THE ANTHOLOGY
HOVER
© accioloki
    

You & I
eye to eye
You, on a land
on the other side of the sea
I, here, waiting
for you to come to me

You & I,
scorching, burning
You, in auburn
starving ravenous flames
I, crack in ashes of the king
sounding like poisonous names

You & I,
playing hide & seek,
You, hiding beneath the
walls of a heart
I, seeking you in
in my ribcage dark

You & I
catching wishes in the rye
You, wishing for
a boundary
I, wishing the
one you choose is me


Boundary | (j.d.a)
    Something familiar
started to rekindle
as our paths
crossed again.
Crossed | (j.d.a)
    We both pulled each other’s triggers.
Six Word Story: Lovers | (j.d.a)
31/8/14
Anonymous: Y NOT??? 

y not not?!?!

jk click this

    

It was late in September,
you were across the dining table.

The air, as I could vividly remember,
was as dead as the bodies lying
beneath our feet. My eyes were
restless that night. I was seeking
for the smile that first made me fall
in love with you. But that night,
that smile was nowhere to be found.

The dining table felt like an ocean.
And you and I were like foreign lands.
I was like a stargazer.
And you were like a distant star.

All I wanted in that moment was to be
close to you, to be intimate again. But,
all I could do that night
was to stare and stay silent.

It was late in September, but everything
feels like yesterday.


— (j.d.a)
    And from the still burning wreckage
rises yet another version of the story:

They met at the end of summer sols-
tice. Free, wild and naïve as everyone
else in their town was when they were
young. Picture this: Ext. Abandoned
Town Hall – Dusk
|The clouds slowly ignite
vividly, setting the sky on auburn flames.
A young man’s silhouette walks toward
the mirages of the scorching pavement.
On the far right side of the screen, awaits
a young woman. The wind suddenly
goes insane and the young woman’s
hair becomes the waves of the ocean.
Total silence. Between them is the picture
of a day about to end and a night about
to rise. The distance gradually shrinks,
inward, as the two slowly walk toward
each other. Heads looking down their
feet. Hearts roaring louder and louder.
Breeze calming the chaos inside of their
ribcages. Heads gently tilt up and the
momentum pays off. In their silhouettes,
their eyes twinkle like stars, and slowly
their lips touch and burn like the pavement.
A yellow superimposed “FIN” rises from the
bottom of the screen. A piano starts to play
a poignant melody. End credits roll.
XY&XX | (j.d.a)
    

Of all the lessons
a person could
teach another person,
there is one I will
never ever forget.

She taught me that
naming heartbreaks
is the least ideal thing
to do to cope up
with the weight of the
world upon your shoulders.

When you name something,
it becomes someone.
When it becomes someone,
it makes it more difficult
for you to let go.


— (j.d.a)

   There are days when I just want to stay on my bed and stare at the ceiling as I imagine I were somewhere else less lonelier than my bedroom. And I think, today is one of those days.

   There’s this book that I just finished a while ago before I had the urge to write this letter to you. My mom told me that re-reading books, especially the ones that I’m fond of reading, was an unhealthy thing to do. She read it somewhere, she said.

    To be honest, the sole reason I read these books over and over again is because I know already what’s going to happen next. And with that, I feel safe. I need not to worry about this character or that secondary character because I’ve read already where they’d go or what’d happen to them. Maybe, I’m just too afraid to read another book and be anxious or feel terrified or feel in love for a fictional character. At least with these books I’m having the kind of comfort that I’ve failed to feel for these past few days.

    Or maybe I’m just kind of a coward to not accept the uncertainties my life has to offer. I just tell myself that it is okay to relive these superficial lives bound in the covers of these books over and over again. But at the back of my head, I feel like I’m missing the greater things of life.

   Yet still, I just lie here, staring at the ceiling and thinking of better things instead of going out, taking a walk, and being a better thing than what I am right now.

   Maybe all I need today is someone to talk to so I could, at least, share these thoughts that have been baffling me lately. And I think writing to you is far more than enough.

