Psyche of an Empty Soul
Empty souls crossed-legged out on the balcony,
where everything feels sharp and shivery.
Sad buildings of Quezon City with you in front of me
No one breathes a word, the eyes
a fortress to everything I want you to hear.
You blew the smoke from your cigar whilst I bit back
a recollection that would make us cry.
My nail polish mirrors my heart’s scratch, both fettered by one soul.
I pamper myself to your liking, yet you remain
Unchanged; spoiled.
Where are the gentlemen?
I am not made to be your doll.
The world is brutal and so is your mind, made of rusted wheels.
My snake hand slithers this sinuous serpentine palm
That used to stroke my porcelain face,
Now cracked and moribund.
Something depressing stains the wood;
It’s the heart, eyeing me with askance.
Your delicate body hurts the concrete;
It’s the soul departing from your body.
My breath escapes; My soul is empty.
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