I am a plant.
I am a thistle.
                   Cirsium arvense.
                           Creeping thistle.
When you first see me I am a beautiful, colourful flower. But if you come closer, you will notice two things.
1. I can ***** you. My needles are few and nearly invisible, but very sharp.
2. I am not ONE flower. I am a cluster of a hundred tiny flowers.
            I am possibility.


My opportunities were not the best when I was a seedling.
                The ground was dry and the sun burning.
However, as the forest around me, the sunlight that hit me directly lessened. The rain made the ground more fertile.

The ground is still too dry. I need more moisture to live. It is difficult to see the sun at all through the dense trees.  I wish I could at least see a little bit of the sun.

I am a plant.
I am a thistle.

I am not here.

I want to be part of nature's depth.

My body is naught but a broken husk.

I do not want to mend the husk.

I need to repair its many cracks.

I can be here again.

Don't go past the horizon.

There's nothing there.

Do go to the Horizon.

There you'll find a friend.

It is not fire
that burns
          the most.

   It is not anger
of an untold
          story's ghost.

It is the
          poison
and the
          pain
             which it
                    brought.

Yet without
              it,
  our tiny stories
mean
       absolutely
    naught.

Silence echoes.
It reaches
       for you,
that sound of silence.
Let it reach.
             Let it echo.
                       Let me wonder.
What does silence
              sound
                       like?

The sea.
So many colours.
   Green.
       Grey.
           Blue.
All in between.

So many emotions.
   Rage.
       Calm.
            Peace.
All can be seen.

Reflections in
      mirror-black water.

Raging winds
      over restless waves.

Freedom!

Ever changing is the sea.

Idle days thinking...

All the time we
Make mistakes.

Time heals us.
Is it true?
Roses have thorns.
Evidentially the same applies to time.
Doesn't it?

A poem can take flight with our troubles

But sometimes instead the weight doubles
We carry something for so long
And suddenly we don't know what's going on
Dreams can shatter
It feels like nothing will matter
We try to move on forward
But we realise we feel cornered
Things happen yet time stands still
Time passes yet it all stands still
Life goes on.

One-Two-Three
One-Two-Three

Life
was simple
once.

We would
go out,
friends.

One-Two-Three
One-Two-Three

War
suddenly came
knocking.

We would
stand together,
partners.

One-Two-Three
One-Two-Three

Death
was so
swift.

We were
torn from
each other.

One-Two
One

Our
magicians' waltz
was over.

I
miss you
already.

One-Two-Three
One-Two-Three

Three.
Two.
One.

My mind is an endless void.
In the midst of it is an obsidian cliff.
Abstract wisps of thought swirl around that central cliff all the time.

I am drowning.
I am barely hanging on to the cliff, to myself.

The thoughts keep attacking me, not one at a time.
Tidal waves of thoughts are crashing down on me, trying to drag me under.
Away from my sense of self.
Into that endless void.

Into endless void...

Summer is difficult.
It's beautiful, warm, rainy,
absolutely lovely.

It's so difficult to deal with it.
I want to go fishing, go swimming, go running barefoot;
I want to do all those
summery things.

All the things I used to be able to do.
If only I still could.

Tough luck, dearie.

I just have to make do.
I can write.
I can sketch.
So that's what I do.

And the summer keeps being lovely.

I listen to the rain dancing
on the roof.
I see the sun paint the sky
in all those absolutely magnificent colours
as the sun sets and rises.

The summer keeps on being lovely.

I'm drowning.
You give me
too much water!

I'm drowning.
There are so many
thoughts
in this mind of mine.
I'll have cried a river of
tears
before the night is passed.
I'm drowning.

I'm wilting.
I get too much sun
in this window!

I'm wilting.
There's too much
pressure
on me while I'm all but alright.
I don't know how
I could ever be
enough.
I'm wilting.

I'm breaking.

Slowly, on the inside,
in the depth of my
soul,
I am breaking,
drowning in thoughts,
wilting away.

I am drowning.
I am wilting.
I am broken.

And I am not enough.

You
say you want
to help
me.

You don't accept
when my answer
is that you
can't.

When my answer
is that I want
you to
stay away.

When my answer
doesn't
make you
happy.

So you tell me
I accuse you
all the time.

So you tell me
I'm the one
at fault.

And still.
Still.
I.
Care.

I light
the four candles
one at a time.

I place my mask
on my face.

The music
is wild
and somber.

I dance
and dance
and dance.

At some point
I stop thinking.

I just dance
and dance
and dance.

I hurl my frustration
into the
candles of change.

My thoughts are
a whirling
swirling cloud.

I draw strength
from these
fires of fury.

I dance
and I dance
and I dance.

I ground myself.

I give
the furious strength
back.

I go deeper.
I find
new strength within.

Not frustration.
Not fury.
But acceptance.

I smile.
I take my mask
off.

And I keep dancing.

How
can you say
I make everything
complicated?

You
didn't even want
to try
to understand.

Why
do you refuse
to even try
to understand me?

I
wanted to talk,
explain
my point of view.

You
say you want
nothing
to do with my faith.

You
do not think
it important
to support my identity.

      Still
      I care
      about
      you.

You
said I
wouldn't care
if you died.

Not once.
Not twice.
But thrice.

How
can you say
these things to
your own daughter?

Once in fury.
Twice I have some doubt.
Thrice I know.
           You just struck out.

I'm an ill omen,
I'm told.

It doesn't faze me.
I just put my mask on.

I become
a puzzle,
a labyrinth,
impossible to read,
not me anymore.

I'm an ill omen,
I'm told.

I wear my mask.
I'm fine.


I cry rivers inside.

You can't see how it breaks me.
You can't see how you hurt me.

I realised only now.

This isn't good.
This isn't alright.

Just because I can take it,
doesn't mean I should.

I bow out from this hell.

I will no longer apologise
for being me.

I'm an ill omen,
I'm told.  
                 Your loss.

Sketchy.

Suspicious?

No
of course
not!

Sketchy!

Pencil?

Of course
I start
with pencil!

Sketchy.

What?

I'll sketch
a person,
of course.

Sketchy.

Hm.

It's a
person
on the run.

Sketchy indeed.
Suspicious enough.

An artist in quarantine.
Let us set the scene.

Teeny tiny
living space.

Move around
the mess
with grace,
no stress!

What to do,
what to do...

For a start,
I'll make some art.

I'll write
some poetry,
some fiction.

Suddenly
I am nocturnal,
and suddenly
the daystar's light,
infernal.

Days get hazy;
I go crazy.

This is fine.
Yeah.
This is fine.

"Burn bright",
said the
never-burning
ever-learning
Neverlight.

"You're a universe",
she did
converse.

"I'll be your witness",
smiled she
in the stillness.

"So shine bright",
said the
never-burning
now gone out
Neverlight.

I will try.
I will reach for the sky.

I will shine bright.

Good night,
and thank you,
dear
     Neverlight.

A river of lies
Cast aside my past
Cast aside my fears
Roll the dice

Hide my own self
Drown all her dreams
Drown all her hopes
Shatter the ice

Become her again
When fires dance lively
When frost walks free
Remember their price

Why do I
have to surrender?
Deep down
in the end,
you know the fault is not mine.

Red Little Liar
whose
words stick like tar

Wild Storm's dreams
crushed
by those extremes

Never seen it run red;
now
it's only dread

Storms will stray
Please
    stay
          AWAY

Oh
       Red Little Liar