in
insecurities, frustration, envy.

We are our very own droplets of the universe,
each person with uncharted galaxies
that not all people can descry

Most of us are prone to ire,
a single remark
can spark a fire

Fearing to be seen as imperfect,
we change the pure essence
of ourselves,
that very
moment

Do I even know me?

I started to think
if there was even a calm
before the storm,
our minds frantic,
and
I'm concerned
.
.
Life is a dance, never-ending!
A game of musical chairs,
with a sole chair for all of we

Unaware about the
hundreds of seats
surrounding it;

All this negativity
just because of a flaw
within
me
.
.
.
you,
and
everybody.

This heart filled with fury
that I feel ever so empty;
My mind was blurry,
while my fists are moving.

I need a breather,
for I have set a timer,
in each fraction of my life

I've never tried running a marathon but,
I have always felt that I'm running out of time.

.
.
.
I wish for things
that I desire,
and to these thoughts
at the end of the night,
you always keep me up
underneath the moon-lit sky

No wonder, I held in that insignificant sigh,
Perhaps to start that eternal high.

the time that you told me to die
was painful that I didn't even try
slapping you

I don't know if you lied
but all I knew was it was possible
that you wished I did

I tried to make it up to you;
avoiding hurting you
with the fist,
and temper of mine

I just wished you noticed that I tried;

Yes, I've grown distant,
trying to find one's self;
I was occupied, sad, and alone.

Too busy to find friends,
that won't discard me when I needed someone

I guess that I pushed you away
so that you won't be like me.
An envious, gullible fool
but
as I did,
the more you become
a little more
like me.

We're the opposite of each other
but undeniably similar.

everybody
is after love
these days,
they want
to receive
loving words
each day
.
even I
want to be loved
but
.
.
.
I don't want
a partner

I get these silly hiccups,
and it bothers me
but I'm far too sluggish,
so I let them be

i base my worth on likes and simple words
i know that this kind of thinking doesn't work
and that will never do.

.
.
the silence of the midnight sea,
was like the echo of society,
is this what was it supposed to be?
.
a grey cloud overshadows me,
I am withering.

too lonely,
too alone,

here I copy,
you're already gone.

I've grown so much,
yet I feel small.

even if I tried,
would they notice me
at all?

There are times where I desperately want to improve,
but forget to look back to see what I've accomplished.

if i
could be
everything i
wanted to
be,

surely I'd
be happy.

Long gone were the times where
we serenade with such love and promise,
the time where you prove everything to show it
in hopes of them reciprocating your calling

Now was when we give gifts, and chocolates,
along with a sea of flowery compliments
A simple "I love you." would do it,

While some prefer that comforting silence,
quiet but genuinely loving.

Please, tell me...
Tell me if you love me,
I still don't know what you think of me
My heart serenades for your love endlessly,
I won't bat an eye if all went down tragically

With my life of screaming melancholy,
tell me that you loved me.

We dance in a stage,

where our lives,
identities, desires, and sin
eats us
.
.
.
.
like the plague.

We never stopped dealing with this procrastination,
but what is this fleeting elation?

The clock is moving in such motion,
one would think that it's your imagination;
Was it all an exaggeration?