The Scorpion Stung

“Hello! Are you there?”, I asked myself once as I sat on this wooden bench that stood on the perimeter of our school’s Sports’ Field. I was lonely; which pretty much was the description of my everyday life.

            It seemed like a typical day for me: alone, depressed, anxious and longing. My only companion was my heavy bag that contained all the necessary stationery materials that aid me in my classes and some things that I consider as my lucky charms (such as rosaries and fans and coins.)

            “god Ridge! Can you stop being a weirdo for once?!”, I hiss at myself. I admit that I am weird. Sometimes I don’t like that term, sometimes I do. Whenever I feel proud of my eccentricity, I tell myself, “Being called weird is like being called limited edition. I must not deny it. Is just have to take pride on it.” However, there are times when my depression gets the best of my positivity which results to my overthinking regarding the abovementioned matter.

            Perhaps the reason why I’m pretty much alone all the time is because I am too weird. I am too different and too abnormal that people just stay away from me. It feels sad. My pride is my depression. I am my own undoing. There are times when I imagine myself as this cool jock in high school: popular and handsome and adorable and what not. I do it so that I could somehow keep myself happy amidst this Great Depression blazing inside of me. Some of the time, it works. I suddenly forget my sorrow; however, much of the time, it doesn’t.

            There’s this story that I once heard on one of my favorite TV Shows. It’s about this frog and scorpion. Once there was this frog and scorpion who were trying to cross the river. The scorpion asked the frog if he could carry him across the river so they could both cross. The frog was hesitant because he was afraid that the scorpion might sting him. ”Promise me you’re not going to sting me. If you sting me, I’ll die and we’ll both die in the river.” The scorpion agreed so the frog gave him a ride. When they were in the middle of the river, the scorpion stung the frog. “Why did you sting me?!”, asked the dying frog. “I’m sorry, it’s just my Nature.” The story ended in the death of the frog and the scorpion. It was tragic but the same time, meaningful and relatable.

            It makes me wonder, what if I’m the scorpion? What if weirdness and loneliness is in my nature? What if no matter how much I try to change, I still won’t be able to stop myself from driving people away?

            I have friends- an ensemble of the most amazing people in the world. However, there are times that I just feel lonely. There are times when I wonder if they really consider me as a friend or a random companion.

            The whole time I was sitting on that bench, I was pondering upon the things that made me feel so depressed. It was disheartening so I took out my phone and checked for new messages. I was hoping someone was looking for me to spend their lunch with or squander the vacant time with. However, NOTHING. There was nothing. It always happens to me and yet, I can’t seem get accustomed to such. I still feel depressed whenever I look at my inbox.

I started going through my phonebook and texting my friends hi. I do that all the time whenever I feel lonely. I text my friends Hi. I wonder if they notice that. I wonder if they can sense that when I text them Hi, it means I’m very lonely and desperate of accompaniment.

            Loneliness to me is analogous to pain; I have very weak tolerance of the former and the latter. From time to time, people get sad and alone and after a few reflections, they start to feel well and get over the reasons. Unfortunately, the case is different on me. When I start feeling lonely or depressed, there’s no stopping of my thoughts and emotions from bombarding me.

            “Yes! I am here!”, said an echoing voice that sounded very near. It startled me so much I almost fell off the bench.

            “Who are you? Where are you?”, I asked with eagerness and curiosity.

            “I am you. I am here. Here. Here. Here.”, said the echoing voice. His words descended into echoes until it faded into mere silence. I am you, he said. Was I talking to myself? Did my thoughts just respond to me?

            “I need your help. Help. Help. Help.”, he replied. What did he mean? Were I just asking myself some help? Why now? Why respond now?

            “Who are you? Why do you need help?”, I replied.

            “Because I’m changing. Changing. Changing. Changing.”, all of his repercussions had echoes. It almost felt like I’m talking to myself who is trapped somewhere dark and cavernous.

            “Changing? What kind of change? Aren’t all changes be for the better? Why would you need help with that?”, I was shocked with his plead. Why would he need help with the change that’s coming to him? All my life, I’ve been looking for some changes and he’s just rejecting them?

            “No. You don’t understand. I’m changing.”, he replied again. This time, it had no echo.

            “I’m changing into a Monster.”, he said.

TO BE CONTINUED…

The Doctor's Keys

Broken was my heart, like fragile debris of a broken glass

I sat in a chair, in front of a piano borne in brass.

