like the scar after a rose

has taken you into its arms

like the glimmer after a star

has shone for you as it dives from the skies

like the echoes after a melody

has wrapped its slender fingers around your mind

like the breeze after a butterfly

dances for you, lives for you


the stains of beauty are but

strokes of the brush on long finished

canvases that breathe and sing,

not along hallways,

but immortalised in the scars

after a rose has taken you into its arms

the ravings of a madman
forced into words in strict
freedom

is it worthy of poetry?

a hellhole of emotion
forced into a body in free
restriction

am i worthy of existence?

a
mutter
in the empty
corridor echoing
to and fro all the way
louder, faster, stronger
a cry now, a scream a SHRIEK

silence.
and a mouth sewn shut.

yet
again a
shiver, quiver
a rumble deep down
aching river flooding over
quiet streams burst into tremors
a broken voice now NO MORE GLAMOURS

silence.
and a voice long gone.

but
just but
just once more
the shift of air into
the hollow larynx the
beating heart slamming
against the unyielding ribs
the haunting melody fragile
but unbroken ringing like bells
the tearful shudder itching to break
free once free again as it rips out and
away an echo no more a song I will sing
into the skies a chorus of UNENDING HOPE

as we hide behind locked doors
we are locked within hidden doors
trapped within the dangers of
our own mind

no one can save you from yourself
except you.

make your own keys.

open all those locks.

set free the captive mind

and set free the beautiful souls.

life is a terminal illness.

but will you choose to stay bedridden?

crying is weakness
so they say

so now they stain my pillows
instead
sink into paper so fragile
so thin

but I’ve realised something.

tears are pearls
of our very own making
from box hearts boxed up
from the friction of existence
a beauty no poem can ever convey

tears are the answers
we’ve been searching for
the light in the darkness
the hope in the fear
the hope by fear

tears are the essence
of your very soul
whispering, always
the proof of your humanity
the true incarnation of an emotion

remember this.

apathy is true weakness.

the drop rolling down your cheek
holds more strength
than that smile plastered onto your face

it’s the dawn
finally broken
into half

the sun sett(l)ing
down forever

the moonshine fading
in the dimming glares
of the stars

i can see everything
in the imminent darkness
that is now

my tears
are black like
the sky against the world

my smile is tired
of the frowns and
the laughter

as the clock strikes 12
and i fall asleep (forever)

i am rudely awakened by
the sun screaming
into my half closed eyes

i have nothing to say.

no, it isn’t a mental block.

it is emptiness that fills me up
right to the brim.

the silence that rings in my ears,
the cold within the casket

the tips of my heart
iced over by time
and frosted by voices
in my head

an unheard echo in the void

the winds blowing in gusts
into eye sockets
of glass eyes and glassy eyes

this desolation
of isolation
and devastation
is the spark
burning out in the snow

a snowflake into insignificance

i have nothing left to say.

there’s no one to hear me anyway.

a pedestal for all to see
engraved on its bronze
bio: “reader writer - carpe diem”

as i let the liquid slip
out of my chest into
the pillows of my hands
resting on the pedestal of my face

minimum bid starts at
“has dog and is nice”
but the empty hall
gives no comfort
except for stray flyers
begging for
the thing in my hands
to fill their negative
bank accounts

as time starts running out
so does the liquid
out of my hands
and i can only put it
on sale

my hands are at my knees
without the warmth of my heart
and i am left with no choice
as it leaks into the open mouths
of hungry, filthy holes

and i crumble to the floor

“cadaver - free real estate”

you ask me why I’m leaving
but I have no sob story
no apologies
none at all

i carry with me only
the scars you left
when sensitive you
said insensitive things

“I got your back,” you said.
but you held me back
you turned on all the lights
but you blinded me

you opened all the windows
asked me to stare
but I am suffocated
by your glare

tear-stained mascara days
dot my calendar like
the painting you gave me
spattered with the scratch marks
and paint under nails

i never know what you want
it’s not that i won’t, i can’t
but the look in your eyes tells
me i should know quite very well

pour your love on me one day
poison me after, like child’s play
affirm my choice, agree with my life
say no to my voice, scream it with strife

spill out your thoughts, opinions and like
force them upon me, a fondue of your psyche
preach then a passage of hypocrisy sincere
that independent thinking is key, for sure

a wrinkled smile glued onto your face
turns to a storm of anger without a trace
you live on words muttered under my breath
but you’re deaf to my cries, my tears and my death

silence me for speaking out of turn
berate me for silence, “it’s like you never learn”
bring it on for closing the door,
and then suddenly, privacy is core

lose your voice shouting, and blame me for that
flood me with food, then whisper “you’re fat”
load me with gifts, complain that I’m messy
wish me to rest, label my phone “******”

treat me like ****, forget about it later
but you don’t realise, only you have amnesia
think you can solve everything with apologies
not this time, you can’t solve me

i never know what you want
it’s not that i can’t, i won’t
but the look in your eyes tells
me im about to go to hell

it is tiring.

