I sit in bed, wondering
how life is quite bittersweet.
Yet we always keep wanting
to live a little longer,
despite of it all.

I sit in bed, thinking
how in every millisecond
we decide to still take
a deep breath,
despite of it all

I sit in bed, contemplating
why we have this desire
to live, to exist, to experience,
despite of it all.

I sit in bed, writing
on my laptop
haphazardly positioned
between two pillows,
legs crossed,
that i still decide
to let the words flow.

I look far beyond the distance of my room,
contemplating, then realizing,
how life should not be always perfect,
(just like this poem)
but I am still here, typing,
for the hope of it all.

electric
eccentric
satisfying
and quick

these four words
are all i can think

silent
violent
menacing
and ardent

four more words
as if its magic

added
faded
stranded
and nostalgic

random words
to add the nonesense

plain
feign
wandering
and distant

all these words is
how i short circuit.

she once built
a castle made
of teardrops

over panel windows
and locked double doors,
a princess's agony
never seems to stop.

she once built
a castle made
of dreams

over high mountain
and deep seas,
a mermaid's call
or so it seems.

she once built
a castle made
of sunlight

over earthen floors
and vine-covered ceilings,
a fairy's tale
in a breathtaking sight.

i just built
a castle made
of truths

over pursed lips
and whispered wishes
a queen's plea
the longing it soothes.

such castles
sometimes stand
sometimes crumble
it is for you to find
on where you want
your life's worth gamble.

I took a shower at eleven,
then my head hot all of a sudden.
I thought, "this my death,"
"Stop, take a deep breath."
Thought I was already in heaven.

past the boroughs
and the busy streets.
the suburban lifestyle
he screams of defeat.

past the sorrows,
and away from concrete
the drops of rain (like his eyes)
followed from the backseat.

in the foliage
at the farmer's street
an apple, blueberries, a cart!
he jumped to his feet.

in the solace
through the plants of wheat
the first rays of sun
he slowly felt complete.

from thrashing limbs
to resting knees,
for sanity's sake
all it took
was a change of scenes.

6:04PM
The crickets sound from a neighbor's backyard. It reminded me of when I was fourteen. My life only started when I was fourteen. Everything before that: a blur. Everything after that: a whirlwind.

6: 05PM
I'm running out of time making a poem for a challenge I thought I could commit. I had doubts. This is not even a poem, this is trash in and of itself.

6:06PM
Catching up to time so that I could end this at 6:10PM as if its the most rewarding thing in the world. My eyes shift to the bottom right corner of my laptop: **** its 6:07PM

6:07PM
Why the **** am I racing against time. Its ******* 6:08PM now.

6:08PM
My aunt and her new maid is outside. The maid is the sister-in-law of a colleague of mine. She's the second time around after the first one ditched because they thought she's pregnant.

6:09PM
Okay, I'm pouring out more personal stuff in this website but the **** cares, I just want to write.

6:09PM
I thought its already 6:10PM. Ha, jokes on you time.

6:10PM
Finally reached the finished line, I don't even know if this is about a separation. But let me tell you about it in a short while. Through a poem, obviously since I can't do any literary form at the moment.

Hands flying
on letters she
has absolute command of
she can't even control
the warring emotions
circling in her chest.

For once she prayed,
for the past
of the longing she once felt
when she was fourteen
unaware of the where's
and the what-ifs

For most of her life
she always felt
grounded yet free
but all she ever wanted
now is to be

Detached from reality
she begs for mercy
"Grant my pleas,
give me peace
from this warring
emotions i cannot
seem to flee"

Sweet separation
bind yourself to me.

i often wonder
that i often not
notice the way
one's hands glide
as they touch
things they could not

how they grasp
at things they deem
abhorrent and obnoxious
yet the hunger in clenched
veins is rather obvious
than not

why feed eager pain
with self-loathing
what's there's to gain?
away with mourning.

so i often wonder
that i often not
notice the way
i held my hands
unwilling to let go
when in fact
i could always
could not.