The Most Important Bottle


This is the most important bottle that I have. For the simple reason that , in it, are the greatest treasures of friendship from the greatest guy I know. I met my best friend at the right time, when God answered my prayer to have a great friend in college. I was scared and knew so little about life. But more than a best friend this dude became a brother and helped shape how I understand things. This dude became a helper in times of desperate and hillarious situations. A listener in the days my heart skipped a beat in meeting a girl for the first time. But most importantly, he’s a brother not connected to me by blood but by choice, spirit, and everything that makes us fucking awesome.
Inside, are the things he has given me: From our friendship utensil, bubblegum wrapper plane, the strap of the umbrella he gave , his first letter to me, and more. Around it are our friendship bracelet, the string he used to wrap my present with, and finally closed with a Sunflower the day I told him I was in love and confused at the same time. And the wand we use when making unbreakable vows.
“I see how much you need him and how much he needs you.” My mother once said about our brotherhood.
This guy’s gonna be the best man in my wedding, an uncle to my children, a partner in crime, and a brother. Always.

And at the short life I think I have, I have started to keep these little moments so that one day, with this bottle, I could show how much he has given me and how much of a great person he is.


“Whore” by The Empazar

This is a Kafka poetry style of writing created during the year 2016 in the homy shelter of Starbucks.

The curls

of girls

have danced

with fans

of Kyoshi–

warriors rosy

petite lips

who sips

white slime

whilst crimes

are ongoing,

Shadows dancing

Satan calls

four walls

ringing, echoing,

inocence wavering

shattering barriers

killing liers.

Mourning mothers

creating ladders, 

their hobby

slauthering babies

fathers watching


kissing- priest

damned wrists

slashed, kissed

Seraphim, hissed

trying hard

tragically absurd

Cyclic life.

Sleepless Nights

6 pm

… it is not accepted to start your paper– or anything for that matter– with an ellipses. But I want to be honest with my writing. I have never typed in my keyboard knowing what the first letter my finger would right away click. I have never took my pen and wrote down a starting phrase right away.
6:30 pm

7: 30 pm

Maybe if I could grab some biscuits and a glass of coffee I could fnally have the functionality I desire to  make the paper.
8:30 pm

I was wrong.
9:00 pm

I lay down in bed. Open my facebook………………………………………………………………………………….


Forgetting Someone

The church bells start to sing their stabbing screech. This is it. I closed my eyes and see dark and the tinge of redness that supposed to be my reminder that there’s still the blood of life inside me. I opened my eyes just in time to see the great oak doors split by a beam of blinding light. The two doors, to my horror and my expectation, swung open revealing its long blood-red tounge leading towards the perfumed monsters. With both of my sides blocked by the force of sacrifice, leaving only the aisle as the available direction, I started to walk. I  took a step on that bloodthirsty tounge and wondered how many women liked me had this tounge licked to death? How many women did it forced towards the false fantasy of the monsters waiting at the end of its tounge? As I stepped closer and closer towards the masked men, my eyes shifted to the crowds beside me. All of them dressed in black and white as if it could divert a stranger’s gaze from their empty souless eyes. Hypocrites. Even the ones I share blood with. No one was trying to stop me. No one noticed. Behind me was no comfort as well. Little girls that are bound to become woman throws petals along the blood-stained linen we walk upon on believing that this is a fairytale in the making, I fear for them. I fear that one day their dreams would betray them and that thy too shall walk upon this wretched aisle as I am now. With the last final steps, I try to forget. I try to forget the little girl who dreamed of a happy life, of the girl who promised to find the right one, the girl who fell in love with a guy, try to forget the girl who said yes, try to forget the girl who naively got bossed around

I stopped.

The devil smiled at me.

The fallen angel opens the book.

The Judases held the ring.

Hades smiles.

Death waits.

I closed my eyes.

Life tears.

Peter Pan grew up.

Alice woke up.

An Immortal died.

“And do you accept this guy as your lawfully wedded husband?”

Tears roll back.

The woman is dead.

A Phoenix froze.

I forgot who I am. And at that point, when I was sure I have let go of myself– I answered.

“I do.”