ballad of rumination.

i am the mist that envelopes the morning blues. | attempting writing.

[xxro]

the moon is drunk, as the clouds envelop their embraces to the night sky; the graveyard of dust and stars. besides the ocean tides, there i dragged my ghosts through the whiff of cold breeze. my time float like dead fishes in intoxicated ripples. my dreams are stung by the frozen blossom, awake, in awe awaiting the sun.

[xxro]

why does tumblr feels like a ghost-town…?

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and i send endless letters to the universe about you, praying you could touch me as in-depth as the ocean could its ground.

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curation for madness is not a creation, but creation is a projection of the mind that can be used to ascend from a suffocated illusion.

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i made friends with destruction beneath my ceiling whenever the clocks strike at midnight. i tamed unwanted ghosts litten with fire celebrating surrounding me, wanting my flesh. in the mornings, they whisper; sleep, sleep, or you'll get torrified from being haunted and hunted. your nemesis, yourself.

until a day slipped and someone stumbled upon my little course of fate and spoke of their fondness to read my scribbles. usually, when failed to maintain balanced equanimity; i would make strokes on my paper, as i melt my heart into ablaze. but the truth is, these are merely reflections from deprivation for the final exile that i thought would bring me salvation. if i'll be asked about my grief; with notebooks and taunted walls; i have left massive imprints. deniable enviousness peaks at the window, while regrets knock at the front door. here within lies down the aisle of bones for every funeral of the things i could have been.

lately, though, for some finite circumstances, the spaces between my pages have been quiet. it is as if somebody else had entered and frozen the war. and in one flicker, i am needless of turning things into something that makes sense. my nocturnal appreciation evolves from faulty aches to a moon-litten path of blooming slumber. and if someone is wondering why i have bare records of these times they shower me daylights; it wasn't because i did not feel the necessity of documenting it. but because this juncture set both my comfort and pen to lie down languorously without the taste of dismay, and throughout the remnant of time, i felt secured, enough, to let my mind live in a temporary storyless happiness, because i was given a thing more valuable to hold.

roma | the nocturnal bliss of unwritten things.

[xxro]

i want to tell you, that you are a magic.

the rumination of my eyeless hopes and dreams flashed before the death of the night glimpsed over us. the beginning of the sun's peak is the faultless inscription of your discernable tidal rushes. it reaches, it embraces, it takes over, it returns, and it dwells on.

you captivate the cosmos like a devil's advocate that belongs to the flames of sodom and gomorrah.

and on the moon, where you put me rent-free, abandoning the loyalty of misery beyond my feet; one that you always tell me to relinquish altogether. there we reside to count the stellar and trace the specks of dust on each other's holy carcasses like we were speaking braille.

teaching me how to daydream, the gaping serenity of wonderous wanderer grows beneath my ribcage. it grows, and it thrives, and you light its flame alive.

and just like the faultless embodiment of water, whose tides are tied to the refuge of the moon. with my pen, i promise to make you deathless. the portrayal of love nourishes and seeks your devotion, and to you, i submit.

roma | the whiff of the gleaming night sky

[xxro]

My love for you has stitched the threads of April –

The summer breeze of foamy beach stirred my devotional sigil,

Feed me your mouth like a tranquil,

I shall obey you like a young angel.

[xxro]

I dress up white with glossy lips

My hair scented of chamomile from the fields

Oakwood & jasmine is damped on my skin

Your mouth uttered something in a glimpse

“This unforgettable delight I'd like to last forever.”

[xxro]

[photo was received on 5th of April]

Glistening, dangling, and wobbling.

A woodland child in the twilight of gaping fireflies and the emerging secret language of air and petal leaves. Mellow footsteps drop across the soil, as the toes began to wander barefooted in the cessation of the abandoned castle behind. Traces of rain droplets were embedded in the whiff of wild grasses. A mother's touch is a fairy's daydream of magic and a humane prayer for salvation. For the delinquency to oversight the negligence is more than harmful of an attempt to cross a needle that is congested by yesterday's dysfunctional relics.

