Ode to a ghost

Ode to a ghost

You know I cannot help but think about you
But I do not think highly of you
For some reason you never cease to end up
in my head like my brain is some sort of dump
The stench of wanted and unwanted things

Linger altogether. I smell them, breathe them.
I remember waiting and walking to and fro along
that long alley of lights and machines and coffee
Abundant with strangers walking and pacing like I do
I wondered a little how come they don’t seem
to look like me. And low, I beheld you from afar.

I remember your challenged length and reach.
Nearly leveled were our eyes which didn’t make
watching you so difficult not even meeting your lips
and your eyes; which in fact, were dreamy
at the time; at that very little time

That we, my dear, had
Nights. We had a few weeks of only nights
Spent walking through different streets lit
Only by moon and lampposts and trains.
I remember thinking about you as if it ran on a clock.
A clock with countless arms that seemed to run
around both clock and counterclockwise
And I remember the need to swim in the words
we uttered on those nights because I was a fragile
heart, you said. You were a stopwatch taking your
pace and space and your mind in your own head.

I was confused because you held me like you
Wanted me to be a part of you and yet you shun me
and my advances to the dust. “Take our time,”
You said. A hundred days slowly passed which was mine.
Because you told me to take them anyway. I took
My time like I should and as it was mine like
My heart was and still is too, I took all of them with me.
And it’s funny how after another hundred more days
You asked me me to welcome you back in a place
I no longer live in or even visit. Funny, right? Funny, yes.

You know I cannot help but think about you
But I do not think highly of you
For some reason you never cease to end up
in my head
Like my brain is some sort of dump
The stench of wanted and unwanted things

Linger altogether. I smell them, breathe them.
I remember waiting and walking to and fro along
that long alley of lights and machines and coffee
Abundant with strangers walking and pacing like I do
I wondered a little how come they don’t seem
to look like me. And low, I beheld you from afar.

I remember your challenged length and reach.
Nearly leveled were our eyes which didn’t make
watching you so difficult not even meeting your lips
and your eyes; which in fact, are now just a mere
stench of the past. A neglected scent of a ghost.

I don’t know what to write.

I don’t know what to write.

I don’t know what to write.
But I know that I love you.
I know that you are waiting.
For so many things.
To board the plane.
To return to school.
To graduate.
To learn.
To wait.
To return.
To me.
For me.

I don’t know what to write.
But I know that I will miss you.
I know that you are longing.
As much as I am.
As much as I do.
To hold you.
Touch you.
Feel you.
Kiss you.
You.
You.
Us.

I don’t know what to write.
I know nothing much but I’m here.
And I don’t know how else to say things.
I’m throwing up words while I eat them.
Taste them
Know them.
Chew them.
Swallow.
Digest.
And out.

I don’t know what to write.
Though I know sort of wrote about
you.

These are my ideas

These are my ideas

I have a new idea. I think I could even fall in love with it, the way I did with you. The way I would hope for things that you only disappoint me with. Like beer, I chug and swallow but never appreciate the taste. The way my makeup wears down through the day. You can hardly even see any left. The way I thought I’d be fought for, cared for, only to be let down.

Here’s an idea. I’m going out tonight. Somewhere so far I’d regret being there in the first place. By the time I got there, I would eat regret for dinner and watch every single busy person, loved person, occupied person, too productive person pass me by the same way the world revolves around the sun. Like regret and anger mashed into one disgusting cannon ball that smashed my heart because it believed I could be the sun for awhile.

Here’s another idea. I am selfish. I own my life like I own my pillows, my comfort, my satisfaction. And if you dare sleep with them I will haunt you in your dreams and make you wish you did not get them. Like kissing my lips in lit cigars or shot glasses, inhaling my breath without any permission even when I gave them freely… But I will take it all back because I still wasn’t the sun. So that is me making you rue the very day you didn’t revolve around me right on schedule.

Here’s another idea. Dancing with someone else would be nice. Like bowing down to a new master following his command when really I’m the commander, I’m the boss because I’m the little girl playing with not so little toys. And we’re in a party, alone… Just us under the stars in a graveyard of lost loves and regrets. Wishing I wouldn’t have to think about new ideas because you were my favorite idea, like a playmate. Like a partner in a crime I’d forever commit.

I just. I suppose you weren’t the best.

Last time I checked.

Last time I checked.

The system swallowed me whole the way the sunrise did. It rises over and I cannot keep the light off me. I’m covered in and out that even if I try to keep my mouth shut, your eyes won’t cease to see, that I am screaming.

“Sorry,” you said. Like a routine. Like a greeting fresh from the morning brew. I can smell it. It sends a vivid image of sincerity and a warm embrace like compassion. Like love. And I’m home.

