I Am Me

Pen

Smooth Scratches, thin point

One to four, Black to rainbows

My, what a fine pen!

Spaghetti

<•>

I remember being of full, of it being

Sweet but not too much as it

Bursts nicely

In my mouth;

The long noodles of tomato

Sauce and

Meatballs,

Creamy cheese melted

And I’d eat, eat, eat,

Like I’m chugging something

Addictive

My lips was covered; red

And messy—

And I’d remembered being

Full that It’d ask “Spaghetti”

For my Birthday,

Ten years later after that

Memory

Muffled

On a wall so paper thin it’s visible, I see

Clobber sounds I imagine comes when people walk, their footsteps heavy or soft depending on the pits of rain,

Trees fluttering, the sounds of crackles coming in faint rumbles,

Like the grass beneath but perhaps the feeling or warmth and softness is more apparent than whatever things I hear from it.

.

The sound-out groans, it moans in whistles,

Reminding me that things I described are things

I cannot hear behind where I am.

.

Yet I can imagine the echos the wind makes

When people walk, the thud and clobber the sounds of their shoes would make

The pitter-patter of rain, distinct

Sound of the sharp stream a car going past, motors screeching I fell more in

Curses rather than calm.

.

On a wall so paper-thin it’s visible, I hear and

Think, pictures aboard,

The muffled sounds of what a wind would speak

Be With Me

Inspired by, Yandere Simulator.

••••••••••

As the sun took a peek, it's rays shine down upon the busy roads. A young man with short chestnut hair, with school uniform on was seen as one of the crowds.

Many people bypass him, walking and bumping along without even a mutter of an apology (Not like he can say anything, after all, he's the same). As he goes with the flow to his destination, a shiver went up his spine.

He turns slightly, found nothing out place. He waited for a bit. Then faces back to the front, continuing at a faster pace when he took a peek on his phone(?).

He goes faster.

His heart pounded, eyes dilating as he now took a full blown sprint….

…. Only stopping when he reach the gate for the train station.

He went inside, and took a seat. He felt his ears ringing, feeling more tired than ever. He should've exercised more.

As he started to think more calmly, he felt like he forgot something.

His lunch? He checked, It was here.

His books? Same thing.

His phone? Yup, safe in his body.

What did he forgot?

As he feel in deep thought, he kept glancing around the area. He caught something at his sight.

A minute left, until his train arrived.

… He'll think about it in the train.

As he stands up, he goes close to the yellow line with an appropriate distance.

A phone buzzed on his pocket. He raised a brow. Since, when did they text him at this time of day.

He took it out, and found a message. From an unknown number.

“....?”

He checks the message.

.. Oh?

He clicks down.

Oh!

A few seconds passed as he keeps clicking down.

.. H-huh?

His breath hitched. His grip loosen suddenly. As his phone tumbles down, his colour turned white.

He went to the back, following the letter's words. It says to wait here. Honestly, he didn't want to, but the push and nitpicking from his friends we're getting on his nerves. And they promised to make it worse than it is, if he didn't go.

No choice but to do it, he went. But, he didn't expect a confession.

A love confession at that.

His brain short circuited after, he didn't remember the rest.

He only snap out of it when he heard the announcer of the train. He turns--

--and suddenly felt himself flying. With a person hugging him.

Ah.. now he remembered. He rejected them and took off.

Guess this is -------

All he remember seeing then was a red line speeding down to him, until his sight turned dark.

••••••••••

Question.

Who hugged him?

Opinion of A Belief

Series of thin coils.

Bit and bit, a pull whilst in peace

In months, days, minutes,

Seconds

The line is never-stopping.

.

Fingertips are humming

My mind wandering,

My feet are planted

And my heart

Murks

And sinks.

.

To cringe

Infer from the scene

Of the tone

Red and blue, mixing purples and

Shades.

Nerves of my wrist,

My calves,

Screaming like

My veins

.

Thin, bit and bit, I pulled.

Wisps of the thread disappears

behind.

I see the dust

Ever-constant,

As the bubbles of rage

On my throat.

.

My fingertips still burn.

Keep going

For my position

And my

person

Ever-moving.

Describing Sweet Nothings

True to it

She was a form.

Subtle, gentle, and merely

A smooth, teasing

Motion.

.

She was beautiful,

For I see her

Eyes smilling in crescents

Or her nails were more deeper than

Her skin.

.

Juxtaposition to her tone

Her words clothed

In Red, pink, purple—a rainbow,

Colouring my thoughts

With its slow poison.

How Unfortunate

As the man gazes his sight above, he reminisces the sky with It's shades of blues turning dark.

A sigh escapes his lips as he continue forward at a leisure pace, nor fast or slow.

His eyes goes downwards showing eyes from sleepless nights. His back hunched, and the suit hooked on his arm slightly kisses the ground.

He murmured under his breath, you can faintly hear complaints after complaints aimed to possibly the culprit of his disheveled appearance.

Finally finishing his gibberish he turns his head casually, noticing that he's the only one causing the sounds of footsteps.

It registers, he paused at his tracks, but move again as if that stop was just a flick of imagination. His exterior is as usual, tired and impassive, but the same can't be said to the man’s eyes darting frantically on every directions.

The street’s quietness and the man’s state gave a delicate air, that a gentle breeze and a lamps flicker can even make the already anxious (though not obvious) man, show more outside.

Step..

Step.

Step..

