Another great scenario of the universe
that comes over a hundred years;
once in a lifetime.

So wonderful and beautiful
delusions gone, reality reveals.
a bright glimpse of moonlight
a hidden beauty.

It is such a good thing, the universe
can wait for a thousand years.

It wasn't a lingering feeling
but a shot in the dark;
love letter once written
in the middle of spring,
until these words left frozen.

I grew up as the bed grew bigger than me, underneath there were the roots of a dream that I used to forget; I lost in the card game and you still have a lot of tricks under your sleeve.

And I will yearn if I was still the one in your anticipation; you wear it like a Sunday best and wear it out when you don't feel like yourself.

And I'll follow the traces of your footsteps crawling as vines. What all my words worth if they are a noose entangling my limbs? honey, the roses scented faintly of blood, too.

And I will carry the weight of this spineless home.

"Perhaps, we are the people who met each other at a time warp, that's why we are still existing in this millennium."

It's like my heartbeat has been cursed by twenty lifetimes; I would trade all my days, even if it turns from epoch to eon, I will always come back to you.

She romanticize the orchestra of her muffled cries, caught her canvases
bruised with purple and red,
Her bare chest was beautifully wounded by a serrated cage, arranging her disorganized open heart.

Her heart is malleable from tragic delights, she ripped herself open, willing to give it whole.

Will you take it all and leave it as it is?
Does it oblige you to wrap your arms around me like a tightening noose?

And as she draw marks of red stains and carve on her skin, her limbs were perched perfectly, as you adore it with a painful stare.

And her hands were pure certainty, remained untouched.

On my exploration, there are still secrets
that kept under my  sleeves; it would be a
twisted knife in my defenseless night.

Between the heaven and sea,
there are traces of him, keeping me
haunted and wandering at it.

Between the orbs and galaxies,
we're building towers,
we're praying and pleading for a myriad miracles,
I nestled gently on his lips,
it was all downhill.

This is a warfare;
                               we keep  it in photograph,
                               we keep it in pages,
                               we keep it a secret.

                              I thought I was a keeper

and then everything is heavenly
                                  You are beautiful at daytime,
                                  and shining bright at night.
                                  "You are ethereal"
                                                       ­          the distance is an animosity
                                                       ­          though, we keep on
                                                                ­ reaching  
                                                    ­             It is not about the
                                                             proximity
                                                                ­Yearning; we were still
                                                                ­looking at the same sky.

I thought I could keep you (as I keep everything about you)

you wouldn't  be able to held the sky as it was meant to be ethereal

I am at a crescendo of this mercurially
fervent woe, maimed by the visage of
smoke and mirrors;
"a death in chrysalis is to live once again."

Draping into the worn out disheveled
silk, beautifully withered
lulled by the sound of riverbanks
as if it's pacifying the feral.

A star-lit eyes deluged with bliss
rose with thorn-teared flesh
overwhelmed by a mawkish melancholia. Although we were haunted by our old love, it will never be the same.

She have never been into things such as growing a garden, they say her potential will have to be reached by a streak of light draping through the window pane.

she builds her greenhouse and collected some seeds, she doesn't sort if she'll grew by season or if it's a monstrous plant— she just want to see a lot of butterflies that she have never seen before.

she remain unimpressed, seeing a hues full of periwinkle and blues, roses and thorns decorated beautifully by her fragile hands, you can see on her plain tone the visible traces of paper cuts and ink blotch.

one day, a boy visited her garden, he grew fond and perpetrated on every flower she had. they sat on an empty, unfurnished room, filled with his paintings and brushes, not seem to notice the one uncleaned palette she used and left forgotten. She watched the boy as he paints, as if he knew every detail of his magic, it reminds her of the days she spent the same way, on how she loves it, tenderly in her heart— she said he was a stray butterfly, everything on him is luminous.

they spent their time there, little did the boy knew that she loves everything he had done on the garden. She wonders how a little misadventures were found in a wild wood.

It's always you, whom I miss
It reminds me of the perfect blue
on purple sky,
I attach him on a beguiling lullaby retracting the memories of the sea
where the strings like constellations
connect us; You can never be apart from the ocean.

I always write about love
and think I'm into it
And think of its twist and turn,
It wasn't that easy to love and
To be loved.
Each day we're swooning by
The comfort of the Sun,
I could not remember the last time
The light had left me;
No one would ever take a glance
on their dark times.

I know, I am complete--  living on a guarantee that
The stars will hold on into the night,
Each night where you will hear the
Swan's lullaby
And in morning, you will embrace
The thoughts of last night's catastrophe.

today I’m gonna make it

getting done with the stuff I left for days or a week, reading a book once again that I excitedly flipped every page, losing a grip on a string of a blue balloon, today I’m gonna spend all of my pennies to my unrequited wish, similarly to a black hole that keeps gnawing my heart; this is what it cost.

