Papier-mâché

Could I still stop myself from feeling and letting this wicked, inner bitch live inside me? Nevertheless, here you go: this is my mental imprint, my tiresome everyday; featuring my fucking compulsions. —— "what are you doing?" "typing and thinking..." "they have become your vice." "definitely. addictive!" "oh, wait," "what does 'vice' (\ˈvīs\) even mean for you?" "enunciate not!" "okay, i apologize..." "does it connote suffering?" "it does and it does not... personally" "w-what?" "it is a win-win, nonetheless"; "it's an indulgence!" "curse it; fuck it!" "i excuse my language!" "omg, 'i' was not capitalized! This should be consistent." "I excuse my language!" "ugh, finally; relieved!" "you are such an overreacting retard!" "oh, well, this is ir...

“ Happy father’s day !” It reads; My hands shake as I happen to read it. A memento I hold with my hands; A memory that haunts. “ Will you forgive the bubbles that I made with my hands ?” I ask you. Displeased, you look at me; "Pop it! Strike it! Hit it!" You insist. I will not resist, father. I will not resist; for I have been your bloodline’s disgrace. Undress me, now; Ignite my skinny body, and shout, “‘Tis not the body of a man!” It’s alright, father; I won’t resist. Eat your scrumptious meal; Consume it wholly for it is served! Cramped, how do I breathe? Defeated, I beg for your prize; Strangled, I won’t despise! Stone me to my gradual death as I speak my beliefs, while you are cross-legged staring at my wholeness, And as you shame my todays as I flaunt it. “I curse you, filthy; we’ve to be men!” Talk me down; force me to worship your entirety! “Ave, ave, thy infallible strength!” Are my sins obliterated, now? Grant me for I speak your taught ...

With my eyes open,  I hold a m emento: picturing as how she shakes the transparent bottle every morning, As how she does it to her sweater, now; she would cuss, “ Damn , these lints won’t take off.” Relieved by her efforts,  “Kiss me on the cheeks, son,” her good-bye. Riding her decade-old Blue scooter—bare hands. Embroidered on it was the Nirvana—a conventional mantra. Worn with white hopes of today’s hardships. Today, I pray for her deliverance; O, Holy Ghost, may she be touched?  Spare her from normalcy’s danger. From Her son who once was breathing infant, that savored And smelt the aroma Of the breast, That bore the Summer. Madame of Her class, can I hold you? Are you near?  Are you near? Presence, I seek you; Be dear!

In 2000 born the child of Lianga, Rejoice to the birth of thy Modesty. Await no more, the day has come Of the nine-month protection! From thy bosom shall yield the son of man; “ Voilà, here’s your child whom you dear; thanks heavens for He’d mercy! ” Shouted the curious. Hoisted —see the light of these thirsties of your presence! There, there, sire, hold your precious sprout! Laid on the softest cotton and lullabies, Of tomorrow’s better place; But, O Yesterday’s wonder, could you be recurred? From today’s brokenness, Where are you, salvation? Decades of the Lad’s voyage from his springtime; Glistening seasons, altering scenes and incongruous rhymes Of the words he’d lain upon the scented cloth. From a pure noun grew up to a castaway pronoun, On quests, in admirations. Applause; give this kid the Gold! To you, my gracious kneeling, pity me, For silver’s a traitor! Hear him  ye bystanders, Solitude’s game has befriended his entirety. ...

The moment you read this, I have come to face my fate. With a screen before my eyes, Exposing every micro in me rummaging through my whole system. A predetermined occurrence. I have done so much preventives But t'is the force I had not fathomed. I have lived my life with so much fear, My everydayness has shown me despair—mentally, emotionally, physically. This I apologize for I have come and followed this malady, For I have not found my strength, For I have ceased the chance. I have come across this deepest trench of my life, The darkest region I could ever go into. To the fortunate, please take this, and continue my legacy. It may have succumbed my prowess, but never my soul. In a world wherever every step is driven by selfishness, never hesitate to create your universe and never stop indulging yourself with metaphors.

Maraming beses mo nang sinabing "200x na... 201x na... Magbabago na ako." "Time is just a social construct," ika nga nila. Hindi ko sinabing madali, hindi ko sinabing "bilís, ikaw na lang ang walang ambag, ikaw na lang ang walang úsad." Ang sinasabi ko ay "ikaw ang sarili mong oras; Bigyang diín ang sariling kakayahan; ikaw ang sarili mong lúnas sa panlabas man o panloob. Maniwala sa talà. Maniwala sa kapangyarihan. Ang oras ay batayan lámang ng isang pagpapatuloy at/o pagpipigil ng anomang bagay, pero ikaw ang patuloy na bugsô sa sarili mong mundo't búhay.

Apoy ng kasabikan Unti-unti nang pinapatay ng hanging dala ng lipunang mandurugas, Kamay na amoy-kalawang Na kahit ilang hugas, Ang basurang nilalangaw na kapatid ng bangkay na naaagnas. Dalawin nawa ng mga bulaklak Na nalanta't nangamatay Sa pangangalaga ng mga mapiling kamay. Hibik ng mga taong nagsisisi sa harap ng lamay—"parang awa ninyo na" sambitla ng patay. Kamusmusang tinatawanan ng mga multong ánimo'y kung sinong mga bayani; Pandayan ng mga pagsambang mga naghaharing-uri—sa sariling templo gawa ng maitim na budhí. Sandigang tinta ng mga gaa't pasakit, Walang humpay sa aking dugô kung sumipsip Indák ng kamay kung 'di ma'y hanging iihip. At doon ma'y magpapatuloy ang dalúyong na sisira sa baít at magtatalaga sa aking, " Ikaw ang patay na hari sa sarili mong pag-iisip ."

Ilang pag-ibig pa ang susulating hindi ka mangingiwi sa sarili mong karanasan? Nakatatatwa ba ang pag-ibig minsang sa 'yo'y nagpahalina, Naging bulok lang ang inaasahan mong masarap na bunga? Hindi mo pwedeng hawakan ang mundo—hindi siya ang mundo mo. Hindi siya ang pag-ikot, maging ang pagtigil. Hindi mo pwedeng ipagdamot ang pahinga sa katawan mong hapóng-hapó na. Hindi katapusan ng buhay ang katapusan ng dalawang kaluluwang minsang nangako sa isa't isa. Hindi magtatambal ang isa sa isa kung hindi kayo magkaiba. Oo na't ang isang bayani'y nagpakamatay para sa bayan, Nguni't hindi ka ipinanganak para pagtayuan ng rebulto sa isang bayan; Ikaw ang buháy na magpapatuloy pa sa agos ng búhay—sa mundo ng pasákit at ubod ng pait.  Huwag mong ihiwalay ang sarili mo sa daloy; hindi ang kawalan mong minsan ay kawalan mo nang panghabambuhay. Minsan ang paglayo nang ilang saglit ay gamot sa hindi makitang paggaling, Sa oras na'ng paghinga mo ay magaan, ...

1. Shall I hear my Woe Into the pit of these deeds? Live to thy burden. 2. Put thyself in verse And fly to the weightless place Exalt thy pained self. 3. Forgive me unhealed I praise t'is permanent taste Endured agony. 4. Leave my eyes unread Quench my anguish on ablaze And pour not my blood. 5. " It is what it is," Said the men in search for bliss; Make me feel my ease.

There  are his straight, perfectly-lined eyes That melted through heat the ice Whenever I look at them in vision. I witness the stars in the horizon. How much more are the lips and nose. That point perfectly upon a gaze. His smell as luscious as the rose; Every part lines making up the entirety of his face. He is perfect in his perfect ways; He is a god in his own kingdom.