PAPERCUT

I lick the tip of the paper,

slowly.

Feeling its sharpness

as it slide across my tongue.

The sensation tingles pleasure to my mouth.

My lips quiver at the wetness of the sheet.

I remember you.

From a memory lost a long time,

You were my god.

I wasn't told you were screwed-up,

Yet I loved you anyhow.

It wasn't a lifetime with you, I know.

Neither was it a whirlwind love, but you know,

I got to admit, you took all my innocence.

All the desire, all the bliss,

All the good things,

I owe them all to you, yes.

Though you're gone,

Your lust lives in me,

You've cast your shadow,

on a soul liberally unfree.

It's not you but what you've made me,

That, which will last forever.

This road goes on infinitely.

And as I hold my pen

to write the story of my life,

My thought wanders to the place

where I danced with you all night.

Intoxicated, you told me you love me

And swore upon your cigarette

that I will be your one and only.

It was a pact upon that smoke,

that I still strongly hold on to.

I liked it that way.

That I was nothing more

or less than your woman.

The one and only.

But, in what sense did you mean that?

You gait across the room,

Your eyes so sharp.

Were you looking for a prey?

I did love it.

I yearned for it.

Maybe to be torn apart, like papercut.

You held me with those strong hands,

turned me around and said,

"Baby, you're mine.

Look me in the eye,

I've got you all right."

Dysthymia

     I’m feeling insecure with my language and teaching skills. The more I teach, the more I want to cringe in self-pity and helplessness. The more I work in this profession, the less I feel the joy. It seems like whatever I set myself to do backfires in the end. Whatever passion I had eventually trickles to nothing. I feel ashamed of myself; I feel like a hole void of light and hope. I have emptied myself of the remaining meager life that I created back in time when I was still full of youthful idealism.

Why am I an omnivore?

Everything bores me in the end. I think I might need stimulant drugs. Or maybe, I just want to be dead for a day. If this is how my life will keep going, I'd rather kill myself now. Somebody, poison me, please!

Dear Myself

Dear Myself,

I am utterly confused about you. In fact, the more I try to understand you, the more you become elusive. When I ask you a question, you answer back almost immediately without thinking then you change your mind. At times, you wouldn't even respond to me. I don't know what to believe in all that you say because you would defend that everything you said was or felt true WHEN you said it. What did you mean by that? More than once, you act like somebody else that I don't who you really are anymore, yet you said it was the way you are--constantly changing as how you put it. I want to believe you but it's hard to keep up with your shifting personalities. I try to ground you but you are too persistent and stubborn to fly away from any bind. We've been through so much until this time--and from this time onward, I might not be able to hold your hands anymore, and in time, lose you forever.

From I

Each passing day leaves my soul rotten.

The conundrum of solitude strips me insane.

Peaceful serenity of melancholy mocks.

Drifter Thoughts

I hope for one thing: 
For people to forget I existed, and to remember I lived.

My absence means nothing and don't expect my homecoming. I know only one home and that is my dream. A house is not a home for a vagabond like me, I live under the stars and on the grass I sleep. My mind gets lost in the beauty of ideas, my eyes marvel at the wonders of the world, my heart embraces life through the wind and sounds of nature. I am but one with all, love, peace, and God is within me as He is around us.