Today I’m gonna find out why they are calling us “black swans”. I will make their blood drain, we will dance at them until their eyes glow green. Today I’m gonna make it, but not the girl who cried wolf at night.

There is one thing that you cannot replace in this world; the man and the sea,
A magical life runs in his veins, interconnected on the depths of its history.

The sea is a giver, it is a lullaby creeping on the shore. He is the sirens of the storm
If he could only reach me,
I would bear the anchor beneath the waves.

His eyes are sinking ships as the stars crashed on the sky; he is the embodiment  of a lost piece of your dreams,
the heart is as deep as the sea.

The time wouldn't keep us
but my words will linger deep in the sea.

There's still a part of you that lingers in me; a myth I haunt  and the ghost of every story I make.  

The traces of my brokenness
are the lure of lullabies
As I am chasing shadows on the crowd
they're coming after you under the moonlight.

What was the best thing for being a sunshine if you are a star that night can only have?

She was walking towards the river with her feet bare and her white silk disassembled; they said she was a loathed cathedral of despair as a ruined, beloved garden,  she is all that is left.

“Will you hold my hands  or leave me?
Should I wait until we're together?”

she sang her lullaby as she let her body float.  while she holds her sweet eulogies, it’s all what she has, gazing upon the sky, giving in at the temptation.

“please don’t make me wait forever”

the words linger in the water as her breath goes into oblivion.

I always knew about the ocean's calling, deep in my heart. It keeps me wandering to find what I yearn for — could it testify the animosity of being insatiable?

I wait on the shore like a lighthouse guiding your way back to me, as if I hold faith in it, like it is a perseverance that grew in my chest. I am certain to the florescence of my flowers and to its withering as I know the  durations of its life and death is when I could meet you again. And though, the inconstant desolateness of the ocean continues to wait.

I dance with my bare feet, padding across the floor cracks
it was a good day as the winter's done
I was patiently waiting for the sun to rise.
You have been there and left frozen by
the time I came.

They are left haunted and nostalgic
I couldn't even took a direction without seeing the reflection of your gaze
anticipated by the prism of your paradise,
everybody fall in the thought of it is a rabbit hole; I don't want to dream about you anymore.

His eyes are gleaming
as he glistens from afar,
How beautiful it is to have an
Aphrodite like appearance,
I wonder how it would be like
to fell in rabbit hole.

Why it felt like second hand
though we waltzed on a shipwreck
I lost on his footsteps as I tighten the grip on his hands.
I watched the stardust fall from his eyelash,
dreams do come true
as I fall for that hope.

I grew into you like vines, delicately covering a brutalist form with a love I only know. My heart is submerged in a little ocean, its depth grew in me as I carried the weight upon my soul. The waves painted me blue, reminding me of all my sad lullabies.

Your name is a possession and embodies all that you are (it's the only way to keep you.) If I got the chance to love you, maybe I'd be much more than a supernova, devouring its life until the very end, traversing the boundless space, and it would leave traces in a thousand years; my love for you would still resonate, like the haunting interludes played by a piano in the epilogue of a song.

I see faces and flowers
on loose pages—
it smiles at me from
a crumpled paper, addressed
to the fire, its embers were
keeping it ablaze.

How happy it was to paint the
room blue in the middle of summer,
dancing through the sound of the creaks
under my footsteps— everything is just right.

How treacherous it was, a wistful memory
they were remnants of unsettled stories
and unforgiven departures; I stood
on a shipwreck
where everything is a lost.
the uncertainty would be tall
and I am more will for the fall,
are these things crosses your mind?
I wouldn't bear crossing out your name.

This is how we paint room blue; creeping
on the cracks of the floor, memorizing your
gaits as I follow your traces.

Here we are again, in my darkest night,
I’ve never escaped
I thought the last stretches of a pitch-black pool did not  reach me.

Should I be happy on the crescent carving my brokenness?
you said how beautiful the glimpse of the moonlight is,
they have been a prosaic, silvery dust in dismal,
but now, they are a rare light in the sky.

I adore things that aren’t mine
and so you are,
I held an illusion in my desperation, and it wasn’t the universe's fault for sculpting an embodiment of galaxies and stars, such ethereal like you were living in a myth.

You can be there and begone or just begone
(your mercurial imperative) but this time, I wanted to be left on the traces where you were at.

Winter,
the decaying of life

Light;
sheer and lustrous

that's how your eyes glisten on the first fall  of snow

Cold is the night as it nestled on the nook of my neck; a familiarity
though, a sun-warmed skin mended the aching cold.

You were all what is left; a hope I keep when I wonder if there is a place for us among the ruins.

