T. TM

glimpses of porcelain

lets him fall out of grace.

sniffs of perfume

makes his mind go to waste.

the routine followed

makes his soul yearn.

the routine being followed

makes his heart burn.

glimpses of porcelain

and sniffs of perfume.

what will remain

of his wretched costume?

gazes of sentiments

lets him feel the demise.

touches of the inviolate

makes him see the lies.

words of pain

makes him ponder on

words of shame

makes him carry on.

glimpses of porcelain

and sniffs of perfume.

what will remain

of his wretched costume?

when i wake up in the morning

i think about

all of the crazy things that

i've been through.

my other told me there would be

days like these,

and i could sense

that we were telling

the truth.

when i close my eyes

i see sweety.

no more hating just

love everyday.

in the heavens above

when it's my day...

i'll be laughing and smiling at

all these pain.

Goodbye december, save a place in the moon

What hurts the most is the
play that reminds us of
our irrationality
of december:
where the heroes leave
and nullify what
could've been a
spectacular conclusion.
december; december.
Farewell our december -
My december.

What hurts now is the
sky turning bright,
making the moon of
december fade;
Making the play deviate
from what it's suppossed
to portray;
making december, December.
Goodbye december.

What is numbing me all the time
is my character feeling void of
irrationality for the damsel.
A profound nothingness to chase, to dream,
to plot -
making december stay.

All is about december
but everyone's lack of
understanding - your lack
of irrationality -
makes december the truth -
My truth.