From miles away he's spotted,
unlike the scheme he's plotted.
He sips, looks down and back at you,
compelling eyes, holding stare,
he asks you if you dare,
dare to be true
to yourself.

He slid his hands into your being,
saw all you were but weren't seeing,
grabbed your honesty by the collar
to show your purest colour,
secretly, he wishes you to be
all you ever wanted.

Smoothly, charismatically, he made you meet
your maker, leave open your seat
for the perfect taker.
As he walks away, with pride,
knowing you have got nothing left to hide,
you tremble, assured no man will ever resemble
the one you've witnessed at work tonight.

-a prayer for Jan 24th, Day of Shame. From the year 2217,
from the service book of a future denomination

It is time for repentance,
the annual pilgrimage.
To the doors of heaven
and the odours of hell.

     Let us visit your creation,
     the blessed pipe that bleeds.

Let us cross the barbedwire,
let us enter the tunnel.
Let us hear the trickling stream,
let us smell your ineffable breath.

     Let us visit our souls,
     our inner vagrant selves.

Let us look down into the black current
and watch your great flowing face.
And through it, in it, while we watch,
we sinners recognize ourselves.

     Let us visit your revelation,
     our tested veins that bleed.

From the deserts of the great plains
to the drowned cities of the coasts...
Your whip on our spines
confirms the evil that we host.

Put on your armor,
Slip into your high heeled shoes.
Wear them with everything.
Wear them as long as you need them.
Wear them to feel safe.
Wear them to feel powerful.
Wear them to feel important.
And go about the business of living.
Figure out who you are.
Figure out what's important.
Figure out how you're going to put your "weird" to use.
Don't build any walls to high.
Don't try to get out with your heart intact.
When something hurts you, let it hurt.
And after all of that is done.
I hope you no longer need that armor.
I hope you can look yourself in the eye.
I hope you find a way to help the next "weird" girl in line.

how do you say sorry
when you're so out of breath ?

I'm talking insane again
am I not ?

can you make it stop
before it leaves me dead ?

these words those
don't mean anything

and I've kept them so close
as if they mean everything

there's nothing here for me
I keep scribbling in my dreams

I see the mirror shivering
but I don't hear no screams

they say I need magic
or there'll be nothing left

isn't it tragic
how slowly the world forgets

how we become
someone else

pretending we're the same
and we'll never be strange

fearful of change
and mindful of things plain

we need the beautiful
or we'll be stuck sane

with nothing to blame
and nothing to gain

there'll be nothing to lose
a sight always on mute

who would crave a world
so placid ?

where there'll be no science
to explain the silence of acid

that vile thought that keeps
repeating itself

there'll be nothing to sell
for there'll be no one interested
to buy

the lies
or the blue sky

roses painted red
a thought stuck inside a head

I'm speaking ill again
am I not ?

can you make it stop
before it leaves me dead ?

but I have my reason
nobody reads me

and I'm stuck in this season
wasting my autumn

for something more pleasant
that i have now forgotten

What can I convey ?

I'm just a peasant
but this hearts serves a king

a madness that is decent
as I descent deep within

tearing my own skin
making smoke rings
out of thin air

I'm aware
as much i think one can be

when they're about
to disappear

so disappointed that
man in the sky wasn't here

I think I'll rather
cry myself to sleep again

than say a prayer

it's not fair
how one thought leads
to so many

in a head that is empty
they echo like anything

I'd rather have the silence
if I could have any

than being just star dust
dancing in violence

I'll sell you the bank
for a penny

just take away these keys
please, I beg

I'm not making sense
am I not ?

can you make it stop
before it leaves me dead ?

The flash of uranium strikes my cranium,
But what wakes me up is the dust
Babies hollering in a fuss
Hushed.
Nothing I hear,
But I still fear,
That my hope ends here.
Blood on my hands,
Bodies last stand,
The hurt is too strong!
The atomic bomb.
5:45.
I die.

©MH

a hint of autumn
pervaded the morning's air
twas cooler in feel

I was passing through my childhood
on a bike
to the delight of flying with the balloons

من از کودکی هایم می گذشتم
بر چرخی که می راندم
...تا شوق به پرواز درآمدن با بادبادک ها

adorning night's drape
glittering arrays of stars
sparkling like jewels