His body twitches, pace goes fast to slow constantly. Finally as if the man decided something he closed his eyes, opens them again. Calmer pupils showed and the steps were more close to the original.

The aura became more lazy, less strained. Almost covering from his previous actions.

Almost.

A hooded entity enters, walking oppositely to where it came from. Only the build gave away the entity's gender, a male. He wore a long leathery coat, every outfit were only colored black. His face, or rather his eyes were covered by his hat, shaded just like the rest. It's a wonder how he hasn't even broken a sweat from the warm night.

The man froze, sensing the ominous presence. His breath hitched, eyes widen as he secretly took a glance of the hooded person. His head goes down unnaturally, not even resuming the walk, and reluctant to even take a slide step.

Step..

Step..

Step..

Cold sweat began to form, his breath circulates like heartbeats. Sweat dripping from the forehead to the man's jaws at a fast rate.

The man's eyes were covered by his hair, his hand clutches where the heart is, perhaps an attempt to calm his state.

The hooded man didn't batted an eyelid, walking casually as if a man breaking down was of a normal occurrence.

Step..

Step..

Step..

The man did everything, from trying to raise his head and foot, to coughing out a noise. anything to snap out of his state, his body ignored his commands.

Step..

Step..

Step..

The hooded person was nearing, closer and closer by inch to inch.

The man stopped his attempts, maybe giving up.

Step..

Step..

Step..

The hooded man was now there, side by side with the man and stopped.

He leaned close to the man's face, closing in to his ears.

He spoke at a low pitch, but it was as clear. He whispered;

“My condolences.“

The man's shoulders turned rigid and tensed.

The hooded man left, his steps were more quieter.

A moment passed, he let out a breath, barely acknowledging that he was holding one. The man's legs wiggled. He used the wall right next to him and propped himself with his side, struggling to keep himself steady.

He breathed, in and out continuously.

He spoke under his breath, none of the words were understandable. His eyes morphed slowly, the already open wide turned impossibly big. He turns--

A crack echoed on the street.

The man's body limped, falling like a ragdoll. Bones cracking were heard, loud and clear.

Red liquid came out, oozing smells like coppers.

No one noticed until the next day.

••••••••••

Question.

How did the man died? Why was no one there?

Hint: Superpowers exist.

Dear you,

.

Recognizing

Despair;

Depression;

Disappointment;

Dispassionate;

Determination;

Anger;

Happiness;

Love.

.

—To whom I put down these words

When described,

Could you

Tell me

The weight of the history

Each—no, all

Nouns that had 

been 

made(and continuing) expresses?

.

For I don’t know.

Yet I’m

Adamant in sharing

These

Common, large words, as

.

Addictive in my high

Of labelling, the power

I feel when I simply call

Them out, as

Using for my advocation, when reading

When writing, when recognizing, finally,

What am I truly saying.

.

I ask you, I beg of you

What is the weight of my words?

To them. To you.

.

.

Sincerely yours,

A surrogate child of your language

Believe in Me

I told them:

.

I had believed I was a messenger of

Heaven;

I still believed I see

Devils on my mirror;

I can believed that my

Beliefs hold me, and I speak beyond my blood

And colour—an organ, carrying my identity with it, pumping my life and no

More than it that.

.

I was made of flesh, born, and see the basin carrying water

To be baptist as newborn under the cross,

Under the view of my

Religion. I assumed, it was

Like many others I witnessed as young kin

Of church.

.

And older, a day, a month, a year, in another country later:

Icy-veins I felt from the fingers to my arms, to my toes, frozing in untangilabe scare, alone

In my dark, dark room.

I was 12, weeping and thought:

I wished my hesrt to resist, let it be stone

So I would not cry, to simmer my anger out

Why not!?

.

It rejects

I reject it:

And heart pounded, my tears

Crinkling from my eyes, hanging off my eyelids

Down, down, to the floor

To my

homely

floor.

My throat chokes

I cannot keep it still.

.

My mind reeled to a story of a memory

I hoped to think I truly do hold dear: My silly mistakes, my promises,

My lies,

My childhood: I was living

Off the floor, a computer and I was

Everywhere, nowhere, but grounded

In my little corner of the

Room.

.

Don’t let me forget you, child.

.

Forget to pray, to beg, to be arrogant,

Be nothing but the silence you permeates

Around you.

.

Don’t forget this lesson, child

You born under the cross,

Once aquianted with the church every Sunday

At mass

And now you see yourself not

A follower

But a lover of arts

And a hyprocite of your religion,

Learning alongside them

And you see it, oh yes,

So close and you are there;

So far and you are the only one here.

.

Be still my beating heart.

.

It asks, “What are you, if nothing

But a walking dead?”

.

I believed to be an animal, a person,

Speaking, recognizing, engaging,

Walking on two feet.

.

It asks again, “Are you true?”

.

Again, I told them:

.

I believed because the rest of me

Can cry,

Can twinkle my toes,

Can laugh,

Can hate,

And love.

I can move and heart,

My dear heart, the holder of my being: “You are alive.

And I am alive.”

.

I can think, therefore I am here. I am living as you,

and

you as me.

A Sip

Licking wounds

from the already

faded but still

reddened cheeks.

It‘s the eyes,

the twitch

of the

brows to the

muscles of the

mouth—

.

I can see it talk.

I can hear it speak.

I can feel many thoughts.

but maybe it

wasn’t.

.

A past is backward.

Did you ever took

a step forward?