I let my tears flow, like a dirty river from a watery hill

Till my emotions be like noble rock on an insipid stand still.

Must the treachery of love so deceptively fine be excruciating?

Must I be tortured by pain so unending?

I cannot bare to live a life with a broken heart.

Must there be found something of this end, it would be a new start.

I stared at the piano as if it had wisdom— enough to be supplementary

Of what I need so I may break free from the bonds of agony.

But all it did was imitate my very prime action,

He stared back at me, T’was his inanimate motion.

I reached for his keys, the very foundation of his silent soul

I pressed them, played with every black and white till a pianist was my sudden role

He spoke to me in notes and melodies of mellifluous harmony

He drilled into my skin, reaching deep within to get to the chain that is perpetually binding me.

Like the virgin ground of dear mother Earth, every single link cracked

My heart was anew, as if of pain, it was never attacked.

The piano was my doctor and its music was my medicine

He have put things back— same as they’ve always been.

I slept the night lulled by peace, as if nothing had ever happened

Awakened by the nonspeaking harmony of my doctor that has gotten me unchained.

Though a new age does not begin today, a new me is born still,

Thanked be the doctor for his keys, for from them, did I heal.

Down The Halls

I pass this wickedly narrow hall,

I walk blank, as if I were to rise or fall…

I am surrounded by these nasty creatures

Of crooked face, ugly teeth, bulging nose and other features.

I walk past this troll,

Whom by his phone, often does scroll

Then by the hag who cast spells

Of results in which, none can bare to hear nor tell.

I past more monsters than any heroes do

It’s the same routine, nothing ever new

But then, I approach a supernova of white

I come close to an angel who radiates brighter than the moonlight.

I approach you by the narrow hallway

If only time would still the moment so I could gaze at you all day

If only I had more than a sword and a shield

If only I had courage— the power to make efforts yield…

I would stand by your wings and gaze at your robe

As if you were a statue inside a glittery globe

I would hold you in my arms for you’re the perfect fit

To a jigsaw fathomable by wit.

My angel, my sweet serenity

If only I had a lamp that homes a genie

I would cast him free for he’s no longer needed

In front of me is all the wishes contained in one beauteous body— which I’ve always wanted.

The sun sets, the moon rises

As time flies, a moment vanishes

Every day I see you by the hallway, glowing genially,

I don’t get tired of it, for a sight of you is an adventure always uncanny.

The Reaped Ripper

I asked him who he was and he told me,

“It is I who walks with you in the light

It is I whom you seek by the dawn of night

I am your shadow, your greatest friend and enemy.”

He said he was hungry.

He wanted to eat but I didn’t know what to feed him.

Must he be the pitch in the black that dares to engulf my dream?

Must he be the underline that opposes the thought of positivity?

“I need not your dreams nor your happy thoughts,

I need not your soul for it is to white for my taste,

I need not your death for I am in no haste.

I need your heart, beating and pumping, but slowly, it rots.”

I told him you can’t for it is too good to be his

But he put up a fight and stabbed my chest with his ghastly claws

He ripped my heart out and showed it to me as it was beating raw.

And inside was a snake dark and heavy, biting with a hiss.

“You are too good, but too dark as well,

Thus you deserve no heart for you are a void

I will hide till it is found that love may no longer avoid

But for now, you’re condemned in earth, to live a hell.” 

The Pupil

I woke up this morning the way I did ever since I have encountered adolescence— taking everything around me for granted. My eyes who have never shown signs of poor sight did not see anything interesting that came in the transience of life. I wonder if that is the reason why the pupil in the middle of it is black. Perhaps it is supposed to represent the void that one feels inside and sees or shows in the outside.

                It took every ounce of my strength to get out of the only thing that I believe have loved me for who I really am— my bed. Parting it is such a painful sorrow that I have to endure every waking day of my life just to explore barren moments that never had the ample vividness or saturation to touch my line of interest.

                As I took my daily bath, I was welcomed by water that I think have seeped from the glaciers of Antarctica because of the extreme chill that it brought to stimulate my sensitive skin. The supple touch of soap and the marsh embrace of shampoo on my hair made me feel rather filthy than clean. Filthy in the sense that, I have to stain myself just to get the perfection that everybody, who knows nothing is perfect, still looks for. I am reminded of snakes and how they have to itch and scratch perpetually just to shed the skin that they have gotten used to living in. I wonder if life is really that unfair—that one has to shed and sacrifice a lot of things that belong to them just so they could be pleasing to the eyes of those who do not care at all.

