Outside my bedroom window,
the city skyline,

and sometimes,

even

the train,

snaking through

Manila.

The neighbor cooked fish again.

For breakfast,
lunch and dinner,

the putrid smell of
oil sizzling on the frying pan
would waft into the apartment,
leaving its scent

in my hair and on my clothes.

A dog is barking in the nightime.

Yapping
at the steady whirr of jeepneys and buses
that zoom through streets.

Air
Slips away
In a tiny box
Fist on wood
Warm blood
But I don’t feel the pain
It’s not going to work

Air
The fish can breath
In the salty sea
Choking on the tears of nature
I should swim upwards
My body floats to the surface
Though I demand it to stay put

The cat’s got my back
And the Mushroom eater too

I don’t care anymore

My mouth too dirty
My heart too dry

Peter Pan left a long time ago
Left me for them liquid promises
that robbed us all
Left me for a Neverland
beyond my port of call