REVIEW: The Devil’s Candy (2015)

 

A sweet, twisted fix for metalheads, artists, and Horror junkies.

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The Beauty of Suffering

I taste the warm salt through my teeth.

I missed this, really–pain–crying, grimacing silently and clenching my fists till my palms blossom into white and then my blood drains.

 

Pain. Tasteful pain–plunging deeper into pain until my tongue dries, and tear ducts on the inside corner of my eyes sting.

I’m seeing the simultaneous blurring and clearing of my vision as my last tear flows.

There’s a hollow block inside me being dragged down by ropes, tugging the walls of my wretched heart.

I try touching the ceiling from my bed, only to realize my hand is miles, miles, and miles away from it.

Everything is so beautiful. I feel alive. I’m a person.

Pain is good, it is. It juxtaposes the tainted from the pure.

My heart is screaming.

How lucky I am to have felt, than not to have felt at all. 

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Like a ten-year-old poster on the wall, she tears her old life apart from a surface.

She wants to feel new.

She wants to restart; she yearns for resurrection.

Yes, she fantasizes that every single day–to die and to be reborn into a new life where she would still have the knowledge and wisdom to do everything with caution and cold calculation.

In this life, everything she touches seem to puff out life and stay dead forever.. cold, lifeless, useless, and brown.

“Why do I feel like something was taken away from me? A gape in my chest howls a weird, dissatisfied cry which echoes inside my skull.” She thinks.

Regrets fill her. She tastes it on her cupid’s bow as she licks her violently chapped upper lip.

Professionals always say that recognizing the problem is the first sign of change.

But she wants change to happen in a blink of an eye–and that’s making her suffer.. rot.. drown… and sink deeper into oblivion.

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Goodbye, My Lover — A Poem

My lover–a ghost hunter,
found my haunted dwelling
which hummed danger, anger–
but glistened with fresh paint.

Still, he ventured–
laid his bags on the dusty floor
and then sat and felt the walls
until he owned the house

My empty rooms he filled, but
his stay made my demons sweat,
so they tore through
my translucent wallpaper

tore, sticky pain seeped out
of the gape they made
and then out crawled a beast;
my lover shivered on his knees

Clawed, socked, chewed–
his flesh was torn;
the beast breathed fire
burned his shirts to a crisp

My lover–a survivor
Never again, he said

And just like before,
this house is empty
once again.

 

Hearty Birthday Lunch at Nanay Bebeng’s

 

We celebrated my niece’s third birthday through a hearty lunch at Nanay Bebeng’s, an all-you-can-eat buffet restaurant at Garcia Heights, Davao City.

Aaliyah is already three years old. Seriously, she was so small before! Now she’s a happy toddler — always runs in circles and always jumps.

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Torturing Artist — A Short Story

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The wind cries out tonight, signaling their entrance. My pulse is as fast as a racehorse that’s being beat violently. This will already be our fourth meeting, but I still get the chills every time.

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