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488 · Jul 2014
A Discoverer's Ill Fate
Cee Valenso Jul 2014
Almond eyes that reflected wonders
Wonders shrouded by secretive lids
An observer's curiosity
Natural hunger for new discoveries
Turns into susceptibility
Mysterious orbs that captivates
Soon imprisons the observer
And scrutinizes every fiber, depth
Every inch of the said existence
Then it targets the soul
It bares the vulnerable soul
Of all its grandiose
Of all its mendacity
Of all the masks that ever concealed its true identity
Every scar, gingerly uncovered
Every tear, pellucidly explained
And for once, tables have been turned
The discoverer, the explorer
Was the one discovered
The one exhaustively explored
484 · Dec 2015
Small Talk
Cee Valenso Dec 2015
I stare at the mirror and spew profanities at myself
It is utterly unbelievable that I am in such a state
Resisting the urge to grab the nearest pen and paper
And let the ebony ink stain the alabaster surface

Hundreds of days have passed since I've sworn to the skies
I've sworn to the skies that I will never again write
I've sworn that I will never again waste words on you
I will never again waste any sort of figure of speech on you

But sharp nails are piercing through my palms
The only relief for the exacerbating pain
Is making your name bleed through a pen's tip
******* it

I abhor how feeble I am against it
I abhor how feeble I am when it comes to you
I paraded the streets with such a cocky, domineering gait
But after all this time, I remain a slave of the past

I was a slave willing to sink on my knees for you
I still remain a slave, but now a slave with a mind
A slave who knows what's the best for himself
A slave embracing the freedom but glancing back at the binding shackles

I curse at myself in front of the mirror
Because after all this time, you can still put me in a trance
Your eyes still looked the same, breathtaking
And the beauty of your smile still captivates me

I slam my fist on the mirror as I curse myself
And curse myself yet again for cursing you but struggling
Struggling as I painstakingly swallow words of love
Words of love that I had for you, that I still have for you

Yet again I slam my fist against the broken mirror
It's a self-reminder about the fate of my heart in your hands
You have delicate hands with a penchant for destruction
It's the perfect time for you to meet your match
How I wish your heart ends up like mine

I wish that your smiles turn into hot tears
And that his affectionate words turn into sugary guillotine
I wish that his feverish kisses burn your fair skin
And I wish his every whisper of promise will dissipate into thin air

But I know that even if your heart breaks
Your suffering will not heal my wounds
Know that I do not wish for you to return to my arms
And as I sink down onto the ground
As my bare knees press against the shattered glass
I wish for you to hear me:

I just don't want to suffer alone.
467 · Mar 2018
Wild Forest
Cee Valenso Mar 2018
A wild forest is she, a covert forest is she
Donned in a sable jacket and thin-rimmed lenses
In this city jungle, to suffocate is the norm
But her presence is a breath of the freshest air
Air that stirs life in the corners of my lungs
In the hollows at the pit of my stomach
In my arteries, in all places until my puny fingertips
A wild forest, her sockets as designated firmaments
The palace of browns that blinded me, ensnared me
And when they curved into midnight crescents
I lost my breath, I missed a life beat
Her visage, a stunning union of night and day
A sight that douses a pleasing warmth on my frigid soul
And enlivening chills on my every bone
Honey-glossed dusty rose petals are her mouth
Their softness still yet to be known
With a smile so enthralling, laugh so riveting
Hers is the symphony that renders birds listening
Words that emulate soft rustles of juvenile leaves
Ironic how they placate and intensify quakes in my ribs
She is a sturdy tree, lacking beside crystalline skyscrapers
But her branches promise sojourn for my fatigued frame
A bed of grass drizzled with morning dew, her palms
Vines that I wish to braid my bi-colored locks, her fingers
And her skin, the bark my curious fingers want to trace
The surface where my nails desire to carve my name
And she, in her glorious entirety
Is a signal for the beginning of the stampede
Sending my gait unsteady
Cajoling my stone bricks to remodel its tracks
She is a wild forest amidst the bustling cities
A land of fertile soil with wild plants and flowers springing
From her chest, her wonderful mind
And I, once an eon of drought
Now an eager seed wishing to grow
With her healthy yellows and greens, I yearn to grow
459 · May 2016
Warnings
Cee Valenso May 2016
At a distance, a harp begins to play
Mellifluous tunes attempting to capture the heart astray
Every single note pleasant to the ears
Every note reviving the comatose fears

Beautiful is the song as it is enchanting
Through agile fingers, a masterpiece in the making
But as the riveting sound cavorts the insipid walls
Dispelled memories return like raging falls

Strumming the strings equate a pronounced invitation
Melodic verses transmogrify into proposed elation
But the rhythm is alarmingly familiar
Whose end averts from the spectacular

The harps plays, the harp sings
Obnoxious bells produce clamorous rings
For the songs it sings are dulcet
But the notes may be disguised bayonettes

The comely harp will continue creating its art
A fragile bubble vulnerable to approaching darts
As the music invades every corner
May the north be an inexorable commander
413 · Feb 2016
The King
Cee Valenso Feb 2016
King of the vast lands is he
For uncountable times he fell down
Laborious is to stand tall and proud
For many times, the ground kissed his crown

It is he who basks on the throne
The epitome of greatness and power
But for the army dwelling behind his lids
Never was he the commander

Single-handedly built his grand castle
Every brick is a dismal memory
Deserted hallways, desolate rooms
Visitors have been banned entry

But one day, his towers littered with fire canons
Shall be utilized for descrying the starry night
And through the cracks on the colossal walls
The sun shall penetrate him with light
399 · Jun 2015
Lost
Cee Valenso Jun 2015
So much were at hand
Now there is none
What used to be a thousand
Has become one

Bore a pair of wings to fly
Settled on a pair of feet
There were words and rhymes
Now just blank sheets

— The End —