You. The man inside my head. Standing in a corner of my imagination. You’ve become my mantra. My unassuming prince. And you just love to consume me. Wrap me around your thread like a silk cocoon. Then, poof! I no longer exist in this realm, you lure me into yours.

            Nothing, completely nothing. Until I live inside my head, I am nothing to the rest of the mundane. Which is why I have you, the man inside my head. You make me feel like I’m dying inside and bursting into flames. I’ve written my poetry in your heart, a diaphanous sheet of Japanese rice paper. That’s who you are, the man inside my head with the Japanese rice paper heart. You are irony. I can rip your heart into shreds, yet, you can trap me inside your embrace helpless. You can consume me in reckless, heathen madness. Your intensity lives wild in a hurricane whirling inside me. You are rock music and a party living inside my head. You are a tachyon, traveling faster than light. You’re a memory of a sepia-colored afternoon. You are the alternative song I play late past midnight, as I write poetry on my bed. You are a marionette with no strings, dancing to your own melody.

            When I live inside my head, I know how you smell. Like fresh laundry, cinnamon, dried chilies and sweat. Sometimes, like sisig. Sometimes like cornhusks burning in the afternoon. You have hair like Jose Rizal’s, but without the pomade, and eyes like Josephine Bracken’s. You are the perfect lover. I love that you love to make me laugh. Or maybe I just laugh at completely everything. But for a man living inside my head, you really are funny. You have your own way of saying “Life is shit” and make me snort. But I find the way you blink and laugh, hilarious too. Your voice is soft, yet manly, like a black clarinet.

            At night you fly me to the moon. There, we dance like ephemeral shadows against white satin sheets. Gaping deep into your eyes while dancing, I feel still and remote while the rest of the universe spins slowly beyond me. I can only hear silence and your breathing. We are always alone inside my head. There is nothing here to take our lips apart, nothing to let your hands slip from mine.

            You, the man inside my head, help me face the truth. Because the truth is so dishonest, tragic and confusing. When I see the prevarications, you help to liberate me. You live inside my head, so I know you are real. You passionately engulf me in your paradoxes. You are pain, torment and anguish. You are romance, love and fury. You are like the color red. You drive me to seize the sun for pagan worship. You are the Cheshire cat on my door. You are a farewell letter blowing in the wind. You, you are the one I dance with in the rain.

            The man inside my head. The man who raises me to Elysium. You are my witness to this insipid existence. You are my guru to the secrets of the universe. You are the serendipity I’ve been searching.

            To the man inside my head, I’ve fallen in love with you.