watching their faces smashed
against the windows smiling
almost aggressively laughing

having to not hurt everyone
as i trip about corners and words
and deadly sentences
and yet still get there
get to “friendship”

standing in an
unending burst
of my own energy
just to calm theirs

pulling up my
****** muscles to
create a paper thin emotion
a semblance of contentment
just a semblance

cascading upon me
a pool of thoughts and opinions
i never asked for

i am tired.

of them.

mirrors
questing to see
only our face
in their cracked mirages
and shattered dreams

windows
struggling to see through
one another
as we attempt to open
ourselves out to the
frosty winds of the world

doors
locking everyone else out
locking ourselves in
slamming shut
getting slammed shut

drawers
infinitely tall
full of unopened
chests and unsolved puzzles
rusty keys broken
in rustier locks

lights
trying to
glow and glimmer
in the pressing darkness
refusing
to be snuffed out

walls
some graffiti
some paintings
others ***** stains and *****

we are but furniture
used users using

we are but a home
with cracked walls windows mirrors
but we are a home

we are but humans
with broken minds souls hearts

but we are human.

i thought you were my star in the sky

but apparently

you were just an amber traffic light

and you’ve turned red

and I can’t even jaywalk.

your eyes are like the sun

if I gaze too long
I get hurt eventually

your eyes are like the moon

they reflect my fire
the lustre isn’t yours

once you gave me flowers
radiant like your eyes
stark against the soil
of what I thought was
a scarred face

i watered it day and night
scared to drown you
scared to dry you out

i gave it the sunshine
of my life
so that it would turn towards me

then your back turned
and all of a sudden

the petals became fabric
and stalk turned to plastic
and the flowers turned
away

“their bright colours still
remain on my sill
next to my bills
a bloom of ill will

they never seem to die
no matter how I cry
a plastic smile for life
but it’s dead as your lie”

what will you do
when the water runs out
and your mouth is drier
than the dirt

drier than the words that slithered
and spat themselves out of your mouth

what will you do
when the food runs out
and your stomach begins to
digest itself

but i can't digest your words
and they stick to the dry walls
of my insides
but if i *****
i will have no food left

what will you do
when the air runs out
and your lungs are squeezing
the oxygen out of your
own cells

your words have squeezed
the life out of mine
even though
there was plenty of air
to share

what will i do?
i hope they run out,
and **** your words,
and-

unfortunately you can't
**** something that was dead to me
the night you said those words.

different isn’t special.

in fact it’s quite very normal.

ironically it’s the same for everyone.

walking down cold streets
with colder faces

i am unnerved
as my own cold face begins
to crack and fall apart

i am not surprised
when i shatter and collapse
their cold faces turn colder

i am pleasantly shocked
as their frost freezes me to the ground
and i become the soles of their feet

you look at me
like I look at my hand stained red
like the hilt of the dagger

your blood is pooling on the floor
like my love for you bleeding out
like the tears from your eyes shining
like my red fingernails

you were blind to my love
like me to yours, hidden
like the blade in your flesh piercing
like the words you just uttered

so I opened our eyes to the rawness
like your wound to my lips trembling
like your arms (hands) hung around my neck tight
like your lips against mine

you didn’t seem to understand, mind confused
like me as i fail to understand why you shouted
like when you screamed “i love(d) you”
like you love me

i
like
like
like
you.

that’s what I was trying to say.

maybe that’s what you screamed.

you look out the glass pane
as your own face is reflected back and forth
as your voice echoes back and forth
in the fragile wind

you can see the world
but you can only see
as you fingers press hard against the transparent block
and they can only press

you can only hear
as your ears are flush against the colourless wall
sounds of your breathing echoing
in the fragile world

you can only hear yourself
so you scream

and the world shatters around you like the fragile wind and your voice is out to the world raging like storms and blazing like fire and the glass shatters and finally finally

you fall out the window

It was the flash of white in the distance, the warning sign of the skies, that alarmed me. The glaring rays of sunlight dimmed in the blinding strike of lightning. The clear blue sky was marred by a scar.

