wither, with him, within

sad sappy writings for the the month of november.

"I'm a ghost haunting the halls of my own home." - Father, A False God.

youth grows on branches of mango trees. pluck them early green and bury them in rice baskets to ripen them quick. love grows on branches of guava trees. pluck them early green and they are solid teeth-breakers. pluck them late white, love melts in your mouth into pulpy relish.

our history is indefinitive throughs | sept 1, 2020.

pieces of my scattered, unfiltered thoughts mostly written during the darkest parts of the night. HIGHEST RANKINGS: #104 in poetry #25 in poetic

They danced the night away. They had some decent conversation. They were complete strangers testing the enormity of time while doing things they never knew they canㅡuntil the break of day prohibits them to do so. Magnolia unravels a one-shot story as it meets a series of poetry about the nostalgia of an instance and the nerve-wracking pain of regret, found between the cracks of an imperfect romance.

A collection of poetry found its way juxtaposed with short works of prose, conveying talks about what comprises the life of a fool, what it takes to be such, and whatnots in between. Fools is a book of poems and prose alike, dedicated for those who experienced being a fool so deeply that it became an overlooked habit.