Trapped in Despair (a sonnet)

The cry and sadness met in the same place
Agreed to destroy one's immunity
In this world of sorrow he shalt embrace
His corse down to his soul's insanity

The universe of gent makes nay wondrous
For inside his soul art catastrophes
Feelings w're made for solely perilous
For words transform'd into anastrophes

But my heart whispers, thou art life I owe
Thy ghost creeps mine own spirit down to death
O, ye wraiths were haunting me years ago
Neither life nor death is worth the last breath.

Fearsome to live this life without verses.
For in life, all I had heard were noises.

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Conveyor Belt

For like a conveyor belt I lay before you my present: prosthetically decapitated head; well decorated with crystals; synthetic beads; a barbed wire pierced through the iris. Hungry men before me: I examine, I hear the borborygmus, tingling sensation when my plastic bones crack and break the ceilings. A mirror on the wall where mother used to lean her idealism against. Now rest the rusts, webs of a Black Widow, which is not native to this house: as her now demeanor, as her now demeanor, repeating, reeling and reeling as I sit trying to weave, for my soft dreams have now become plagued long before I dared to sleep my heavy. As a belt: I lay my body as they try to fit the loose holes to fit my thinness. My insides as they churn from a deafening machine audibly discernible so my father could hear, yet faint as his late regrets.

Nasanay na sa pag-iisa ang minsang mga kamay na nangungulila sa isang araw kong pagkawala ng kinakapitang bisig at balikat na sinasandalan at marahil naging bunga ito ng pagtatantong ang pagmamahal ay tila nakasusuya nang putahe pero natatangi pa rin kung kaya't nasa lamesa na ang hinog na saging para sa kalamnan at ang paborito mong tsokolateng tinapay hinihiling na sana ang mga ito ang pumawi ng suyà habang ang mga pirasong nangalaglag pa rin mula sa maráhan mong pagnguya ay 'di lingíd ng mga matang sa iyo nakatingin na sa kabila ng mga hibla ng buhok nahuhulog sa aking balikat na bunga ng kalamlamán at paghahanap ng rason habang pilit na tinutulak sa sariling sasambulat ang bukas na ako ay tataya pa rin sa ‘di siguradong sa kabila ng bingit ng pagkawala at paralisadong estado, maging higit ang pagnanais na manatili.

IHY

The hatred is piled up, enough to orchestrate a crime and to hide it in nightmarish metaphors. I have imagined you getting piercing through the fragility of the roof of your mouth, until you beg for forgiveness with your really untamed spirit. Perhaps, flaying would be much better, but crying will be reverberated through every corner of your long shattered room, as your annoyingly pleading voice will still be heard. An unforgivable, hell-bent serpentine, you always are, caressing the man’s ego extracting his exhaustion, and me against a fiend in your presence. Such a soft way to demonstrate hell to you— as it was not even a flinch, or a poke. You deserve heaven appearing reverse, so the gods you have known will forbid your salvation.

Papier-mâché

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