Kevin Rein

Panamuh

the ugly writers
Iniwan ako, Iniwan ang kahapong tila panaginip na natapos, Natapos na animo'y bangungot na kung muling maibabalik ay aking nanaising lumisan na lamang,

On The Ball

the ugly writers

On The Ball is a poem written by Kevin Rein and shared with The Ugly Writers for the month of November.   On The Ball   I’m done crying over spilled milk Now I need to get back in shape…

Nighttime Grey

the ugly writers
I loved that you were so full of life But I was saddened when suddenly things changed The moon started to crack like weeping And I wept too I'm still that kid

Ponder

the ugly writers
Be the voice that speaks for those who have no voices, be the strength for those who feel like it's a cruel world and the only best thing there is to do is to end this life, and be someone who's light infects others to be more optimistic.

I’m Allergic to People

the ugly writers
Sometimes when I explore these things in my mind I feel like I'm torturing myself 'coz I couldn't care less. All these years I have been a brain of many thoughts.

Tissues and Crookedness

the ugly writers
This is just a daydream. Can you pick your phone back once more? Dial my number for the first time in nine years. Say your hello again and I'll say mine sweeter.

Dapit-hapon

paano ko nanaising magpatuloy kung sa bandang huli ay maraming mawawala? sapat na sakin ang dalawampu't walong taon na nasilayan ko ang kariktan ng daigdig,

Late Night Conversation

the ugly writers
And I can't get over you. I cannot just erase you in my mind. I cannot just unlove the spirit that lives in your chest, and just like how you vanished, I cannot convince myself that you were just a mirage from a lucid dream.

It Won’t End Here

the ugly writers
And this is not where it ends, there is more. This life is mine to suffer, this is mine, this way alone. I don't know what my old soul has to learn from it. I don't know what my old soul did.

Translucent

the ugly writers
You made me understand that a broken heart can heal in a million ways. You taught me that pain can be a crayon to much happier days. And for the aches and bleedings, you gifted me, I owe you my betterment

Five

the ugly writers
We will end up to this. You, drifting far away miles to miles Falling out of love.

Me and Myself

the ugly writers
Because whenever I look at the mirror I can still see him staring at me, But I'm afraid He's gone through a lot of pain that all I can see in his eyes are dead fires And an imprisoned soul.