Hope;
an anticipation.

You:
the gift of winter.

"What thing did hurt you the most?" He asked.
"drowning" I answered.

He look at me as if he scrutinized each word to say.

"you can simply swim against the currents" he said.

I know he can do everything and there's one girl who couldn't even bear to touch the waters.

"You know how much grievance the ocean had bestowed whenever I attach someone in every story I know about it; she kept on drowning, anticipated on how deep the ocean is, every time his eyes fall in crescent"

he had a special place in my heart, though he had it all.

As a kid, I admired all the celestial bodies that I can put in pages, I can see how the constellations are connected to my veins and how the moon is shaped like your eyes.

The more I grow older, the further I learn to wander in the garden, a wilderness where the islands haven't been named, parallels have intertwined and orbits that have once collided.

Oceans were calling me to test its depth— the calmness of it reminds me of you, the stillness of it brought terror as the deep waters are not moving. you're a scenery in a post card that I could receive but not enough to love me.

Little did I know that I've forgotten a lot how ardently melancholic the scorching afternoons were.

those afternoons, where it consisted of sweet reeks of cotton candy and lollipop, those afternoons that I don't have to beg just to rest, not to measure the time approximately and counting how proximate the distances are, like how I trace my digits on things to know if they're adjacent;

this afternoon, it's like I'm coming home to you.

I grew up longing to be found
on a deserted place where the stories
told 'I shouldn't have meant to be there', counting the dead until I become them. I was written on old houses as I was left haunted and reminisced on melancholic belonging.

However, it is her rising, the beginning, the becoming.

I am a chest filled with lullabies, it is my reaching to the world to heal my heart, and a calling of the ocean, where my love belongs.

We were once told that we are the missing part of someone else with an empty heart and a lost soul, taking the absurd, roaming around the world as barely whole.

And as I look at two points, a double vision
meeting the one'******, unwaveringly— a north star, perfectly aligned upon the night sky. An anchor to a heart, it is engraved deep in waves, tumultuously enfolding each flesh— a longing as to be found in the wilderness, a pillar as to be run into, safely.

And though my love clung to a myth,
bounded to a constellation embodied us
and traced in our palms, they will remain a story from the past.

Parts of his existence:

A vessel; is a magic that flows through its veins— the color of my cheeks and the color of his madness

A certainty; all flesh and bone, sutured and bruised; we can be made of cracks, somehow.

and my heart, he had it all as black holes grew in my chest (as if the vacancies could be filled by his existence)

for me, he is insatiable
as I was always heartless.

I followed the vestiges of your footsteps,
everything is a chrysalis of memories and forgetting.

It was you,
who unfolds a life halfway through my existence; I wish I wasn't there in your forgetting.

My nights have never been so fragile
until my words traces my heart
and tears filled up its meaning—

this is how a little shipwreck
can sink me.

I hope you know  
how much I wanted to tell you
how beautiful the stars
as you are.

How I attach you on every story I know about the sea
and how much light you fill in me, I couldn't bear to lose it.

My words will always find you
and will lingers in me;
you have always been a part of it.

There are two opposing things that define me: a poignant in eulogy, a melancholia in a deep blue sky and
a parallel and current;
it is boundless.

My love is an empty cage, grown in an innocent body, tearing flesh by flesh,
yearning mouth by mouth, a chest is a garden full of butterflies, my veins is a vial of momentary currents and curves molded to each caresses of something that lingers.

These parallels are a loose thread that bounds a brokenness, and on each pull of the gravity, I would ache to skin and bone.

                                        It is boundless.

She have been collecting butterflies, there are few in a frame in her house— the dead ones are displayed as a remnant of how beautiful they are and some of the living ones are in a glass jar.

she watch those fluttering wings, she is really fond of its translucency and prism-like butterflies.

There is a different one that makes her fall in love with. She keeps it with her, she wonders if there is any magic to this one special butterfly that she didn't want to end up in frame.

"I wanted to keep you but not in a selfish way" she muttered.

She opened the jar and watch the butterfly as it spread its wings gracefully.

They say I am the girl of luck; tossing coins as if I am expecting everything as I plan, shifting cards as my thoughts are paid by the seven hearts.

We couldn't define luck as we wait in a grocery line or is it just because of our lucky stars traced into constellations, that the universe ruled every inch of our existence.

I was wondering if I could bet for another star and wish it would be you.

Summer is
far as I think,
it flickered when
I blink
dreaming of
nostalgic
no winter, no autumn.

Maybe,you were written
in a next page,
I am the half
of your gut,
in every torn paper
and scratches.
How many times
it took a relevance?
like i'm dreaming
of "if you are mine?"