I stop my car and get out as the second wave hits. The burning sand on either side of the road seems to shiver in the presence of the silent bursts. I can only see sand dunes until the horizon. I won’t reach my destination until a few hours later. Surrounded by desert, I have nowhere to go.

Then, the clouds come. But there is no rain. There is no thunder. There is only lightning. Close by, a withered tree is struck. The stench of burning wood courses through my respiratory system.

Even after multiple bolts have fallen, there is no ear-piercing crash of air expanding violently. It’s the seeming calmness of everything that is gnawing me from the inside. Death strikes the ground in complete silence.

I can feel my hair stand as the clouds turn darker. It’s coming for me. I jump into my car and step on it.

But I know I can never escape. The rumble of sand bursting and exploding is less unnerving than the silent killers from above. It assures me that I am not deaf.

We run. But we can only run. We only have so much time to reach our destination. Go for it. Don’t let the lightning storm reach you. Death comes quick and quiet.

Don’t let it catch-

A shriek of pain and lightning and thunder and rain are twisted in one, echoing throughout the desert called life.

it was a silent splash
into the river
and all its bewitching curves

as it sank into his pores
his mouth his ears
his eyes his body

as one second of purity
washed countless years
of killings and being killed

cleansing him from the inside-out

then he sees him
on the other side

again.

for a moment they freeze
in their shock

the quiet ripples are no longer
silent as they scramble out to shore
as they ignore their bare bodies
as they reach for their veteran
killing machines

and for another moment

he watches him crawl up to shore
while he aims it at his head
his finger at the trigger

but in this moment

in their nakedness

stripped of identity

they are one and the same

they are no different

there is no violence no hurt no war no sadness no killing no hate no guns no knives no punches no kicks no grenades no trenches no shrapnel no-

and with a muted splash
he feels the river
of blood running down
his head

as the moment of realisation
slips away

it runs

all over me

clouds

soft, silent, sifting

through my messy and *****

hair for the

light bubbles and tousled curls

enveloping me in a breeze

of heat and warmth

falling onto all the

ugliness and dust

burning right down to my

heart of

stone, cracked by the cold

and i stand there for

years, decades, centuries

until it finally runs out, and

i collapse under the frozen burden

of air all around me

i shatter

without the

warm

running

water

The point of games is to play, not win. Not many people realise that.

We don’t ask people to win with us. We want to win. Why should they? We ask people to play with us - so that they lose. All we care about is the triumph, the podium, the trophy. We are blind to those who watch from the sidelines. We are blind to those who stand in the shadows, waiting for us to slip off the stage.

Life is a game we are all playing. You’ll never know where you’ll land next. Some people find this thrilling. Others are too scared to move - they forfeit their turn. Because one wrong move might lead you straight to the devil.

Out of the corners of your eyes, you espy the people cheating. Their hands are empty... or so they seem. Fingers stained red from paper-cuts and stab wounds are hidden under sleeves of things that really aren’t theirs.

Those that are caught are sent straight to jail - you see a group of them huddling at the corner. Only a few manage to get a double roll - the others rot there for eternity.

Then you have the cliques. You are in one yourself. Uniform in uniforms. Groomed to perfection. Groomed to win. You have an anger, a slight enmity for the others, that tints your eyes red. You don’t know where this comes from.

There are the lost. The losing players, the already lost. They wander around like ghosts. You wonder why some of them are smiling. Why should they be?

You look up, and the casino called “Love” flares and glares in your eyes. You’re not allowed in yet. But you know what goes on inside.

Catcalls and shrieks are daily occurrences. They mix together to form simply a distraction. Some people walk out of the minigame with laughter and love. Others stay forever.

The rolling of dice clatters and clashes. You watch as cards fall, as cards slit throats, as cards splatter onto the ground. You watch the people you thought you knew turn into monsters of want and desire. You watch the blood-red eyes mock the world. You watch the floating castle in the sky, perfection encapsulated. You know it’s all fake. You watch falling stars crash and burn.

