Brainfarts in three clusters

goddess and a screaming drunk

if to feel the numbness is bliss
then misguided direction is a miracle
while i hugged this
it poisoned me with venom
that untimely killed the soul
which is mine

for all this time you did
little as it seems, you fucking did
all things under the sea of my deathbed
flooded with the moss that i was
so enamored with all along
so fuck it and bless you

atom bomb… had a ball


euphoria’s endearing

longing in a lifetime
because this cruel joke named life’s

a black hue of it proceeds through me
my precious lifeblood
both so black that you can’t even grasp the fact

no, nothing wrong here
just me to blame for my unending presence
overbearing insistence
and more of the glorious delusion of grandeur

the ghosts of your promise still amaze me
please do it again…



cold stares on a long thursday morning (the afterglow)

cold stares…
of what should have been…

you’re impassioned, wearing your best interest
like your new evening dress
dragging my shadow down and
erasing traces of it in the process

arguing over morning brew
at no expense
flattened coffee cups on a wooden table
signify rebirth through violence

hail the new Judas!
i’m betrayed by default
give you the fucking crown
its perfection is your fault

tripped your emotions over
on waves of white crystal
that makes your soul
look more like dismal

your once black, lustrous hair
streaks of blood, yours
and my name’s “Fuck You!”
i obliged, of course

mine’s a cut in the eye
a slash on my wrist
a bruise on my arm
and blood on my right fist

still impassioned?
give me a fucking break!
don’t say more cause
there’s more that i can’t take

i could hit one more homer
just for kicks if i’d want to
but i won’t… i’ll just
lick your wounds and taste you

all in stares, stored sickly sweet
and championing my cause’s fun
spacey for mere seconds feels good
but where’s my Morning Sun?


Pow Tuazon writes poetry from Angeles City, Philippines. He moonlights as a musician.