The deterioration of mushrooms amidst the darkness glints through the lenses of the authentic woods surrounded by the synthetic atmosphere. One of yesterday's morrow was when the runaway midnight dash of decays shy away from the heat of comfort within somebody else's skin. It was a nerve-racking enlightenment spirit of efficacy. An admirable step away from the pit of hefty monstrous feet. Once it belonged to the bloom of mushroom's death, which then, struck the blossom of erosion and naivety of somebody else's illusionary pleasant gazes to themselves. But out of intuition, without the course of methods and a bunch of physical trials.

Is it not in our nature fortes to be in a constant and mere illusion? Mirroring the filthy lake, the moon would quietly whispers to the lilies of valley, until it amasses, gentle folds of the thorough wishes orbits the Woodland Child's sensation and time.

— roma | the nocturnal bliss of unwritten things.

[prophetic-writer]

"How do you write such realistic dialogue-" I TALK TO MYSELF. I TALK TO MYSELF AND I PRETEND I AM THE ONE SAYING THE LINE. LIKE SANITY IS SLOWLY SLIPPING FROM BETWEEN MY FINGERS WITH EVERY MEASLY WORD THEY TYPE OUT. THAT IS HOW.

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10.10.22

my thoughts were too loud, it was difficult to contemplate and determine which one was the instinct and which one was the destruction. i took the bike to loosen up the atmosphere, definitely not my screws. i encircled the three streets of the subdivision and i didn't go any further. john street has a road heading in a direction from west to east. there i was able to reflect over the moon that almost encounter the leaves of the acacia tree beneath it, embracing its shape through the playful eyes that appear no closer to the touch of clouds. it was 6 pm. sooner, i bought myself a popsicle of ice cream, two sneakers, and a potato junk food, and sat in front of the abandoned sari-sari store beside the bike. i've consumed the snacks so are my nonsensical contemplations because i've been afraid it would consume me first. after the talks, i've decided to walk back and forth. i'll tell ya what, a motorcycle driver halted 5 meters away from me when i was walking across their direction. at first, i thought they were a delivery guy. 2 meters away, i've concluded to myself that they were taking picture of the street to update their partner. then i saw he took a picture of the moon which had already drifted apart from the sight of the tree. i was amused. the moon, was, indeed fascinating and elegant. that was around 7 pm. when i've convinced myself to cycle back to our house, i had been thinking about the stuff that i would tell you, how i would tell them, and what words i would like to utter. like how i would plan to trace your skin in silence if we were closer. that would dominate my expression. it's kind of out of nowhere i know. then, there was a trail line of a jet plane in the night sky. also, i have not been able to not imagine the idea or at least had it not crossed my mind to have you with me ever since i had you, whenever i'm anywhere at all. ...i think i've input them badly, but whatever

[xxro]

i want to tell you, that you are a magic.

the rumination of my eyeless hopes and dreams flashed before the death of the night glimpsed over us. the beginning of the sun's peak is the faultless inscription of your discernable tidal rushes. it reaches, it embraces, it takes over, it returns, and it dwells on.

you captivate the cosmos like a devil's advocate that belongs to the flames of sodom and gomorrah.

and on the moon, where you put me rent-free, abandoning the loyalty of misery beyond my feet; one that you always tell me to relinquish altogether. there we reside to count the stellar and trace the specks of dust on each other's holy carcasses like we were speaking braille.

teaching me how to daydream, the gaping serenity of wonderous wanderer grows beneath my ribcage. it grows, and it thrives, and you light its flame alive.

and just like the faultless embodiment of water, whose tides are tied to the refuge of the moon. with my pen, i promise to make you deathless. the portrayal of love nourishes and seeks your devotion, and to you, i submit.

roma | the whiff of the gleaming night sky

[xxro]

My alienated soul drifts upon the atmosphere when everybody else mistakes my ocean for a river, and my mountains for hills, while they glance through their bottomless pit under the same sky. 🌃

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rings gracefully inside my head.

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some reminiscent of the yesterday's bloom can just ever be forgotten. it is a jasmine's scent, a whiff of influence that lingers last.