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Jun 2018 · 405
tinted glass, hazy eyes
alex Jun 2018
you only pray on two ams /
under neon lights of bars' storefronts /
the world tastes like gargled salt water, if you close your eyes hard enough it smells like cotton candy /
but you don't have to try to see imaginary strangers holding up peace signs, a ******* /
fireflies in your vision /
snowflakes in the spring, falling leaves in a summer night, cherry blossoms of the dead winter /
a broken dam /
streams of words wild /
before you can get your address out of your lips /
blackout.
Jun 2018 · 831
kxsses.
alex Jun 2018
you taste like the fizzy sodas,
watermelons in summer,
the afternoons i spend daydreaming,
clear skies inside milk cartoons.
we meet in between the lines,
touch sparks like fireworks
and heat melting off our walls,
we're two lines crisscrossed
into several points,
constellations and corners.
first kisses,
shy touches,
getting to know.
you taste like the strawberry lip balm
you put on before dinner,
bucketfuls of cotton candy,
midnights that sound like gentle waves,
middays that promise fondness.
let me catch your bottom tier
between both of mine,
catch your hand under the table,
catch you when you fall.
i am no traveller or adventurer,
but i'd be eager to map out
your every nooks and crannies.
fill in your edges as you caress my curves,
finish where you start and
end when you begin,
meet you every time i dream
of the cloudless nights and the stars
above your rooftop, inside your eyes.
i am not big on promises
but set again another date,
let's do this again
and i won't be late.
Feb 2018 · 501
8089WHISPERS
alex Feb 2018
the e m p r e s s ordered
the commencement of building a house
out of hearts
a member of the roundtable
mere a f o o l
damnations
& agreements
blasphemy is law, fingers sew
whatever
ears hear
mouths out
the k n i g h t is at most a j a c k
ripping off ****** organs, blood-pumpers
the snow-clad land is tainted in crimson
hands are dripping scarlet
just a matter of tarots
nailed onto the town hall's board
and j o k e r s are us
this comedy show
logic rusting in the mind's attic
lambs and inanimate s h e p e r d s
for we are blind
for we believe
Jan 2018 · 467
wreckage
alex Jan 2018
lights on the ceiling
d

     r
       o
          p
             ping.
there is an earthquake
inside this house,
it wrecks      THE
            W A L L S
but reassembles
the destroyed mirror
we bought last week.
the cage is gold
steel cold hidden
painted with ichor,
your god and the
sacrifice
gone
abhor.
Oct 2017 · 385
sincerity&mystery
alex Oct 2017
if there
has to be named,
one thing i like is
sincerity.
the way the ocean
is unabashed
in loving the land,
waves kissing shores fierce;
the way the sky
cries and shouts
in his misery;
the honest way
facts stay true:
water flows always down,
freezes always ice,
dies always unseen.
if there is anything
whose taste i adore,
it's sincerity as
my stone heart offers
no empathy, as
news break hearts
and not all souls weeped.
if there
has to be named,
one thing i like is mystery.
it is in the way fire licks
and flickers and burns and
playing is a bet
of safety and danger,
how the weather roars
or settles calm as dead;
unpredictable.
it is how my lips
are pressed tight
against each other
and my heart a windowless,
doorless house.
mystery in the way we smile
behind frowns or cry
behind laughter.
if there's anything
whose taste i adore,
it's the mystery
i subjected on you:
is this heart cruel
or kind?
Oct 2017 · 354
anchor
alex Oct 2017
believe it or not:
sometimes i
see the way
your eyes don't crinkle
when you smile,
sometimes i see
how your laugh
tastes like formality,
and when your
mind is a flood,
or life is unkind to you,
i see how your lips
are shut tight.
and you enclose your
arms around yourself,
drawing steps back,
and further
and further
where my hands can't
reach.
i wish you would just
teach me the way
you take your tea,
or what kind of
blankets you like,
or how to
sing for you.
but whoever becomes
your anchor
amidst the wild storms,
my heart is
at peace
as long as
i know
you're fine.
Nov 2016 · 662
live in your head
alex Nov 2016
there's a sky
inside your head;
starless, cloudless.
stretched lands
inside your mind
that are a little
too large
for the one small you.
you're no god
despite how
people tell you
you're invicible.
you are just a man;
and men die
out of isolation.
you can't speak
out loud, because
nobody's there
to hear your sounds.
so you live
under your own sky
on your own land
that feels a little
too large
for the one small you.
inspired by a character i made.
Oct 2016 · 646
alone.
alex Oct 2016
the sky was below
your dangling feet.
offsides to a building
you stay seated.
boxes and more boxes;
geometrical shapes
in your field of vision.
hard straight lines,
unforgiving.
alone alone alone alone
alone alone alone alone.
if you look up,
maybe you can find the sea.
a twisted reality—
but who are you
to deny seeing.
because stuck in the
darkness of a blind
terrifies you more than
a box full of other boxes.
unforgiving.
been a long time
May 2016 · 1.0k
the wallflower.
alex May 2016
something grows
beautifully
on the wall
at the back
of the class.
plenty colorful,
a little cheerful,
a seed the
world pays
no attention to,
yet it keeps
its smile.
because
of the
awareness
that seeds
grow into
bigger
beautiful things.
May 2016 · 294
Untitled
alex May 2016
purple clouds
like cotton candies
taste oddly heavy
similar to a kind
of disappointment
my mom once
spoke about.
three fingers in
deep between
pale lips
such contrast
that would have
been ironic
in its own epitome.
but now its
a little funny
tongue heavily
dipped in
confusion and anger
both at once
like chocolate sauce
slick and thick
and lips parted
almost screaming
in either pain
or pleasure
or pride.
Apr 2016 · 833
farewells
alex Apr 2016
i shut my eyes and:
if you came
back, sorry
between your lips;
leftover fingerprints
of pride's embrace
all around you.
but you left pride
a while ago,
nonetheless.
and maybe
that would be enough
for me, for us.
because i have been
waiting for you
to come home.
and it's the whispers
of my heart
to the shooting stars;
and for the residue
of what we gripped
inside our palms
to never turn into
'what should have been's,
and instead into
'what will be,'
'what waits,'
smiles of the near and distant
future.