This is the rhythm of your game. Of your life. They tell you to stick to the rules. Play the game obediently. End it well. They say all of this with a huge curve on their lips.

It’s your turn to roll the dice. It’s your turn to play. It’s your turn to win.

we draw the curtains as if
no one can see us
but the shadows imprinted
onto the fabric thinner than
your lies
tells us the whole story

we shut the doors as if
no one can get in
but really, all it takes
is one soft knock
and the walls come crumbling
down
down
down

we lock the gates as if
no one can climb over
but the seemingly sharp
spines are as blunt
as your cheap words,
cheaper than that
metal gate you bought

we pull the blinds as if
no one can pull them apart
but it’s us that’s blinded
to the purpose
of windows

we think we’re keeping them out
we’re just locking ourselves in

“I used to love too.”
My words leave cuts
On your already dead body
In my ****** arms.

The rubble of your bones
And the destruction of your
Lovely face
Leave cuts on my dead body.

The failure(s)
is/are on my part.

It’s all
my fault.

A touch of my finger
Leaves nothing but nothing
behind.

A breath from my lips
Kills and rots all life
That it reaches.

A shiver on my spine
Is the electric chair for
All that is loved.

A tear from my head
Floods cities storms worlds
And all I can do is cry.

As you bleed out on the floor
You flood my heart with your
Sweet, sweet blood.

And I enjoy every last bit
As you fade.
As I fade.

And I cry.

True love’s kiss
is the spindle on the spinning wheel.

I used to love too.

“We better just stop right now.”

the slogan of betrayal woven into a warning sign

but we are always too late to see it

as we crash past the red lights into the traffic of time

where mistakes cannot be rectified and problems cannot be solved

as the warning sign gets off one stop earlier than it should

and you are left on a one-way trip to nowhere

as you watch the stop sign crash into the front of the

the threads of time are not
ours to keep, nor cut nor pull
but we can do our best to
hold on to whatever string we
have, even if it’s our noose

the sands of destiny are not
ours to feel, nor touch nor soak
but we can do our best to
flip the hourglass over when
the golden liquid nearly falls

the edges of space are not
ours to bend, nor mould nor shape
but we can do our best
to smoothen out the folds
when the corners begin to curl

we cannot control everything
but what we can we must.

the beads of memories
strung onto the lines of time
are ours to keep, cut and pull
and we must collect them
no matter shiny or dull

the water of truth hidden deep
within the rivulets of destiny
is ours to feel, touch and soak,
and find our true fate within
the droplets of realisation

the ink of reality smudged onto
the aged papyrus of space
is ours to bend, mould and shape
and we have all the power
to write our own stories

finding freedom in boundaries is true release

when your dreams
fall
from the sky and die
don’t blame yourself

when your hopes
bleed
out on the floor in front of you
don’t cry

when the lightbulb
fuses
and everything goes dark
it’s not your fault

It’s theirs.

They are the ones that
tug at your laces
claiming to tie them
when they really are
pulling them out
and pulling you down.

They are the ones that
appear like guardian angels
too good to be true
truly too good
then the shaft of their spear
is already through your heart.

They are the ones that
welcome themselves into
your home
and crush the lights with
their words.

They are the ones that
enter your mirrors
and claim to be you.

Although if you see yourself
then please

switch the lights back on.

they look at it like x marks the spot
in a cradle of apprehension they are caught
in a chrysalis of fear and self-fulfilling prophecies
disturbed sleep descends like cold blankets on colder memories

they fiddle with the dirt with their calloused toes
an imprint of hope on the sands with their soles
the fleeting winds chide them with gales in the night of day
once a broken mind, a broken heart you’ll stay

turned head twisted neck on the floor broken back
from the burdens of many, their condolences in a sack
tugged along for many years to come,
a mission long lost, aimless as the sun
travelled paths leave marks like many stains
of fights long lost and won, of broken limbs and pain
weathered faces carved into fallen pebbles chipped off a boulder
made for something big, something more, just resting on your shoulders

you’d said I’d broken your heart
said it was all my fault
said it was because of me

you flaunt the scars on your heart
blaming me for the crosses and trails of blue and black

telling me how irresponsible I am while your hand fumbles in my pocket for my heart while you’re just reaching for my wallet

squeezing your arteries and veins
pouring it all in a wine cup
sipping it in front of everyone
and it’s my fault that you’re a vineyard

putting your legs on the table
boasting about the abrasions on your knees
bragging about the finger marks around your neck
and it’s my fault that you live in a brothel

swaggering about in your “cheap” designer nightgown
gloating about your lipstick that isn’t waterproof
and it’s my fault you’re not a trending makeup tutorial vlogger

you can go on and on
but why should I listen

when you were the one who juiced the life out of my heart made me kneel before you choked me till my neck caved in turned me into a loveless prune painted my face red with your blood

how can you say all that
when you’re really the murderer here

behind the black days and torture and pain,
two friends hold hands as they walk in the rain.
they are invisible to those who see, and don’t look,
as they watch the humans and the toil they took.