I do not resent bathing because I know it is good for my health and hygiene. However, I take umbrage of its selfish metaphorical concept that incessantly haunts me at the insipid touch of water.

                Getting ready for school every day is a sally that I consider horrific rather than blank or exciting. Being the performer of such sham actions make me feel tyrannous and unsure about myself. It is ironic how, as I prepare to go into a place where I will be educated and fed with infinite amounts of wisdom could make me feel oppressed. However; paradoxically, I once learned from school that life itself is full of ironies as it is full of love as well. Perhaps irony is a form of love that governs all oppositions and adversities.  It must be the reason why love conquers and fates those who are different. In some analogous sense, if irony is love and I live in irony every single day as I prepare myself to go to school, then, it must mean that I love going to school as much as I despise preparing for it.

                If I myself am one complicated thought akin to the concept of the powerful forces of love and life, then, I must be relevant for the paramount existence of the world. And, in order to give depth and value to my significance, I must be educated. I have to be a pupil of the world, the school, my thoughts and even the concept of the things that I hate.

My Infinite Playlist

Sing me to sleep my songstress,

I wanna lay comfortable in my cotton mattress.

Encumber me with the harmony of your soothing voice.

I choose to hear none but the serenity of your noise.

Oh my infinite playlist,

Please, enchant me with the song on my list.

Your voice is a music that charms my spirit.

It is the air that fuels my esprit.

Be the pop that my body could jive with,

Be the truthful ballad that make my heart bleed,

But never the love song that is purely pretentious,

Be the Indie RNB that makes me feel amitious.

Little songstress on my bed,

Your singing, I can't get out of my head.

Sing me to sleep and caress me with your serenity,

So I shall slumber by your touch, oh so, lovingly.

Amity

Two hearts who age defies be bound by fate,

Of passionate amity, mellow, they shall not wait,

The day after tomorrow, the paramours shall foregather,

This thy day aforesaid swains shall be together forever.

Luna

Thy luminescent beauty that is enthroned so high,

O glorious light that consumes the dark-brown sky,

Infinity that lies beyond the far-flung horizon,

Spectral beauty deluge upon earth and remove my apprehension.

Beauty and Beyond

Beyond the mountains lie orange skies

Beyond the mountains lie shrieks and cries

Beyond the mountains lies deep beauty

However, beyond the mountains, lie torture in eternity.

Under the sea are sunken ships,

Under the sea are mermaids' swaying hips,

Under the sea sink poor men drowning,

Yet, Under the sea roam treasures surviving and thriving.

In the paradise grows the moonflower,

In the paradise cries a beautiful wallflower,

In the paradise falls the rain that never floods,

Although, In the paradise, exudes the wrath of the 12 Greek gods.

Above the sky hovers the virgin moon,

Above the sky forms the rain that is to fall soon,

Above the sky sits the passionate sun,

But, Above the sky lies the limits of the dreams of man.

In my words spring agony and ache

In my words born is happiness that I'm forver to make,

In my words are criticism and scrutiny,

Nonetheless, In my words are my expressions of how much I love you, deeply.

Clockwork Music

Waves flicker, like embers of the amber fire

Overtones harmonic and unharmonic progress through the unstummed lyre.

"What is it?", asked the mouthful mime

The Lord replied, "Stars... oh, and Time."

Mrs. Peregrine's Floral Emporium

My dear Petunia, in my flower bed

Your petals, bleed blood red

Your dance is loving and gentle

I am captivated in your beauty’s mantle.

Cry not my Periwinkle,

You are my star that playfully twinkles

Set my eyes free from your charm,

Kiss me, till my cheeks be warm.

Calm yourself Dandelion,

Submit yourself in such meager notion

For such a roar might be so small.

Never will it bring you to your fall.

Sleep my amber Marigold

Your silence is noble and bold

Look not into thy reflection

Yet stare to thy soul, that be your action.

Dry yourself my carnation Lotus,

You’ve bathed into so much depressive hiatus

Swim no more into thy pond of tears

Come by my table and let’s toast some “Cheers!”.

