Pudge

Pudge Jan 2015

succubus

nothing beats the euphoria of waking up next to her. the ecstasy of waking up next to the girl of your dreams. but she's much better than that because she's the girl of my reality. when i wake up before her, i just place my face a few centimeters away from her's. and i try to survive on the breath that she's done with. the way her lips quiver while she's dreaming makes me want to have her for breakfast. if only god allows it, there won't be a morning where she doesn't wake up with good morning kisses between her legs. her moans would be my ringtone and i don't care if people stare at me when someone calls, i'll even wait till the part where she screams god's name in vain. i'd gladly go to hell for her and if the devil asks me if she was worth it, i'll laugh and light a cigarette with hellfire and say "i'm actually waiting for her here."

Pudge Jan 2015

i should've kissed you

my arms are hungry for your body beside me at night. i still remember the first night that we slept together; the stench of cigarette smoke on your hair and the salty taste of sweat on the back of your neck. i was intoxicated with how much i wanted you and ******* i regret that i didn't kiss you that night. but i knew kissing you would take much more than mere liquid confidence that we got from cheap liquor. i guess i was saving our kiss for more a more drastic event. and here am i months later; ive become the ghost of our relationship that never began in the first place. i am haunted by our firsts cause i know that they may be our lasts. the first time that we set eyes on each other you only had a towel on. the first thing i noticed about you was that you had a scar on your right cheek that i always thought was cute. once i gazed upon your eyes i could've sworn that there was something inside me screaming that you beautiful. that night we slept beside each other and all i was thinking of was that i wanted to pause time. your head on my arm, reading some novel i don't know. my heart pounding inside my chest trying to stop imagining what your lips would taste like. ******* i should've kissed you. now all i have is this reoccurring nightmare wherein you walk down the aisle with the man i could have been but did not become.

Pudge Jan 2015

could they even be called flaws if he loves them?

she loved being naked in front of him. not because she had large ******* or a nice ***. she didn't have that. every rose has her thorns. but the way he looked at her when she's bare. her consistently dry lips he made moist, kissed the constellations of pimples on her back, he made the hair on the back of her neck stand up every time she would feel his breath in the middle of her legs. he loved all her imperfections. he traced her every fault line with his tongue and she blossomed for him. she didn't need to ask if he would still love her when she was no longer young and beautiful for she knew that he would love every wrinkle she would have on her face. every white hair, every sagged piece of skin she would have. he was the kind of man that could kiss all her imperfections away.

Pudge Jan 2015

never fall for a writer

don't you dare fall in love with a writer. the exquisite pleasure of loving him will come with a price. he will turn your lips into metaphors, his poetry will be stuck in between your teeth, and he will make you fall in love with each and every flaw that you have, his tongue will embody his lust and the skin between your legs will become his canvass. his lies will be so white it will be a more potent form of *******. and not for long, he will turn you into just another boring piece of literature.

Pudge Jan 2015

homesick

I crave those days back when I could just look behind my shoulder
and I would see you lying there reading on my bed.
I wonder why I never wrote about how happy I was with you.

Those suppressed smiles that would tug upon the edges of your lips as you read my poetry.
I can still remember how your tongue brushes your front teeth when,
oh how you used to exquisitely say "I love you."

I never paid much attention to the curves of your form back then.
How the arc of your spine is the red carpet for the curve of your ***.
How enticing your features were, when you lay bare on top of my sheets.
How the round edges of your lips were appetizers for the round brown eyes you had.
Your cute button nose.
Your chest slowly rising and deflating to match your breath.
I fell irrevocably in love with each time your breath exaggerates the fullness of your chest.

I still remember how the skins between your ******* would feel a lot like home
and truth be told;
I'm homesick.

Pudge Jul 2014

I've Seen God

I've seen Him through the lips of those tired preachers in the middle of his homily.
I've seen Him in the eyes of the homeless as the kids cut classes in school.
I've seen Him as alcoholics sweat as they swallow before priests bless the wine.
I've seen Him answer the prayers of a daughter who was violated by her father.
I've seen Him come out of the wallets of those whose names we see on billboards.

I've seen God.
I see Him everywhere, everyday.
I believe He exists. Do you?

#god #religion #faith

Pudge May 2014

For Eyes Can't Speak

Our eyes locked as I held a hand that didn't belong to you. We said nothing for our eyes were screaming out what we were dying to say. My faux smile slowly melted as I saw the rapid blinking of your eyes saying that you were on the verge of tears. A sympathetic frown creased my forehead, silently begging you not to cry, for if you do I might lose my sanity. This is all for the best, I thought staring at your unblinking eyes. The hand that I was holding clenched mine more tightly. I saw the pain clash your face just for a fraction for a second; the expression of someone who had just been stabbed. But it wasn't over, she grabbed me and pulled me closer to her body forcing my hands to embrace her. I felt her face settle into my chest. I glanced back at you, but soon as I did, I wished I hadn't. The walls that were keeping you from crying had now collapsed. Your hands covering your face , still trying to hide the tears that were inevitable to run from anymore. Soon I was crying a river of my own, stretching out my hand towards you. I touched your head and patted it, giving myself false hope that somehow this gesture may soothe your pain, but careful enough not to disturb the ******* my chest. Our eyes met yet again. I love you.. My eyes begged to be heard but it was for naught. For eyes can't speak. But oh, how I wish they could.

— The End —