On one side are past traumas
The other side the audience
There's a mountain to explain, and attention spans are razor thin
So to cut the message across, brevity I'm told is key
You hold on to the edges of your seat
But I'm hiding behind me
The 'Me' is an empty shell, inside it stuffed with things
conformity, fear of being judged, and smiles
there's ego, pride and shame, all of them raised up by fear
birthed by the illusion of control
and so the story goes:
there was pain, there was hurt
there was heart, and there was love

Loneliness is wicked
Drags my feet on the floor
Cars go past the window and wind howls

Everything stands still and its hands grip the neck of my clock and choke the moment

Stop scratching my mirror you demon!
My self image is distorted as it is, without you making a mockery of these daily reflections

Creeps into the bath through the drain
Or at night seeps through the cold sheets

I can see it staring at me through the keyhole
I stare back

Keeps hiding when I’m in the crowd, but only I know, its scrawny, bony hands sits heavy on my shoulders

Wicked, wretched, nasty, relentless you

Through the daily grind here I am, minced (me)at:
- Fifty five percent monotonous shadow of a moving soul, on auto-pilot and caught in a well-designed hamster wheel that is fully functional, like clockwork
- Twenty five percent educated consumer, insatiable bargain hunting , ever-evolving being, caught in a never-ending loop of self-fulfilling prophecies and ego-colliding encounters
- Five percent shattered creativity, hopes and dreams, the cohesive mass of which I keep safe under the carpet of daily small talks, self-regulation techniques and wealth-management strategies
- Half a percent chronic melancholia and half a percent sheer exuberance, which make up a whole percentage of unhinged
- An inexact percentage of loves lost and longed for, probably about four percent, the bitter taste of those are semi-washed away by single malt whiskey which forms another two percent in its own right
- Three percent bottled up feelings, unexpressed opinions, suffocated road rage, internalised feelings of inadequacy and guilt, body-image issues, what ifs, should haves, never have I evers, maybe in the futures and down the tracks aaaaaaaaaand therapy bills
- Trauma two percent; and
- Three percent memories

Nine thousand nine hundred and fifty nine miles
Your being echoes through the airways and tugs at my heart strings
How do you play so skilfully my dear?
As though the distance is no impediment, nor the years apart

I see my child within you, I see her smiling
When mountains kneel before the might of time, and our laughter is but a fainting whisper under the wind's murmur
Her ever glowing eyes will pierce through the night, like your innocence did through my soul
And she will carry your fragrance of the stars, that I blindly followed
And my wonder she will burden in an apathetic world
Years from now when you and I are but sand under her feet, she will carry you with her infinite fountain of smile and me with an insatiable thirst
For we both scoured for a friend, and there were none to be found
So we wove a blanket of dreams and embrace
My little girl
I know it's a cruel and lonely world
And sorry my ego towered over my humanity
Please keep smiling
when you’re walking on the sand with a heavy burden, in an indifferent world, with wind whispering long forgotten words to your ears
Just know, you do so because I saw my child within her,
And I saw you smiling

I see the child within you I see her smiling
Come, strip off your polite nods and your "I'm fines".
Unburden yourself in the shield of my embrace, this unfettered cocoon of love
Then only we're not two wandering souls but one body facing time
This is the sincerest I have ever existed, the purest, most untainted picture of me, mirror of you
To sweep the back of my hand against your cheeks of silk,
To run my fingers through your hair,
Kiss your back and kiss your shoulder
Stop the hands of time, let me gaze into the depth of your being, gate of your eyes
And pour my heart out just with a glance
How infinite that moment would be
I see the stream of this poetic sadness between us as you pull away
I still see the child within you, I see her smiling

Agaldo's sinking because the thrill is gone.
The mist is lifting and the ache is waking up from its hibernation.
Agaldo played dead fish and swam with the water. As there was no will left, and breath became scarce.
The circumstance dire, and too complicated for him to mouth.
After all, language presupposes artificiality they say.