they feel emotional vampires brush past their skin,
looking for love and only finding sin.
they count the days long past and fallen,
wasted on skipped turns and hearts already broken

they are stepped on and over in raging mobs
that only exist to scream and complain and sob
about their wings that won’t let them fly
while those that try can only cry

they lie on thrones of thorns and roses
and watch as humans pluck and pose
they look away as they get dragged back down
they walk away as their smiles turn to frowns

they hold their noses as charred skin fills the air
watch as they tie themselves to electric chairs
laying their hands on the ones that survive
they wonder how the humans ever thrived

they smile sadly at the art piece on the floor
they had hoped that humans could be more
they finally leave their hopes to fall
maybe next time they’ll respond to their call

life and death walk hand in hand
looking at the vast grey land
then they merge in the shadows that run
finally showing their true form as one

from the shadows a crown of thistles and thorns
clothes sewn from all the halos and horns
a quiet voice echoes in the silent morning
maybe the curse was always a blessing

steel cold hard air slaps you in the face as you
awake for the somethingth time. you drag yourself
out of bed and drop right into the steel chairs
rolling about in your office, a resounding ring
echoing around the room. but with their grey faces,
they couldn’t care less. you work work work work
and work, until you finally drop dead back down
to your steel bed.

you never question why. you just do it, for fear
of… you don’t know what you fear. you just feel
a steel knife pressed hard to your neck, the edge
cold and slick against your sweat, ringing in your
ears a perfect harmony of death and life, a
sweet sweet sound of release, yet binding you to
this thing called reality

you don’t want to feel that way. you don’t want
to roll into every single day the same way you’ve
done every year you’ve existed (lived?). you want
a rhythm to your life, ups and downs and lefts and
rights, a waltz, a sonata, a symphony of life. so
you make your own reality.

one day, you just don’t wake up. you cling on to
a dream, something so rare, so beautiful and so
powerful. you hang on for dear life, yet not afraid
to fall into the abyss below, the black arms
reaching up to reach you, catch you. you stand
on your dream. you jump.

a flood of something shoots up your spine
apparently called emotions, and your muscles
tense up, as you fall fall fall and you’ve never
felt better, never felt so alive in your life. you
close your eyes, feel the wind whip your hair
in a flurry, your limbs limp by your side.

you feel happy. a smile creeps into a blazing
bout of laughter, ringing in the abyss like the sun
in the bleached sky, the rocks yellow and blue and
pink, a beautiful height of ecstasy, no trace of
grey steel at all, only you and the world.

you fall, and fall still. your dream. your reality.

they can only see a body splayed on the floor,
eyes bleeding pink yellow blue, limbs twisted
and bent, and a gigantic grin frozen onto a
background of fading light

we call it the light within, the core of our lives
critical to our survival, a light for all to see
we think it encompasses our conscience heart
mind, we think it is the reflection of our thoughts,
our very existence compressed into a glowing
ember of hope, love and life

we think that without it, death comes quick
and quiet, and quietly and quickly we go too
the air of our spirits, a fiery burst of determination
in even the darkest of days, a spark to revive
the flame that burns, an explosion of our colours
the very essence of ourselves

we don’t question why we think this way, we don’t
question how it burns, how it survives as well
we don’t see how it is a rock on fire, we don’t see
the price we pay, we don’t feel the tug on our
minds and hearts, how among the three, it is so
heavy, so so heavy, but we just can’t see

how does fire burn? it needs fuel, and we are the
fuel, burning us from the inside out, charring our
minds and hearts to a perfect crunchy crisp,
growing bigger and bigger, all-consuming just
like the humans are, always wanting more when
they already have more and getting less in the end
and still wanting more