Last time I checked, I loved you like the sunlight. Clear as the day I said I’m going to jump because you said you wanted to fly. Assuming that you would fly, I had the confidence to say I really will jump and come up to the sky. I don’t even need to ask you to try and catch me or whatever because I didn’t care much about where the wind will take me. I just knew I would be safe. I knew that I would be at home in the clouds with you because you said you wanted to fly. I knew you would.

You haven’t even taken off and I think I’m too far off from the cliff. Fucking fuck Mcfuck. Where have you been? Where were you all this time?

I wandered off alone on the horizon. I saw the horizon. I saw the storm. The thunder stung like what the fuck. I wasn’t even prepared for the blinding light, the deafening clap, the wounds, the scars. Last time I checked, I have had enough of that.

Last time I checked, I really loved you because I kept trying to keep my mouth shut. You kept your mouth shut because I told you so. You kept it shut even when I am screaming, hoping you would find me. I kept screaming so anybody could find me. I have lost my voice and I still kept screaming. All because the whole time I yelped for you, I was watching your back running like your running with someone but that someone wasn’t me. All this time, perhaps, you thought that was me.

So, where have you been? Because last time I checked you said you love me you said you’re afraid to lose me you said want to wait for me you said you said you said you said and I’m tired holding on to empty words you fucking said.

Last time I checked you said you would let me go. For once, I believed one thing from you. That this time, this time, for sure, I would be free. But I wasn’t even sure if I wanted to be free. Deep down, I was never ready. But I always have been free; it was my choice.

I thought there was some sort of handcuffs that bound me to you and I happily embraced it because I was with you. Then again, I have gone far off the cliff. You haven’t flown to catch me or save me because last time I checked, you said “It’s up to you.”

I have never felt this lost my entire life and I’m just waiting to reach the bottom rock.┬áThen again, I have gone far off the cliff.

You may think you are a dragon but you’re a lizard to me.

You may think you are a dragon but you’re a lizard to me.

Annoys and annoys me.
You’re presence is toxic.
The way you extend out your tongue
Exudes with fumes
And I fuel it until I become fire

Fire fuels me as I fuel the fire
I now am the fire.
Don’t crossover.
I will burn you.
And you will burn.
To the ground with grit;
To pieces. To ashes.
To particles of fuck
Like the fuck you are.

I like the sound of your caffeinated brain

I like the sound of your caffeinated brain

I like the sound of your caffeinated brain
I like the way the train
Of your thought sail through
Oceans

or horizons, if you will.
After all, you are a pilot,
you, flyer, you man with wings, you

The role of the engineer. The role of the technician.
But they all seem French to me.
Sounds amazing but you never understand.
Tempting even when you’re under a spell
sealed with a wondrous kiss.
Wake up, love and realize
You are not prepared for this, this, this

My love, this–
is how you speak when you had coffee, this–
is how you speak when you sing to me, this–
is how you speak when you lie to me, this–
is how you speak when you breathe and eat me, like–

The role of the engineer. The role of the technician.
But they all seem alien to me.
Sounds familiar but I always get lost
Amazing even you step on slippery slopes
sliding to a downward spiral.
Wake up, love and realize
You are not prepared for this, this, this

My love, this–
is how you tell me you love me, this–
is how you tell me I will be fine, this–
is how you tell me (fuck) we will be fine, this–
is how you tell me you promise, this–

I like the sound of your caffeinated brain
I like the way the train
Of your thought sail through
Oceans

or lies, if you will.
After all, you are a pilot,
you, lover(liar), you man with wings, you

Aircon buzzing

Aircon buzzing

And then it all went down to this. The stale fragrance of the rain. The nothingness of the moment. And me.

I, Vicentia, sit alone in an empty office. I had my lurk around from the familiar corners of the room that I don’t even care about. To the right-hand corner sits the door and from there to the wall in front of me, a wide desk. It functions as a table and a shelf basically anything we might bother to leave there every now and then. Over this spot, a wide shelf carrying books in coordinated in colors. Another separate shelf sits by the left-hand corner of the room. Behind me, as I sit here on the centerpoint of the room, more desks, more office chairs. They are as empty as the room.

The aircon disintegrates the quiet of the room. It sounds static and repetitive and boring. It is the kind of sound that makes you feel sad.

“It’s time,” said the other man whom I thought wasn’t in the room. As he said that this, one of my bosses stepped in and grabbed his mob of mugs on the reception desk to the right side of the room.

‘Oh, is it.’ I thought. I didn’t bother thinking about what’s next or what’s to come at this time. I didn’t notice much that the man in the room was singing. At this point, the singing went a little louder than the usual.

The buzzing aircon sound reemerged from the nowhere in my mind. Blocking the noise seemed too difficult now.

I don’t exactly know what comes next after this scene but I am pretty sure this is not going to end well. Who knows. ‘Only-who-knows’ knows.