and i closed my eyes:
maybe this one time
i wouldn't make it right
because we would make it past.
i thought.

i thought.

that would be enough;
but reality was
late to the meeting.
and when i handed
my heart to you
eons ago,
you didn't place
your faith into
my arms.
reality was
late to the meeting.
because when i waited
for you to come home,
you did not.
for you liked the past
more than the present;
and that's where home
locates to you.
for the shooting stars
was deaf to my cries.
and the residue of what we had
had already turned into
'should have been's and
'will never be's.

there will still be smiles
in the near and distant
future;
but it will not be my smile
next to yours,
nor my smile carved by you.
when i titled this i thought of how butterfly is farfalla in italian idk thats so random but idk but anyways i totally dont regret breaking up with someone who doesnt appreciate me enough, although well, it was nice while it lasted.
Apr 2016 · 348
smile less.
alex Apr 2016
it's sunny outside
and i can hear voices of
children laughing with
no care of the world
and i wonder why
can't i bring myself
to do the same
to you

all these saturated colors
surrounding my room
yet a frown stays rested
on my lips
because yours aren't here
to kiss it away anymore
and maybe today i'm a little
under the weather

i keep my phone
three distances away
for fear i'll see
the curve of your smile
but carved by someone
else

i'm sure i have gotten
over you
there are no bitter
feelings nor regrets
i just wish you wouldn't
smile that much
alex Apr 2016
we hold it in our hands, inside our chests,
in our eyes, inside our souls.
then it eats away us slowly.
decaying. rotting. dying.
that's why we swing from vine to vine,
just to get a hold of something.
just to feel something between our grips.
just to make it less empty,
make us more alive.
Apr 2016 · 342
where in this world.
alex Apr 2016
where is the truth in this world;
full of people and the masks over their faces?
nowhere.
nowhere because everything is untrue, a façade.
where is the lie in this world;
little, messy and all inches ours?
nowhere.
nowhere because we all know it is called messy for a reason.
there is no pure black,
nor pure white,
nor pure grey.
everything is a mix of black
and white
and every shades of grey in between—
all woven into one intricate painting.
a pastiche:
it's hideous
yet aesthetic.
there is nothing not beautiful
yet nothing not ugly.
this is our world, our universe, our society.
this is where we live.
this is what we are.
a truth. a lie.
a black. a white. a grey.
a mess.