So real,
so real.
as I starve to death
to bathe in bliss
burrow to a skin,
a cataclysm.
unraveling a deep blue, calamitous love
holding on to an anchor (and only him could do that)
open it like a gift;
a suture unfurling my pain,
so real and so does he.

The stars are fake,
they are shining upon the sky
And burning everything that touches their beam.

They desire a sand
and you are the hourglass.

My footsteps were memorizing
the cracks of the floor,
vines creep along the grounds
as the constellations,
they are the patterns to my wonderland.

Gold flush,
rose blush
You are beautiful in my memories
and I unlocked  the box of my dreams,
wounds are deeper than to what I feel
Stitched with the strings I tied to you,
People are vines as they fall in despair.

My words flow whimsically through a
wistful longing sight — a dreamy, hazy escape.

And it had been dancing around you,
each syllable adores you and all they were was a thought of " I can give you the seven seas and my sweetest eulogies."

It was Sunday afternoon, and the time was moving steadily.  
My room is a solemn dusk as the skyline would summon a perfect storm. All I could hear was my blood, rapidly gushing, in a body that is a vessel of momentary waves; and I was idling, holding a ***** cup. Can I still even keep my coffee warm in my freezing hands? Forlorn by the sunlight, torn by a whimsical love.

And yet, I still keep you,
as I search for you on the shelves
as I look for you at the other side of the door.

This room is full of calamity, isn't it?

I know, there is no place for a fickle people like me
who painted their thorns beautifully to feel the comfort of no turning back.

And the only thing I remember is the wild wood where I tracing each constellations and searching for your footsteps.

You have this whole world,
The sun and moon
You have the universe
and I am just a speckle and dust
within.

I've wished on my luckiest star,
I wish you're waiting
for me
to fall.

I am just a speckle and dust
Within your universe.

You saw how I shine for you
at most fleeting time,
through the crisp of air
I am walking while
my feet's still bare
towards you.

I came undone
like a pendulum underneath
your time
I try to hold your hands,
but I feel all the myriad
of crash.

I know you have them all
but they all fell into black hole.

Despite of your destruction,
I will try to fix its core
beyond interruptions,
I will try to find a connections
if ever the gravity
pushes
you
or
it
pulls
me
down.

Even if I saw new faces
in other places
of every inches
in your universe

in every blink of my eyes
they are all pitch-black
but at every seconds I open it,
it's you, i all have.

To all that never stays,
walls
castles
masks
supernova

they will perish away
but they just laid
in you
and to your memories.

Even if the centuries
will turn into sand,
Just remember how
The speckle and dust
gave meaning
to your universe.

He always left me hollowed,
A blank space
A black hole
I am buried deep below.

He always left me hollowed,
when the sky is blue
and our hands are reaching
when the sun is yearning
when our hearts are beating.

"As if I was gone away, too far not to yearn from the distance."

The sound of home away from home
is a wake up call on a dismal Sunday morning. It keeps telling me that I have to go but you are still lingering on every corner of this room, you are the faintest light through a window pane as it kindles me out of the dark (somehow).

I wonder how the traffic jams and
the hums of people on the street would bring you home, the crevices of the floor memorize the gaits and creaks of your footsteps, as if it's a map to our place. And how the furniture recognizes the shape of you as your memories are carved on it.

But I wonder why the sound of home away from home is telling me that it's time to go.

Dark and nostalgic,
like a cold atmosphere of night.
Brighter as glitters,
like the stars up in the sky.
                    Just like you,
beautiful and mesmerizing,
as i could see is your face.
Sweet and minuscule,
as i see my world inside your eyes.
It's pretty amusing,
like my aspiration and strange fascination
that i would like to reiterate
                       to you.
I can keep myself silent
but it's deafening like
deep inside my heart,
it shouts and bellows
that it'll make perfect,
                   to be with you.
You can be hard and fierce.
rough and rugged.
And if your love takes torture,
i can be mellower as what i see in your heart.
Passionate and reckless,
like obnoxious things.
but i can take it easy and simple.
it won't be hard.
It doesn't get any better than you.

There is another thing that the sky is covering up to, parallels are invisible strings that connect us.

You are a myth that the muses talk about,
they tell me how far the stars
that I wouldn't reach you
and how I wander my hands on my brokenness.
It was the traces of how beautiful the blue in your eyes
and the memories of red lanterns
lighting up our way home,
I feel the terror of we might forget
the sound of the eerie cold night.

Parallels are constellations in the skies as if we are remnants of history,
Each night we wished we exist.

I'm jealous of everything—
maybe because of how your life just goes by without any traces of me on it, I couldn't even get a chance to say how I love your hair falls perfectly on your face.

maybe, I'm just a moon, without your light, I'm nothing. You're everything like the sun.