on stooping so low

panting,

the silence is tired

of being quiet, yet, the surge

of passion, excuses no one

in the eyes of reason,

in the blindness of justice,

i cried.

and somehow, crocodiles are man's best friend.

paco

along the yellow streets

outside my house

the waters

murk

in silence

dreamily speaking

'he comes, he comes'

like silent, ambient

reminders of hope

yet flood,

like men,

like love,

only arrives (when)

unwelcomed.

redemption

night moves quietly
with an awkward glance
at your bellowed laughter
i smirk, then
grin, then sheepishly
giggle at the horizon
that is
a feet and a half
in front of me.

christmas

i weep on your doorknob.

that cold, shiny thing that protrudes from your door.

and silently, i await your answer

without ringing the bell

or even knocking

but i peeked a little from your window

and i saw someone else

and you seem happy

and i am happy that you are

but why do i

suddenly find the urge to knock

just say hello

without intending to say goodbye

feigning goodbye one more time

and those trees you cut were supposedly mine

and that mistletoe should have been ours

i wanted to be your man

i wanted to hold you once more and never let go

but you're happy

and now my charade is over

i love you. and loving you has crippled me to do so again.

strangers in the night

3:47 am. it has been a while since i had last blogged and i hope my now two readers would grant me pardon. for nothing has been happening in my life lately to exact a smitten feeling. perhaps i should tell the story of that one who slept over but i would bore myself to extinction if i relieved the ordeal of inviting a stranger to my house, which i shall never do again, i hope.

well... i have ran out of words to say after reading new moon. i have found black boy appealing and a better choice than the blood sucker. i prefer dogs over mosquitoes. that juliet wannabe sure is retarded.

i should finish my blog with a tanaga so as to compensate my lack of desire to write today.

the world precariously sat

atop an old woven mat

and a man obviously strung

by his own weight as he hung

a night unaccounted

i cannot do it

this world is without empty

stands for naught

without cold reason to suffer

only the artist that

bore the mark of his sin

only the reaper who

wore the cloak

must die

he who exhales passion

committed a crime

must die

for leaving

i hope you find peace. swell the waters that you missed. and grant more peace to those you left.

dear matt

a man asleep (wake up, matt)

if ever you see the world again

you will see faces

will you be able to remember

or will you continue living in your dreams

will you hear more laughter

or the silence of their tears

the world does not lie on your shoulders

the burden is never yours to bear

go on and live again for however you dare

the fight is never over until you choose to surrender

...a post for a certain guy whom i have never known personally know but at one point wanted to meet. he now battles to wake up from his coma. wake up matty. wake up.

whaddup?

is an unemployed single close-to-getting-too-chubby gay guy who doesn't dress well. how desirable is that? but i am happy because i have a working rectum and i have a complete set of teeth attached to my gums.

what a day yesterday was. i'll butcher it all by making kwento using haikus.

working your ass off
catching stars and taking calls
unenmployment sucks

it has been a while
fighting over jet setting
i should get laid soon

plate less of chicken
ocean of potatoes mashed
what the fuck? rip off!

binging and purging,
the gang of losers we are
treasures, they are my

fortress

ive been doin cartwheels lately

all around my chest

holdin tight to something gone

ive realised i was foolish

keeping your love

cos love just aint keepin me company

like it used to

you havent really gone that far

i can always run and keep up

but your trail

its the only thing keeping us apart

and you would hate me

for saying this

oh yeah youd hate me a lot

so why count plenty of suns

when shadows are all i have

why listen to grown up stories

no one had really wised up

those kings of your castles

who fought all your battles

is tired of slaying his dragons

so what good is a moat

with a drawbridge afloat

if no one is supposed to come back

drowning

fended every demon lately my love

worked from nine in the eve until seven

grabbed a cup of coffee on my way home

rode the bus and off to the moon i go

what happened to that melody my love?

what had become of the musings and the songs and the dreamings we had

is there any way to get them back?

i guess not. i guess not.

hold on tighter my dear love

for this boat is sinking and i am yet to fly

i don't wanna be washed away again

so hold onto my hand and close your eyes

so whatever happened to those questions?

aren't they to be answered now?

am i singing out of key?

it's okay coz from now on i'll be singing alone

i guess not. i guess not.

painted thoughts and the hot summer

1.34 pm pc time and i begin writing about sad and angry that i want to begin hurling and start pushing people down the spartan pit of death.

but i delete everything and begin the blog by saying

i am syncing. my idea of is slowly becoming in touch with . which is null.

was it worth it?

i lived

not whole and never

only breathing to survive the act of breathing

the next thin air to touch my

lungs stricken with soot

of painfully brewing sickness that wreaks

absurdity

then wither

then why seek

why wait

why challenge

only to wither again

to the poet who weaved happiness

i see someone light that path for me

a random star

whom i have previously woven poetry

delighted with quiet ecstatic

overflowing happiness

here i am. wanting to remember the word we created. but it was long gone. we have two different lives now. i have mine. you have yours.

you had me wonder how precious my mind is. how daring it is to think and believe and wonder and exxxagerate and stay real. you are somehow floating above your flamboyant clouds. and you breathe air that is in me. but i shall never forget our nights recounting names of all occasions. i shall never forget the gluttony of edible ideas. i shall never forget the poetry we concocted out of nowhere. and the story that was even without the story itself.

here's to the best times talking. purely talking.

and a wonderful friendship.

to come.