my head holds,
a most dangerous weapon
one that could damage
the most cheerful of people
the most fucked up of thoughts
the ones that no one could fathom
filled with despair and sadness
one could only imagine
and so my eyes dawned
upon the mistakes that i had made
only time could heal
these stupid fucking wounds
the time bomb ticks
[ten, nine, eight, seven, six]
the end may be near now
[five, four, three, two, one]
BINABASA MO ANG
slowly drowning
Poetry"why do they use butterflies to describe that feeling, when it actually feels like moths?" my poetry, short stories, and other things.