    

And suddenly,
a certain lightness
has spread itself inside of me.
It is as if I was filled
with helium and
in those fleeting moments
I swear, I felt like floating.

Both my feet
were off the ground
as our beating hearts
pressed themselves
on each other

Each second
our skins touched,
the more I felt like
we were slowly becoming
one
And so we did,
our heart throbbed
in synch as we made love
mid-air


Euphoria | (j.d.a)
    I want my name
to be the one
that you write
on the window pane
every time it rains.

I want to be
your poetry.
Is that too much
to ask for?
— (j.d.a)
    

Let the rain pour down hard
and the darkness creep in
Let the cold wind blow those cards
rekindle our flames, let the fire begin

To say the magic words is all you need to do
and in an instance, I’ll strip my soul bare
Of all the people to choose from, I succumbed to you
For a soul is lost and broken, if the beloved didn’t care

Nights drunken, it is in these times we taste the stars
and it is in these times we let our souls take flight
to the unknown and to the skins we have scarred
A reason to not rejoice is not in sight


— (j.d.a)
    What all that mattered then,
lies in broken pieces now.
Ten Word Story | (j.d.a)

   I was sixteen then, but the sight of an empty bottle of vodka and a room filled with artificial laughter and candid swears is something I was quite familiar with. It was, to be honest, a party like any other that I’ve been to: people from here and there talk to other people pretending they know each other very well—-of course, with the help of some peers and some shots of alcohol, to blur down their lack of acquaintance and spice up their dull conversations.

   I, as a mundanely odd teenager, am clearly not the type to attend a party held at a place with dancing lights and a nicotine-filled atmosphere, but I did. As a point in fact, I go to parties like this almost every other night, purposeless and friendless. I let them do all the partying and wild stuff as I indulge myself with alcohol and make company with my own solitude. I know they wouldn’t mind, and I know I wouldn’t too, just as long as they let me stay silent at the corner criticizing each of them whom my eyes had laid looks upon.

   There, the girl with hefty make-up on her face and is chattering with people she barely know, is probably like me, a teenager from a broken family trying to fit in in a social class that’s been pushing her away. There, the old-looking long-haired guy at her left. With the age-old wristwatch he’s wearing, I could tell he is one of those who wear oversized-clothes from their deceased relatives. In his case, his drunkard father, I guess.  And that guy from across the room is the well-renowned closeted-gay from my school. Everybody knows that everybody knows except him.

   Yet I keep all these prejudiced and biased judgments in my head. I don’t usually open my mouth in parties like this except when it’s time for me to drown myself in a sea of vodka. In an instance, I was able to wash-off all those thoughts and again, in an instance I walked myself out. One second, I was under the glimmering lights of a stranger’s house, the next second, I just realized I was walking my way home already. That’s how spontaneous and how ironically boring my every summer night was when I was sixteen and was pretending to be eighteen or sometimes older.

    

She has a way of turning
people into autumn leaves
and making them fall
for her by inevitably pulling them
down the cold hard ground
as if she was gravity

She has a way of fooling men
by ripping their ribs open,
and making them hope
for an eternal sunshine to
make its way into their being.
Instead, she lets the shadows
creep in and make a hell
inside their lungs.

One way or another,
she will break each throbbing heart
that comes her way.
I honestly know these things
in the first place. I just
didn’t think twice. Or perhaps,
I just didn’t
care at all.


    

From there, I wandered at the fall of the night
the stars woven by fate, burning, scorching
they’re all the jewels in the dark I could sight
But the dark seemed lonely, grieving, mourning

She, the night sky, was left there alone
by her lover, with all the riches in the world
yet still, in the silence you could hear her voice mourn
for the lover she loved dearly, when they were young and bold

As I walk down the pavement, head tilted towards her
I noticed the night sky cry with dull-eyed despair
In the shadows creeping and stars twinkling up there
She sheds tears for the sadness she anymore cannot bear


— (j.d.a)