a mess.
Mar 2016 · 510
daily magic.
alex Mar 2016
there's a fairy in the dairy
you like to consume,
another one for the daisies
next to the museum,
and there's one that daily
delivery of *****.
there's an elf
under your bookshelf.
another one for mr. delph
who lives near the continental shelf.
a mermaid in your bathtub,
two in the toilet in the pub.
stories are dipped into pixie dust,
takes you to days of future and past.
i'm not sure if i'm entirely satisfied with it. although it turns out better than i thought it would be.
Mar 2016 · 553
the hard way we grow.
alex Mar 2016
open the bottle's cap; swallow one, two,
the daily dose of pain we take
grows inside us like a fruitful tree.
rooted in the heart, branching
to the lungs and to the hands, the kidneys.
this is the way we grow;
this is the way we learn.
the hard way.
three word prompts. i feel rusty.
Mar 2016 · 386
Untitled
alex Mar 2016
from your pen
bleeds thousands
and thousands
of tragedies
the cries of people
in a surrender
against your hands
the screams of
devastation
incredibly rotten
plans to burn
the world
from your mouth
came whispers
that start
tornadoes and
earthquakes
heartbreaks
funerals
they all flow
and there is no
comma
nor fullstops

epilogue:
*one day, i heard you laughing and saying that funerals are the real fun.
inspired by the same character.
Mar 2016 · 927
façade.
alex Mar 2016
you stand in
the grey;
because absolute
black or white
lacks
the beauty of
balance
that you love
so much.
stand in the middle of
the scales in
iustitia's hands;
that's what you
say when
someone asks
who are you with.
but in reality,
flip the coin over,
open the blindfolds,
rid of the façade.
and everyone
will find that you
are indeed the
most hideous.
the puppeteer
and the raisonneur;
everyone was fire
and chaos was the smoke.
but you, you
were the lighter.
inspired by a character.
Mar 2016 · 419
to miss.
alex Mar 2016
it's not suffocating. it never is.
air flows in so easily, very much so
that my chest is full and fuller and
suddenly about to burst.

i scramble for the saddest tragedies,
hunt for angst painted on pages.
all just to cry for a different reason.
put an ice on it,
leave my mind from it,
all just to numb myself.

missing someone isn't waves.
missing someone is the sea,
it is the endless, unbounded by time.
like tangled feelings personified and
ducking your head into the sea,
and breathing burns.

all of it is plain fuckery;
the thoughts in my mind are blasphemy.
honors stripped from me,
i begged fate a thousand of pleases
to put out the burn, pull up the drowning.
stop it from hurting so much,
because i'm dragged to hell by my heartstrings.
i cant title for life,, what to tag
Mar 2016 · 391
humble promises.
alex Mar 2016
i'm a small man who can't give big things.
forever sounds like a grand promise to make that
i'm unwilling to make and no one can fulfill.
to be the best sounds like something i'm not and i'll never be;
to make you the happiest sounds like a forced future,
like trying to tie down an unpredictable dark horse
and telling it to sit down like a dog.
and true love sounds like a far too abstract,
far too bizarre concept to grasp,
far too incomprehensible and universal—
too big compared to the little me.

but you can hold onto these words:
no matter how many other hellos and goodbyes given to me,
i can promise i'll kiss your knuckles before you sleep every night.
i can promise i'll hurt you;
but i can also promise i'll chant apologies like a prayer,
tear-stained cheeks or not
and scarred hearts or not.
i can promise the odd times while the sun is up
that i tell you my weirdest ideas.
i can promise the odd times while the moon is up
that i plead for touches, hugs, kisses;
crave you close so please hold me tight.
i can promise the odd times all day that i tell you:
i treasure and adore you.
because i really do;
every time of the day
and anytime of the day,
i do.

and everything about you always reminds me
that you're one of the greatest things to ever happen
to the earth, to the living and to me.
they say promises are meant to be broken and
words are just meaningless sounds and symbols;
but nothing is truer when i say:
i really want us to celebrate your birthday together this year.
reposted. i honestly am so proud of this one. we celebrated his birthday together last year.
Mar 2016 · 865
clogged words.
alex Mar 2016
the words are water
and they flow,
and they flow,
and they flow,
and they also             get clogged.

