Here I am and here I’m not,
and, will never be again.
Prisoner to my own thoughts;
way too mortal for a man.
When you’ll see me talked my lips,
life be drained and be I dead,
place two tulips on my chest,
pray for me, and then forget.
Close my eyes
and let me rest.
May 20
May 20, 2026 at 8:20 AM UTC
I wish i was here, still,
i wish i was here.
I wish that this thrilling film
had lasted for more years.
The minutes and hours spun,
your palm was in mine, warm,
It was always the second hand
i wish i had held on.
The quiet is now loud,
a life has been muffed, well,
i hear in this dead sound
a crippling church bell.
I see it, the golden domes,
white walls and the old fence,
with my lips as the closest for
the silence to speak itself.
Oh, like gaffed dice in street craps
are the seconds, how they fly,
and only a picture traps
her in a moment of time.
But the mirrors are covered now,
the chambers of heart - locked.
Isn't it strange how
life constantly gets mocked?
Yes, life constantly gets mocked,
with its loves and its hot teas.
I wish i was here, still,
i wish death has mocked me.
May 20
May 20, 2026 at 8:13 AM UTC
There is nothing to gain, nothing to lose. Nothing.
As the smell of oil and tar has soaked all realms,
God gave men free will, but they knew he was bluffing.
All men got was a heart as a battlefield for themselves.
All heart’s matters are individual, and therefore can be disputed,
and are private, and them staying that way is vital.
I am walking a marathon to the wall where I will be executed
on the black path of a repeating Radiohead vinyl.
In the naphthalene on your lungs, in your teapot filled with cold water,
in your cupboard behind the cups, in the endless line to your doctor,
in the smell of your favourite flowers and the dust of your favourite venue,
there is a lit candle bleeding wax on the poems I’ve never read you.
Feb 21
Feb 21, 2026 at 11:27 AM UTC
I've seen her hunched over the river,
i knew she held the waters back,
never alone, but always single,
i've seen her hunching on the bank.
I've seen her fingers - fragile, thin,
reach down towards the mirror she
had cried over her many tears,
i've seen her fingers move in key
with all the loneliness she bore.
I knew she nested many wings,
and was allured by scales untouched,
but in this neitherness of worlds
she stood alone. I've seen her hunched.
Oct 29, 2025
Oct 29, 2025 at 7:34 AM UTC
I recall leaving, the silence shattered by cigarette butts
quietly whimpering the absence of your company,
having been martyred,
but they were only half as quiet as your thirty-
-three meters squared killing themselves on my departure.
Oct 29, 2025
Oct 29, 2025 at 7:31 AM UTC
It's Sunday, October twelfth. The kitchen sink,
still full of yesterdays memorabilia, eats
at the opaque sterility (read solitude)
of my apartment.
It now appears to me that rearranging things
does not reanimate my heart, in that department
making distinctions (read fortifying patterns)
does not appear to cleanse my soul of innate sin.
As winter is a sparkplug for a spring
in this perpetual concoction of disasters
that seems to be but annual nepotism of seasons,
i cannot wait for you in any way that matters
because waiting for you does not require reasons.
Oct 29, 2025
Oct 29, 2025 at 7:30 AM UTC
In the noose on a dusty loft
or the thunderous champagne fizz,
in the so everlasting mist
of this life, so unjust and morose
what gentler death there is
than to the hand of love?
Aug 8, 2025
Aug 8, 2025 at 4:55 AM UTC
It's Tuesday, August fifth,
wind's brushing alleys, streets
where we no longer exist,
where estrangement completes
the picture we once took
together, and commits
suicide just to leave
the outside to the heat.
And as i sit and sip
my coffee, i can hear
departures of the dew
from its beloved leaves,
and back, again, it brings
the so unneeded plea
of my soul's deepest hue-
a reminiscent you
in a still present me.
Aug 5, 2025
Aug 5, 2025 at 7:07 AM UTC
"What is truth?", Pilate then asked,
turning his back, about to leave,
"I bear-", replied the Lamb of God,
"... witness to truth. The truth is me."
A question posed so long ago,
but to this day ferments the mind,
as though a cataract which grows
to leave the eye completely blind
and doom a Man to only seeing
the world as flat and lacking depth,
a half-a-lie or half-a-meaning,
but bear a cross of equal weight.
May 31, 2025
May 31, 2025 at 4:38 PM UTC
Terraces, people, smoke
rising above their heads,
all of them hiding talks
in the so-needed shade.
Everyone's outside,
interior's empty, but
i think i will go inside,
into the silent gut
of this cafe that i have
been to so many times.
It's seen me when things were rough,
granted it's seen my smiles.
Two weeks left until again
the calendar sheds a year.
The volatility of Men
forces the eye to tear.
Twenty-two, although not much,
is more than i've ever been,
and it seems my time tries to catch
up to the time after me.
What is it that i feel?
hard to tell, stillness perhaps,
but pinned down with barren fear.
But had i another chance
to choose what i could've been,
with all of my blunders in sight,
i still would have chosen me
and still would have come inside.
Having been safely tucked
into the sleeve of my congenital distortion,
i do my time at mercy of today's luck
but still consist of yesterday's misfortune.
May 26, 2025
May 26, 2025 at 8:02 AM UTC