Wednesday, September 26, 2012

Don't Listen To Him

Unless he does something crazy romantic; unless he sweeps your feet off the ground and proclaims to the world that he can't, couldn't and can never live without you. But despite all that. Don't listen to him. 

His words, though candy-coated are nothing but lies. Lies! Lies! And lies! May his lies become shadows and suffocate his being. 

He's not worth every tear that gushed out of your eyes, every blood and bruise, evidence of you, scribbling valiant verses here and there. He's not worth your life. But despite all this. You love him. It shakes the very core of your existence knowing that he could never love you back the way you do. 

You're still hanging. Like how he always makes you. It's a pity that you still hoped that he loves you. It's a pity you're holding on to bubble promises and worthless meanderings. He's the puppeteer of your every waking performance as you tremble at every breath you draw in and out for him. He's the idol you worship and like all idolatry, he is a plethora of unspeakable evil to your system. 

That stinking reality of you still loving him despite everything is slowly decomposing you inside. And now you're left with two choices: slow, painful, sweet sweet death or gloomy, depressing and solitary emancipation?

Monday, September 24, 2012

Thursday, September 20, 2012

Just Give Me A Reason

By the time you read this, I'm probably already on my way to Zamboanga City for a school convention that I have to attend. And though I'd love to sit down and talk things over over coffee with him, considering that he texted me " I love you ", I simply couldn't. I have work to do. And besides, will it be okay to talk about it? I mean, was he serious? Because his succeeding messages pointed out that that was something that I should just forget. 

Last night I was at a moment when all of what I've been hoping for all this time is finally unfolding, but I became afraid, unsure and practical. The pain must've made me a monster. If I answered differently, would things have been different?

Tsk. My life is a blur. Thank God there's this trip to get away from things for a while. 

Friday, September 14, 2012

A Series of Blahs and Au Revoirs

1. I never thought it'd come to this, but I have grown weary of coffee, coffee products and coffee infused stuff. I guess my head can no longer take hold of the magnitude of caffeine that I dose myself, every single day. Haisst. Au revoir cafe. You shall be missed.

2. Punsa our beloved feline is missing. She may be dead by now which actually sucks because I wanted to hold her that last time I saw her but I didn't because I was too damn busy with other stuff. Au revior Punsa. You shall be missed. 

3. So he got himself a new boyfriend. I'm supposed to feel okay right? I mean, its been months-two months. And we're friends now. And I've already accepted the fact the he has moved on. And that he has found a new life. A new someone-whoever that is. Au revior? Not really. I think. I mean, di ba?

Sunday, September 9, 2012


I remember that first night, the 25th of April, and how the light from our neighbor's illuminated the small room  we were in. The bed was still, but the thoughts that ran through my head weren't. 

In the darkness, we began to come closer, treading and breaking the metaphorical miles that separated you and me. And then we kissed, for the very first time, and the repetitions began from that moment. 

Two months, two days and counting. But still, I write of this like the memory was from yesterday. "And then sadness, like a wave" drowned me.

Saturday, September 8, 2012

Stain Stories

His clumsiness splattered the contents of his morning mug at the table. Caffeine reeked all over the kitchen and the summery hues on their walls became vivid swirls. It was then that he realized that the best stains are the coffee drops on his notebook, evidence of his trying to wake up writing attempts at momentous literature.

Wednesday, September 5, 2012


Oh Lord Your love is glorious
and I am not a worthy receptacle
but please fill me. Let Your goodness overflow
for there is no joy like it.

My heart beats in fervent adoration
for Your name is worthy of praise.

I seek You. I love You. I worship You. 

Sunday, September 2, 2012

Backstage Beauty

And here I go again. Shoved in the back of the closet like a nonsense nobody. I was never the star. I was always the antagonist of everybody else's love story and though mistresses' and panakip-butas roles are promising on Philippine TV, it is one shitty role that I have to live with.

One pro though is that I get to pretend that I look a lot like Anne Curtis on No Other Woman except that I  have a cheaper wardrobe and a comparably lesser-sized mouth. I'm also beginning to wonder why I wanted to be in love in the first place. It's a terribly horrendous situation and what it did to me was simply make me ugly-eyebags are so unfriendly [curse you aftercry moments].

Wallowing has always been my most unfortunate trait and as far as I know, third party girls, homewreckers and backstage beauties have no right to even feel anything. The panakip-butas in me though is insisting that I have the right to shed a tear. And since the night is stone cold, my blanket's lost somewhere in the rummages of dirty laundry, I guess I'll simply cuddle myself in a fetal position and cry the hell out of me like there's no tomorrow. 

Besides, everybody loves a good teleserye moment. Even me.

Saturday, September 1, 2012

Al Dente

What will happen to me if I stop thinking of you? The fear is crisp and the metaphorical cliches of my fragmented thoughts imputed to your actions towards me have grown quite a lot with the passing of time.

"Release me from your clasps that I may go sober", my imagery mused when in fact what you did was simply exist. I was the ivy that clung to your torso and the poison I was suppose to have was the same poison that I got drunk in.

You have released me from your clasps. And I'm beginning to wonder why I can't. Indeed the fear is crisp and what I can only do is meditate while I munch it.
v: The Mean Reds

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