slowly, we are overtaken by the flames we worship
as will everything in the end reduced to what we
actually are - a speck of dust in a universe
a universe of dust in a speck, reduced to ashes of
broken pride and nonexistent esteem, lost motivation
and dying wills, never realising their mistakes even
at the moment they die

i pity them. i pity their fake wings fake bodies fake
humans, their invisible burdens which are oh so
visible through uncovered eyes, resting on broken
backs, sprouting from the failing roots of a lost
life, desperately grabbing onto strands of sanity,
when they really are just tightening their own
noose

maybe their tears are their saving grace, wetting
their faces and hearts and minds so they don’t
immediately burst into ashes, the soaking mess
of misery grief and hopelessness, ironically
the things pulling them down to earth, keeping
them wet, so the fire of their soul does not
burn them up and out just yet

a relook at the soul: the spark within, tame at first
sight, before we feed it and do so gladly, spiralling
into a deadly monster of fire and darkness and all
we can do is to pacify satisfy it, with our minds and
souls and bodies till we fall back onto the fiery
soil as soil and soil once more

maybe humans deserve this life, and souls are just
blessings in disguise, and their ashes are meant
to be borne of the sky and sea, finally disappearing into particles of existence that
pollute our minds hearts souls.

or maybe they deserve a chance to fall asleep in
death’s soft arms.

you think that flowers are pretty and the forest
smells fresh and they are all made for you
just for you. you think that the green grass is soft
and the seas and skies and sand are all for you.
you think that nature is generous and kind
and good and pure just like you

i also wonder about humanity’s ever-increasing
records of stupidity, their eyes blind with anger
entitlement suspicion frustration the heat of rage
miniature suns burning and blistering and
destroying everything they see touch anything
in reach, thinking that all is theirs and theirs is all

they don’t see the blood on the floor and the
bodies lying all around. they step on them like
pillows on a road, rolling over them like the stones
they are, don’t see the teeth and eyes and edges
lying all around, all the traps biding their time,
waiting to crush a few pebbles

the true monster has yet to show, eyes shut
but not asleep, dormant but not oblivious
waiting in the shadows of the air and the black
days that the humans pass by like the stones they
are, blood pooling bodies rotting, and the humans
can’t care won’t care couldn’t care less as they
continue to fall

time is ticking and so is their patience, a silent
bomb waiting to be free of the grasps of dirt
and soil soiling its body, when finally nature strikes
back, strikes hard, as the humans fall ten by ten,
grass blades flying and petals dying, when nature
reclaims what has been stolen

nature will come back, and erase humanity like
moss on a stone, eating and destroying and
poisoning their already heavy hearts and souls,
dragging them over down into the earth, till
their blood has replaced theirs and their bones
have melted back where they came from,
and humans finally realise the moment just before
they fall from the earth, that it was all in their minds

they never owned nature, they were the ones that
needed her

nature never needed humans

they’re just mouldy stones at the bottom of a
fish tank long forgotten

there’s so many of them it’s almost impossible
to tell who’s living and who isn’t because of all the
sweat and stench of fear and deodorant
that masks their heavy breathing and
heavier hearts - burdens that they carry around
as if they were important. if only they knew that
wounds heal and scars fade, maybe, just maybe
they would already be flying

but of course you can see the halos and the horns
and the tails and the wings that flicker like
their souls in their hollow chests, only the slightest hint of their singular intention - to try to fly
but it’s the halos and horns and tails and wings that truly prevent them from flying

they are jealous of the birds that walk above and wonder how they fly - their hollow bones and hollower hearts uplift them to the black skies and
blacker stars. but these people full of blood and
bones and lifelessness are like stagnant stones
infested with dying moss, littering the ground like
ugly splotches on an ugly painting

only some know the way to hover and float above
everyone, instead of taking in they give out,
give out death and anger and hate and frustration,
let it flow like a river, washing down off away
the pain, like a stone caught in the gentle floods of
rage, leaving a trail of love and loss in the depths

these are the people who will rise up and rise
higher than anyone ever because they
know how to let go let off let be and
who don’t need wings to fly because they
know that memories are boulders and grudges are
killers and only when they give their whole
heart and soul then do they take off and



fall, fall when they realise they had asked for
too much, way too much, and realise that flying
has its own burdens, a paradise in hell, a curse
with the shading of a blessing, floating in the air
for all who reach out for to, and realise in the end:

walking was always enough.