Truth is fluid, like molten lava,
it can be forged into many things.
Like truth,
I cannot be contained
in a single definition
of ***, diet, address, culture, occupation, income, hobby, brands, religion, genetics, being,  path, journey, source...

Everyday is potential chaos
waiting for us to caress
the stargate flower folds of time
until it's dripping, throbbing,
electrified enough
for us to twist our fingers inside
as it moans in deja vu serendipity.

Everyday I am a new person
born from subconscious dreams.
There is potential for me to undo everything
in my life by a simple choice of deciding
to eat a sourkraut and mayonnaise sandwich
with salmon roe despite the fact I dislike all of those things.
Or I could put my head in an oven.
I could get hit by a bus.
I could save someone from choking.
Maybe the best **** of my life awaits tomorrow!
  
Everyday has potential,
though some days I waste it.
Sometimes I wallow in dark steaming ***** pits
of self despair berating myself for something dumb
like not being happy enough.
Then other days it feels like
I could ****** a dragon into my bed.

Either way, I am allowing these moments to flow freely
as I swim unabashed in their currents.

I cannot be contained
because I am a living being,
every part of me is moving
atoms that make up my skin cells
to the blood cells
to my breath
to my blinking eyes
to my mind
to time
to this large blue planet hurling through space!

By the time you try and define me
I've already disappeared
into the deep flow of time and space.
So catch up if you dare.

I hope that one day
everyone in the world has
had Stendhal syndrome.

people should stop romanticising their scars
like jewelries bloom upon their skin and flesh
aren't all of us a little bit addicted
with pain and the bruises, the spectrum they make
with the rain and thunder
the violent lullaby