my last poem was about how a flower slowly grows from the black holes in me. i wonder, maybe this is how recovery feels like. but then again maybe this exists only in the realm of the absurd for in my reality i am not fragile as mornings but an explosive only waiting for time to run out 'til i explode & cause more havoc than i already am. this bomb shelter i built cannot save me. in this poem i am starting to lose hope again. i am slowly detonating, counting down to the time when i can finally be gone.
— kabalintunaan // countdown














