The Visit

You paid me a visit again,
Your skin so pale, I only
Find you on hospital beds
And a couple of rainy days
With only a candle as light

I couldn’t look at you in the eye,
Like i once did before,
Because this time your looks
Would kill, and trace a blood shed
On my heart

You gave me a cold tap on the
Shoulder, a ritual,
A tradition once every so often,
When words are not enough to
Be my security, and neither
The love of any being could

I still ask why you have to pay
Me visits, every time tears are
Falling and actions are wasted
When I am swimming in
And urge solitude to stay deep
inside me

but i never dare find the answer,
Because i know, it’s a curse
The perfect balance of perfection,
The exact opposite of uphoria
Whenever i dance in abstraction
Whenever i sing an unknown
Melody that even poets found
And instead of fighting back,
I let myself immerse in this
Liquid solely to put my soul
In reality, solely to let my
Flesh feel the emptiness
That comes with being

I embraced you, your body
Made up of daggers that
I so longingly dodge…
Let me into you..

Summer Lake



how bitter my eyes are, glimmering in its own misery….misery about the old visions of the trappings on the lake near the ancient squeaky house of the robinsons a few miles from mine. Those trappings I call them, were holes. Though I am not familiar of what is underneath those holes, but I am sure it is fresh from digging by an unknown water bank mammal. Near the murky lake was a bench, as old and worn out as my heart. The wood is already undergoing the process of decay, and the moss are creeping up at the metal foot of the chair. It’s wet, moist from the rain a few hours ago. I walked a few muddy steps and sat on the bench. Even after the rain, the sky looked so gray, like an old man’s cigar smoke whirling around the said place.
This summer lake. It wasn’t like this a decade ago. This place is the epitome of serenity. Even when I was a little girl, I painted the place the color of the sun, letting it shine under the brightest star my little old self knew. I’d walk at the side of the lake , holding wild flowers that I picked under the big willow tree at the back of the lake and pluck its petals for me to throw, like sea glass on the sand. I’d pretend that I was a nymph of the summer lake, singing my composed lullabies as I skip along, praying fervently for nightingales and a sunny day. There were no trappings on the land near the lake, not like now, and it was greener than the pastures dreamers have dreamt in their greedy minds. It was perfect. It was the solace my little old self was looking for amidst the tyrant situations of her story. Where evil step-mothers aren’t real, but onlu spoiled little girls like her with the same ambitious minds of the former. I remembered my little old self, quietly crying under the willow tree, for those spoiled little girls got her blue ribbon she got from her mother’s dresser and tied to her fish-tail braid as a thing to attract her dreams. They pulled forcefully the ribbon from her hair, stomped on it, spat on it and threw it in the lake, while I try to reach it with my little hands the thing that I adore the most…until I can’t take reach it any longer and just watched it sink into the deep.

I sat there, for hours, crying silently, rubbing my eyes with self-pity and my hands that are too innocent to even save such a dream…failed me, but never let me down. A piece of me, with the voice of the willow tree and the lake, soothed me in a familiar caress my mother gives me. I heard them saying that, I should smile, for my ribbon was a sacrifice to nature…for me to have my reward in the coming days. Repeating the phrase over and over until they made me fall asleep.

I woke up, and I’m near two decades. I woke up to a place where all I see is a rich multi-shades of monochrome. Epicly overlapping one another, making a high charactered snob to the place. The summer lake I once knew morphed into this lair of unwanted secrets, with trappings as holes where you put those unwanted secrets, bury it and let it rot in my flesh…

There’s no more hope in this deceased place…the air I smell is as cold as death, lingering eternally on my lashes. I looked up, so that the watery daggers won’t fall. My tears doesn’t deserve this place. And instead, I stood up, got a small rock as big as a quarter and squeezed it tight before shutting my eyes. I channeled the visions that haunts me til this moment, of being confused, of being lost in love that I thought it was, and the pressure of its lust, how I never wanted it to happen. How my fight if this is my ultimate soulmate, or he was just a lie. My unwanted defeats, and people’s gaze at me when I enter a room, or those dark lonely evenings where thoughts of ending everything seems like paradise….I dropped the rock to a trapping, a few feet away from the lake. I bid it farewell and bury it with soil using my shivering palms. With that soil comes my sadness, and inquiry as to whether I’ll see this summer lake again, or will this be the last time…

I don’t know.

27th Floor



They don’t know what they’re missing

inside this room full of loneliness…


because when I look outside my window

I can see the world underneath my chin

like I can step on every burden, and bury

every defeat on those small city lights

covering the vast flatland of my worries


And the wind here is great, like my soul should

hold on the panes because I might be drifted

to something wonderful yet unreal, saving me

those sleepless nights alone in this four walls


They stabbed me with their stares, stoned me

to death with their so-called sound judgement

and exiled me on the top most floor of their

rotten fortress, but they didn’t know

heaven was at my side…


Darkness embraces me with its familiar warmth,

adorned me with rusty old Christmas lights,

as Nyx kissed me with purpose saying,

“Dear, don’t fear the people down below”

leave the creatures be…



“we’re invincible”