Poor Old Cup.

Now in shards.

Swept under the rug.

...

What I hate about being sad is when it starts looking very much like a soap opera.

The Circus Came To My Village.

Day in and day out, the jugglers and fire-eaters and the band intrude upon my solitude.

I think I ought to visit my river for a few days.

The circus will have to go to another festive place. I like my sleepy village sleepy.

Making Like My Ate.

So all she did was laugh, keep talking then turn her focus on the dishes that needed her attention.

If It Ain't Poultry, It's Paltry.

The why is over a cup of coffee. Or four.^_^

Cannon Smoke.

Will I find you here? Beyond the mist of the dead's long faded-away cries? Or prone and broken on the blood-wet mud? This war has been fought for too long.

I am its casualty. Its breathing casualty.

Nakakangalay.

Kaya ibababa ko na nga.:D

Tama ka, Jenny.

He Said I Do It Not Out Of Restraint.

And I deserve to be taken out and hung.

But all things are in the duality of existence... Trying to see both sides sometimes just leads you to just mere double-vision.

My eyes are beginning to feel strained.

Deepening Circles.

I keep walking around and around. I am too restless. Too restless to do anything.

All I can do is walk. And walk. And walk. And walk...

Ramblings.

A lonely ocean has formed across the planes of my chest. Unknown and extinct creatures, feasted on even in death, sink to the bottom...

Far from the reach of my hands- wrinkled by brine.

My broken lips bleed from their mute utterances of this coral language.

My lifeless body sink with them.

Bereft still of translation.

My Sleepy Head Was Dreaming.

The arm of this chair. The dirty lines of these tiles. Panels of metal and sand. The sleepy droning of this metal beast. The chatter of those green girls.

Why do they separate us, love?

Their existence conceived this bursting fruit. Like a child flailing on the ground. It threatens to shame me. It pulls at invisible wings longing for flight. Rails at invisible chains that anchor my limbs above the ground.

They're Getting Restless.

Children have been running around in my head these past weeks. They're starting to wear out the carpeting. The walls have been running out of space for their scribbling.

Sigh. Alas, they are only in my head. They are still begging to be touched, for their bruises to be kissed, for their bedtimes stories to be read, for their nightmares to be chased away... out of my head... out of my imaginings....

Love... are your children getting restless, too?

I beg you, find me... as I am getting restless, too.:(