And so we were born with fibreglass eyes that scratch when we stare at unwilling minds. They inhale the crunch of our words and grind them down on their own broken teeth, swilling and spitting into the breeze to mix in with the blood and yesterday’s rain. And as that for the pain, it is best forgotten, though forever they fail to imagine the buried could ever have lived. But they feel our eyes scratch, and all is unspoken. The scrape is the best they can give. 



I don’t trust them. All of them.

Curves, edges and silhouettes

that haunt me.

They make themselves known to you

When my eyes are shut and ears are covered.

I’ve dreamt with those shadows.

The ones that spill a sweet

murmur down past your navel
and too what I wish was

possessing me.

On how you possess me.

How they want it.

I don’t trust the curves of

their finger on your wrist, the

egde on which they lean over

or the silhouette of a smile

that lingers on their lip.

The boil that rumbles in my

ivory cage, just wants to spill

all it’s light and fire to

extinguish them. Eliminate the

shadows of doubt that linger



Under the gloomy moon I was, last night, 

    I was exiled by the frost realities,

    Only gazing at the moon bright,

    And see how we are refugees from the self,

    Even our consciousness failed to give our asylum,

    We try to kill the bells’ rings, 

    The last sigh, last breath of a dead soul, 

    But after all, after hitting the ball,

    After our bodies frost from depression, 

    from sadness, fried grief of huge mansion, 

    A small squirting of sound go mad, 

    Inside me, or not, maybe inside my heart,

    Saying loudly, loud and loud hither, 

    Maybe it’s the last sip of water, 

    Or the last flicker of light inside the dome, 

    Last breath of anything freaky fresh, 

    It may the last planted branch on this land, 

    The last tree amid the sand, 

    The last blow of wind,

    Last minute in this cracked land, 

    But I will breath until I can’t, 

    And I will live to the last beat,

    To the last cast of time, 

    To the last shadow of mine. 

    How to be lonely 

    Avoid happy friends.

    You rue them, not your happiness, 

    But your inability to be it’s flesh.

    Avoid happy friends without guilt.

    Do not feel the need to be their mirror. 

    Be a mirror to your own silence. 

    Be kind. Walk home late at night,

    carrying back not only it’s zinc darkness, 

    but also it’s moons and stars. 

    Let the moons and stars 

    share your blanket along with the darkness.

    Find the right words.

    If it’s loneliness then call it that. 

    Do not sugarcoat the leaden word. 

    Say it. Loneliness. Let it find

    a word next to you. Let it sit

    next to you for hours. Let it encumber

    your skies till it finds, one day, 

    a rent in them to leave.

    Don’t hurry it. It’s never been any use

    taking scissors to the sky. 


    In the shadows I am lost;

    I wonder and scream,

    As I count the coast

    Of neurology

    And psychology;

    Philosophy and Taxonomy,

    What am I saying? 

    Where is the deeper meaning? 

    Why do I complicate

    The things I’m seeing?

    Leave me be, 

    Or show me love-

    The choice is always yours;

    But be aware, 

    O ye be warned,

    Of the mark upon you 

    Being near me will burn.

    Will I yearn or dominate?

    Get your fucking facts straight-

    I may be a shadow, 

    But I live in love, not hate!

    The fames abate, but never quench,

    I play the game, not ride the bench, 

    Until I know the pain, I’ll wrench

    My heart from love 

    To brokenness. 

    Not because..

    You are strong! Not because you have muscle. Because you have brain. And trust me honey when I tell you this, a smart mind is so beautiful. You are beautiful. Not because you have big brown eyes, but because you see beauty in everything. You are also fast. Not because you have a record lap time, but because you come up with ideas at the speed of light. Wouldn’t it be so much better if we held on to our strengths as tightly as we hold on to our weaknesses? If we held on the core and not to the shell? Not because you have done wonders, but because you are made to do miracles. 

    The Peak 

    I used to wish on every star, fallen eyelash, dandelion 

    And 11:11  that one day I could make it to the top;

    Just so I could bring you to me.

    I’d fantasize about laying in spring grasses with only having to worry of if we’re smashing the much smaller organisms beneath us. Oh wouldn’t that be lovely? 

    Immaculate happiness so strong we dont have to worry about midnight cold sweats combined with shaken sadness. 

    I dreamt of the days where we we no longer have to feel our hearts slowly sinking through our ribcages 

    And we could enjoy our wholeness to an extremity. 

    Lately, I’ve realised I’ve been wasting wishes. Because although alone we may experience unshakable sadness and self loathing; 

    I’ve been dreaming about the top;

    I’ve already made it to the peak.