Kiss me in the morning light,

Let me slumber tonight

Tulips, thy fine kisses are sweet

By the morrow, I’ll give you a morning greet.

Prick me not oh Rose!

Noli Me Tangere a saying goes

Be Yellow, Red, Green or Blue.

Always know, I love you.

Darlings, your stares are aromatic

You make my olfaction oh so fantastic

Be stragnant: Stay as you’ve always been

Sincerely yours, Mrs. Peregrine.

From the Winter's First Flake to the Last Autumn Fall

Must I compare you to the Winter’s first flake?

Perpetual in its purity; solid in its innocence from the night’s first wake

By which a sight would thaw rather than freeze a heart in hunger

Of then, thus, the more I fall, the more I get warmer.

If my deceitful eyes have mistaken, then, one must be Spring in full bloom

Who wakes not be awakened late but early to meet thy groom.

For in the midst of growth and thaw, Joy must wed a prince in love.

To please the men, the soul and the seasons above.

If thou is married, then thou must be a father like Summer in May.

Whose love is the sun that blazes in passion kept by a warm heart that beats all day;

Who sweats never in fatigue but for thy dear Joy, beloved wife;

Whom, again is the sun; is the love and is the heart that pumps eternity into thy life.

Must it hurt, but I must tell: there is no eternity in life but there is in love,

For what comes after time is Death who will teach thee to treasure not what you have but who you have

And one man’s grave buries not treasures but immortal memories of all:

Such like beloved Joy— a wife, a friend who will catch you on your last Autumn fall.

My Feminine Clementine

Once I saw a Lady dear, so fair and feminine

I asked her who she was, she told me: Clementine

She was a merchant’s daughter— blind and poor

Beauty is thy wealth! That of her, I was sure.

“Will you be my duchess thine,

I want you in my arms, my darling Clementine

Lend me that succulent “Yes!”

I beg for the truth of your heart, thou must confess.”

“I would love to, my darling dear,

Unfortunately, my father, I lovingly fear

My father forbids my amity

I must be educated, in order to be wealthy.”

Her words brought me pain, as if I’m shot by an arrow,

Slowly, the world around me, became narrow

If only her words were blade and that, I’d be instantly killed

For a delightful tomorrow, I no longer want to build.

“Is what you speak of, the truth?

Where is all this coming from? Where is the root?

Milady, you’ve brought me death with your iron tongue,

The voice of Thanatos, you just have sung.”

She cried and cried, her tears falling down

Her beautiful face, scarred by her forlorn frown

She ran away, like a breeze from the sea

Consumed by the horizon, till her silhouette, I no longer see.

I chose not to follow her, for into a sally, I did go

My nonchalant face, I willed to never show

I walked thousand miles, sailed vast oceans and dug hidden treasures,

And over the time I consumed in the Jolly Roger, I still miss her angelic features.

Till time came, and my body soon got tired.

No longer was my flesh exasperated and inspired.

And so I went home to my fair lady

A glimpse of her face, I was hoping to see.

But dear mother Ursula, she’s dead!

When I got there, she was laid lifeless in her bed

We never even had a chance to converse

The motion of the tide, I did hope to reverse.

Her father chose her to be buried,

So in the cemetery, by the morrow, we hurried.

As earth consumer her, I said my goodbye:

“So long my darling Clementine, I shall see you by and by.”

I went home, encumbered by the hollow darkness,

A velvet letter, I found in the nothingness.

It smelled divine and sweetly feminine.

T’was the scent of my darling, Clementine.

“As you read this letter in your bed,

I’ll probably be in the ground, long been dead

For my disease could no longer wait for your comeback,

And precious amount of time, I did lack.

Forgive me, for I have said no,

Forgive me, for I did not let you know

I couldn’t bare to leave you by my death

So I saved, alone, my very last breath.

Be in no rage, but be in joy,

Be once again, that little albino boy,

Be the prince that I once met by the sea

Be the knight that made me wholesomely glee.

Constant as the stars above,

Always know, you are my love

My benevolent prince, Jeremy,

Like the depth of a precious trench, I love you deeply.

Thank you for the wonderful journey,

You have changed my life and made me happy.

May our souls never grow apart

Ignore the mantra: “Till death do us part.”

Her words touched me, as If I was transparent.

I felt her love; I felt her soul; she will never be absent

I will move on, but never let her go

For someday we’ll met again, that, I know!