High, high, high
Up in the southern sky
On cloud nine
My penthouse looks divine

Low, low, below
I see them moving slow
Lesser mortals, lowlives:
A Dog Civilization thrives

They can’t move fast
For they aren’t destined to last
They bark and they fight
Eat, **** and mate day and night

In houses and on streets
They live with whosoever greets
And though they stink
They claim they can think

Now from my penthouse I see
Another penthouse way above me
From there on my foot, a bone fell
Enchanted, I started wagging my tail.

A ball
rolls on the terrace
falls through the air
hits the sidewalk
bounces a few times
rolls on the sidewalk
stops.
The CHILD
dies.

when I was 18
i was invincible

i didn’t care about people
so didn't fault them for not
caring about me

i turned 22
my invincibility strengthened
through the connections and admiration
i received

then i met you

and i exchanged my invincibility for vulnerability

do we see each other as friends, lovers
or something more?

it doesn't matter
as the Leap Year came and set the precedent
for a violent new year

it seems i’m not invincible any more.

The streets are dark,
on Christmas eve;
with none to rule & conquer darkness...
Staring at an abyss...thinking there's hope,
the long Halloween's nightmare lies still...
Snow slowly stranding shadows upon such a splendid slumber - this macabre alley presumed a plain phantasm.
The scent of chestnuts...flattered nothing but a bitter sweet souvenir;
even you...resemble a phantom of grief!
That terrace taught turmoil & tragedy,
on Christmas day;
all reunited to cherish cruelty & carve out hypocrisy from honesty...

~ A. Rose

There was blood on my hands
but it wasn't mine
even if I wish that were the case for that moment
I couldn't risk it
the choice was to **** or be killed
my palms were oozing with the color red
my adrenaline was racing in loops
the man that I killed was considered my enemy
but in the eyes of my enemies on the other side
he was known as man with a purpose
a dream that he wanted to fulfill
he wanted to become a singer
to be the main lead in his church choir
singing chants of the holy name till dawn
but ever since the war
he had to put his dream on hold
now he had to sing for a new revolution

With the sound of the trigger
I caused his dream to be silenced forever
but it's not like I wanted to do that
It was either me or him
I drop my gun onto the ground and run towards him
his body was cold like ice
but his eyes were still shimmering
his head was looking straight at the heavens
I cradle his head gentle
whispering my sincere apologies in his ear
my comrades reach to where I am
asking me if I was okay numerous of times
but I was too ashamed to speak
I bury my head onto his chest
hoping that I can find a heartbeat
but it was too late to check
he is now singing with the angels

After the war has finally passed
I walk across death beds of the fallen
I put flowers on each of their graves
until I reached to his
I put my hand on his tombstone
my hands are now forever dry
but the memory still aches between my fingertips

But I can't be speaking.
I saw the signs—the cracks in her facade, the vacant stares, the trembling hands. I noticed, but I said nothing.
Was it fear? Ignorance? Or the hope someone else would step in?
She fought alone, and for a moment, she won. But the weight came crashing back.
Caught in the Nick of time. Or maybe too late.
Now we ask why, though we know the answer. We didn’t ask the right questions. And I’m left wondering if I’ll ever speak when it matters most.

I call her close,
relieving her, at a dose
of simple words,
uttered from a face,
one she cannot
rewrite nor retrace.

I want her to remember
genuine warmth,
when I place a single hand
on her heart, one that beats
in constant fear,
while the other hand
wipes aside her tears.

She'll drift back into
those uncovered shadows,
while I remember
her light, her canvas,
what color she'll desert
in greater favor for hurt.