Masked in a fantasy as my life was outside of humanity;

I was ripped away from life without a family.

A whisper of such words chills my neck fat,

as the cold mystery lingers in my fingers;

I begin to twist and turn at my anger.

They say typhoons were like a tight dream,

yet in reality it was like a smite it wound with no room of improvement.

Visions like a film rolling left me sicken by the sounds of movement.

 

 

Yet that typhoon was like a tight figure,

I held her curvy hips so nice and so thick;

hypnotized by her lovely lumps, which were so compatible by her pumps.

Her eyes were like diamonds, a skin full of gold,

and her hair was curly as silk; yet did I ever think to yell for help.

The whispers of her mistress had the men dancing to their death,

as her melody had my heart banging through my chest.

Never did she even think to clean up her mess,

but the tears of her beloved chanted her to rest;

yet I believe the lost children had her sleeping

beneath the seas and far away from the Philippines.

 

 

A wise man loves to hear himself talk,

yet a body of people are mesmerized by his thoughts.

Yet deciphering the wise words of a ripper,

it’s like alphabetizing the cellular molecules of sorted bodies of water;

yet Jack the Ripper was never figured,

then does that means that the Philippines bodies will go unremembered.

660,000 figures of bodies went missing down the river,

as I skipped a rock, a typhoon transformed into its trigger.

It then began to release its anger,

yet it wasn't finished devouring the island of Philippines; an angel that spread its wings.

 

 

See when rivers shake, I seek for refuges;

yet my wounds were far too great for me to breathe.

Yet my brothers and sisters of the Philippines are as strong as me,

our words are as strong as our wounds. 

A figure of speech that will leave the typhoon clueless,

so let’s get back on our feet so we can be geniuses.

 

 

The fire runs throughout our veins like a phoenix burning the flames of the insane,

but our mid-brains are empowered by cracks of our pain.

Once a wise man said,

you can’t kill the words of the whispers that linger upon our voices;

in our words, you can’t silence the messenger.

So I approve this message and

I deliver it to the people who shall hear the whispers of the missing,

the tears of the forbidden, and even the voices of

Philippines who weren't smite it by the greatest white wound aka the most devastating typhoon.