the days where
imagination swirls in your head
and there's a nonstop thrum of a drum resting inside
because your mouth is shut,
unable to puke it out,
and the days where
your hands are dry,
pens inkless;

the days where you feel dead,
the days where you
read the title again once you've reached the end.
Feb 2016 · 804
defunct solace.
alex Feb 2016
there's the

black blank

sky.

and then underneath are

stars in form of

streetlamps; car lights;

like s  p  o  t  l  i  g  h  t  s

on a stage, feet tangled

in a tango with death,

dancing with so much life.

it's like an          insult;

yes,           true,

s   m   i   l   e   s

are simply cynicism.
reposted
alex Feb 2016
careful, you might trip!
the roads are rocky and a little mean,
though for this clumsy ball of sunshine,
tripping is nothing but a routine.

your peers tap on shoulders to call;
"little baby, go outside and play,"
mom will plant kisses on your forehead
and tell you to be careful on your way.

puddles after showers; splitter splatter!
wipe your legs clean under blue roof;
tall people and words that taste foreign,
the tip to hold another hand home is a little goof.
well, dont we all know i **** at giving titles and tagging... (crossposted)
Feb 2016 · 424
feed you lies.
alex Feb 2016
today mommy gave me
a really warm mug brownie
but it tastes a little salty.
reposted.
alex Feb 2016
humans paint the galaxies;
stars poured by the gods
on a piece of dark, endless canvas.
the nature talks about freckles and moles on a maiden's skin
and how interesting connecting dots into intricate shapes is.

humans boast about love.
all the mediocre melodies to woo, cupid unleashing arrows,
and the cries written on minor scale;
blacks and whites of the piano.
the unexplainable look on one's eyes.
things they left unrecorded though—
ones the studio of the universe releases an album of:
motorbike roars as a boy speeds through countless others
that are deemed insignificant,
compared to the thought of his mom waiting at home.

for centuries and more centuries,
the poets go on about emptiness.
the caging abyss, they said,
of sadness. a dark place.
but seasons whisper the stark difference
of breeze nibbling on your skin
and of the dropping temperature of winter
harshly piercing your senses like knives.

dancers waltz to the moonlight,
reenacting silent screams and insanity.
but withering flowers' petals got themselves caught up in a game of tag with their own kin.

it's funny how humans talk about the comparison (as i am doing right now)
of the art we make and the art that is already there before us.
when the universe tries again and again to teach us
what kind of little majestic things we are, what kind of little majestic things surround us.

*(must say, we're quite dumb. unable to understand.)
alternatively titled 'little majestic things.' current title taken from adam levine's lost stars, give it a listen! i really like it and i think it's rather straight-forward?
Feb 2016 · 1.0k
count sheep throughout math.
alex Feb 2016
twenty two, twenty three, twenty four

hours in a day

like the white rabbit,

we watch time and stay at the bay.



ten, eight, six, four

words like ‘it’s not good enough,’

or maybe just simple and badly-woven adjectives,

sometimes it makes us feel blue.



thirty, sixty two, countless

nights spent dreaming with open eyes

but all that comes are unkind;

worse than reality’s piercing swords of ice.



yellow, red, blue, nonexistent.

what we know is counting down

to the day the string snaps

the insides spilled; to everyone, its uglies shown.



three, nine, twenty seven

years spent as busy as a cat on a hot tin roof;

the forgotten summers fell into piles of ashes,

yet to our bars of efforts, everyone stays aloof.



one too many times

it happens.

one too many days we thought

**** it up.



(so we did.)



six,five, four

ages we were taught numbers and their orders.

nowadays, **** it up and

count sheep throughout math.
reposted from my blog, one of my recent favorite pieces honestly.
Feb 2016 · 380
i am not.
alex Feb 2016
i am the light of cities,
not a star on the sky.
soft blue veins under
the expanse of skin;
like asphalt road branching
and pooling into roundabouts.
black pooling on irises,
pretty brown freckles on it.
it does not **** you in,
it's the windows of a house;
let you explore and love,
let the world peek into
the veneer of your heart.
tips of fingers like
trees during winter;
ice princesses sitting
by the sidewalk.
i am not an egg of the galaxy,
but a product of human hands.
years of pinky promises and empty threats
has shaped me into who i am.
i am not what the universe
made me to be;
i am what others contribute to
and what i myself create.
reposted from resaurelix.wordpress.com aka my blog. i dont know how to tag stuffs here?? help someone

— The End —