run away in godforsaken places. get yourself out of there. do not sleep again under the same bed of mischief. august already took away half of you, it will not get any kinder. cry and curse the world to death under coral skies. let the fleeting moments end in one blink and spend every minute as if this is your infinity. hug your mom before you bid your last adieu. six feet underground, let all the raging anger rain on you. it's mortifying to live with yesterday, to be the one who remembers, who yearns for a solicitious "the-next-few-years." so expect me to fly away from here. i will recreate my limbs and teach my heart how to spot a haven where i'm able to grow my descending refuge. when september comes, i promise you that sunlight welcoming your bare skin will never ache the same anymore. i swear that we will teach our poems how to prosper into eternity, so that no one will grieve for our death any longer. until then, there is no wrong way to be holy. no wrong way to be a poet. no wrong way how to be divine and terror in one. suffering and beauty.
kiss the sun. bathe in storm-stirred clouds. be melancholic. be ecstatic. be anything and everything that you want. be a mess in the making. fall apart. fail. conquer. be invincible. lastly, fuck them. live.
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