Tool Box

I have grammatical errors here and there. So I won’t care if you comment this and that. I’m not asking for an audience anyway. Because it’s you I hate.

I ostracize myself from the fallacies of our coalescence, but somehow humanity maligns my intervals even in this voluntary exile. Their queries shall not be satisfied for they have cracked this mould. This entry is too contrived, even for me, but if I allow that to conquer my subconscious, then I am allowing myself to share in their mediocrity. All is faint for us both, and I can only hope for this faultine to mend, because it’s taking away the reason in me.

Picture me, as I carry your name as my banner, trudging against the subtle heat of the eastern sun with my left hand close to my heart— real close… clutching.

The air is still and in black & white like this photograph of you I keep, ever making me feel complete. But it is a classic joke, because all this just reminds me of our distance.

I will not let you go. I never will. I would rather ail than to neglect these conspiracies we both share. And I will never let ANYONE be of obstruction. Not even her.

I’d die to be your lullaby, to be the last one who will sing you to sleep.

But there is no hope in that, for the crows have shrouded my sky, divesting me of my will. My attempts at flight are futile, because our mystery is betrayed, and the colors i’m looking for show exhaustion.

I can never be your lullaby, but I can send you my bullet. I’ve named my bullet after you, and carved my trigger "risk".

My wings are tainted with condolence and denial, exposing my sins. But this will not matter, though it haunts me more than anybody else. Watch me writhe in my own amorphous figure. Watch me.

I’m looking forward to your distant promising embrace, that eventually perforates the walls you build to keep me away, reflecting my recurrent grief.

These bruises don’t make me forget. Shit. I am such an idiot. I don’t want to be talked about this. Why do I have to take the extremes? Shit. SHIT. I hope all of this is just something to worry about and  huhuhu. Shit. I don’t know. I am such a n idot. I don’t care what I write now. I am such an idiot. An erring idiot. Shit shit. Why do things have to go so wrong? So very wrong? It’s my fault to begin with. Why do I have to be so attached anyway? Because it’s part of me and it will never leave.  It’s supposed to be only me. Selfish motherfucker. I just. Gahh. Fucking mosquitoes. No backspaces now. Just type what ou think.. think of this as an automatist post. I don’t care. SHIT. Whyy. Atay uy. ngano man ni. Fuck. I hope bruises make me forget. I just hope I forget. SHIT. These bruises will just remind me. SHIT. Take my skin off! Anyone! Shittt… I hope it explodes. I hope he explodes. I hope he explodes. I hope all will be lost for him. I hope I hope. Because I am such an idiot. And because I know it’s mine to begin with. I don’t care. I am an idiot. I hope I feel better writingthis. But this will not be enough. This will never be enough. Nothing will be enough. Because it’s a memory. A Memory. Memory. Memory. The fucking word. Why do I have to suffer that word? Why does it have to stain this youth? This youth? How do others find it easy to neglect? NEGLECT?? Why can’t I neglect? Why do i feel so attached? Why do I care so much? Why do I worry? Why does it have to be me? Why do I think I am who I am? Atttttay. These bruises aren’t working. Bruises don’t work. This doesn’t work. Nothing will work. Because it’s a memory. And there’s nothing left for me to do but to swallow. SWALLOW? Shit. I am not like that. I cannot just let that be a part of something else. I am so fucking stupid. I can’t do anything about it now. I’m an idiot. I hope. I just hope. I just hope I’m worrying too much and that eventually all of this will be better. Lord. Help me. I was so stupid. Ikaw nalang Lord. Please. Ikaw ra jud atoh Lord. Can’t sleep. This is mine to begin with. Lord. Lord. Lord. Sorry, Lord.

God. Salamat sa silence.

All of this feels like the time I wrote my first blog. First blog. First blog. First blog. First blog. But I guess It was worse. And it was a year then. BASTAAAAAAA. SHit. I just hope that eventually all of this will leave. Leave leave leave. I hope hope hope that there’s a way to rid me of all this. Lord, tabang. Why did i have to be so stupid stupid stupid stupid. Gah! And to think that it really was my fault. Gah! Help. Anyone.

Not even this entire blog, almost a year of writing, will explain this hollow.

Fuck. I hate writing. I just don’t get you. ALL OF YOU!

Watch the autistic die.

Why won’t you leave this frame?

The clock indicates 5:40 A.M. and you’re still not out of my mind. I won’t and can’t rest until I somehow find the means of breaking your picture.

The promising crows herald the light of the daybreak, yet I am still left here with these vague sentiments.

I am absorbed by the distant window to my right. What I see beyond that window calls me to neglect nocturnal respite, and imbibe in the morning silence.

It is exactly 5:55, and as I march, the avian beasts accompany my struggle with ironic melodies.

The 5:58 light starts to haunt me. This astral brightness reminds me of the places that reside in my subconscious, the vast spaces not mundane. Yet none will suffice. Not until you are with me here, in my own glass prison. You, that very nectar that leaves me without sleep.

It’s already the quarter of the whole day. And 8 minutes more.

I will not sleep.

Sometimes, you just have to swallow, and realize that it’s easy to fathom all these, and deflect yourself from your pointless pursuit that eventually suffices noone. No, not even you.

This scene looks familiar. Taking your words a bit further, this could be an epilogue to your words.

Your tight grip reveals your yearning, and I’ve always wanted you to
think it through that there isn’t much for your fingers to hold on to.
THERE IS NOTHING.

How i extend a hand and my entireness, to save you from falling from the fringes of your desires, your illusions of safety, and how you refuse to take me, and how you would rather relinquish that grip. STOP DREAMING. STOP *******.

Your tragic choice.

Because noone could possibly be born CALLOUS. You unfeel for yourself.

Yep, I’ll sit by a rock under an ominous tree, and watch you slip.

This could be our movie, our surreal ending, or birth.

Just hold on to that "nothing", and I will wait for your eventual fall, and be there just in time to save you from apparent death. I will wait for that.

Endless posibilities of composure, it gives
That small billowing cloud, every smoker believes
For a peso’s worth, what more could be logical
Than indulging in this ritual of slow suicidals?
Nirvana packed in one single stick
Mysterious as to that common wand in magic
A single puff lets out a subtle smile
In submission to this angry denial
Race, religion, status and age
All become irrelevant to this bondage
Oh, noone is free from the fact
That almost each and everyone has emptied a pack
In malls, in airports, in parks, they reserve
A special area for them, who deserve
No other people are given the treat
Of gathering the common in a place they’d all meet
Didn’t you know that this boosts our values
Of sharing the light for someone else to use?
Join, all of you, I invoke
To light up a cigarette, and to banner the smoke!

– ironically.. i don’t smoke. I never do. I just felt like composing this piece of shit while people watching this afternoon. Giatay. Hahaha.

I spot a red couch at the end of a dark, unfamiliar hall, and as I progress, an old, dusty window  with  sills stained in a subtle peach materializes to my right. An apparent figure of her peers through the frame, calling me in surprise of my arrival. As i enter the room I see with my eyes’ corner, to my right, her sister removing stains from her sky-blue blouse with a moistened grey sock. Then she looks down, casually. Our locked arms meet, and she then shows me an I.D. to my school. Her I.D. to my school. Gaaah! She told me she was shifting to that common course, in my school. Then, my phone rings an unfamiliar ring tone. I pick it up and a text message follows… "Oh.. so you turned your phone on now.".

I wake up.

Thank you "little button", for pulling me from my subconscious.

;P

"Familiar breath of my old lies, changed the color of my eyes. Sitting closer than my pain, she knew each tear before it came. "