Perhaps it was
a day in October,

or summer,
or spring—

it could have been
a Tuesday,

or the rains
in July.

How could I
have known?

I’ve rarely been
that blessed.

Perhaps it was
her eyes,

the song
of her laughter,

those many nights
of longing,

or the distance
that has come of
age.

But one day,
I fell in love.

She sleeps in
my arms,

her softness against
my skin,

her warm touch
needling me,

an endless embrace
of summer.

How I miss her
now;

she’s everything—
perfect,

a never-ending
moonlight,

the expanse of
a thousand stars,

an endless garden
in the rain.

It always takes
a while,

and I cannot
stop needing,

for she is
here now,

and I still cannot
believe.

I saw her
in pieces—

red, blue, and
green,

sharp and
timid,

confused and
swollen,

her red eyes
begging for
something—

anything,
anyone,

just the
one.

Simple things,
simpler times.

Such is the
world—

unfair and
rotten,

too much,
too little—

everything,
nothing.

Circling the
autumn,

winter in her
bones,

the summer in
her smile,

the spring in
her step.

I have seen
the ocean in
her eyes,

the naked sky
in her breath,

the strength in
her arms

to carry the
heaviest of scars—

to be someone
for something,

to be something
for someone.

The little world
inside her head

wanting to be
free—

but she knows
not

She is of that
world—

the last of
her kind,

the pieces that
won't fit—

unfinished,

untamed,

more than the sum
of her scars—

wild and unbroken,

her colors
her own—

perfect.

I cried
yesterday

and what little
was buried inside

got out—

spilled all over
the floor,

flooding the walls,
the windows,
and the doors,
dripping from tables,
chairs,
and pillows

at my feet.

And how I stood
there in silence,

hearing the clock
tick and talk,

waiting for
someone—
anyone—

to come and
save me.

It's only been
thirty years.

the last of me

watching the
sun set

orange and red
and pink

the ***** of the
summer

the scent of an
old city

an eight year
old boy

watching the
sun rise

the last of him

the last of many
things

eyes wide open

tired men
weak minds

traveling in
circles

collecting
venom in their
hearts

to spit out the
darkness

in arms of a
woman

talking about
their kingdom

armies of
the world

the great battle
in making

of thoughts of
violence

how it all
ends

Violent thoughts
circle the carcass,

like the vultures
in my dreams,

dancing on the
naked grass,

feasting on the
spoils of sorrow,

ever hungry for the
fading conscience,

uncovering rules
of my addiction.

I have lost the will
to wake up and be
conscious.

Snow-clad isms
are melting,

preying on the
headless corpses.

Fractured flesh
infects the grieving
scriptures.

At last, the storms
have come to collect
the forest,

but they won’t
come and listen.

Potent remedies
bury the silences,

sowed in bones—
lessons of religion

of the man
burning in the
distance.

He’s been cut
with precision,

his toothless grin
battling sciences.

I can see the sun
set in his eyes;

he’d rather sleep
until the end of the
world.

violent thoughts
circle the carcass

like the vultures
in my dreams

dancing on the
naked grass

preying on the
headless corpses

fractured flesh
infects the grieving
scriptures

at last the storms
have come to collect
the forest

potent remedies
bury the silences

but they won't
come to listen

there's a man
burning in the
distance

he's been cut
with precision

I can taste his
violent screams

feasting on this
toothless prison

I can tell he's
starving himself
on purpose

I can see the sun
set in his eyes

he'd rather sleep
until the end of the
world

summer has come
and left

my sorrows have
come and left

the world is a
simpler place

it does not know
of the passing autumn
in my bones

i can smile and
tell them it's nothing
but the rains

that spring is 'round
the corner

that thoughts and
dreams have come
and left

people have come
and left

the many years have
come and left

but my heart

my heart is a place
for winter

unspoken
unwritten

the wait
for something
to happen

crawling on
my naked flesh

******* bit
and bone

comes another
breath

mindless ticking
of a clock

sowing needles
in my throat

piercing me
in to a thousand
pieces

i should've let
the white noise
eat me whole

when i was
young

clouds of a
thousand tears

disappear as I
pour the rains

into another cup
to calm my nerves

for there is a winter
that I see from my
window

finding her breath
upon my trail

for there is nothing
else that would come
knocking on my door

is this how you must
suffer on the last days
of autumn

before the winds
cut you open?

we're last
of us

made in ruins
of summer

by unwritten
morrow

the last of sun
and moon

last of the stars
etched in gloom

the ends of the
lasting winter

of passing autumn
caught in a tomb

smitten by the
sorrows

and flowers
in bloom

caught in a cobweb

slowly spinning in your skin

crawling beneath your breath

I am trying to break in

and I must confess

I've never felt so blessed

since you've walked in

so feast on all of my sins

cut me open from the
inside and let me sink

swallow my heart and
make me forget

every thought in my head

I want you to
I want you to

drink me away while
I'm still bleeding

unwritten thoughts
of untold pain

spiralling down the
length of his veins

memories of an
autumn that cannot
be explained

the fleeting dream that
cannot be contained

house of the summer
that does not remain

the comforting
silence of winter's
reign

the endless tomorrow
buried in flames

unsaid

see through me
into the black night

cut out your heart
feed it to the light

no more shall it pain
without purpose

step into the dusk
spiral into the circle

fall with me into
this solemn dream

when we're asleep
and do not scream

preyed upon by their
words and schemes

in silence of a funeral
begging to be seen

bless'd upon by
the morbid pyre

you glow in dark
of your desires

weary mind of the
eyes that are tired

now buried in ruins
of a desolate empire

they come
for me in the
summer

sweetness of
the moon rains down
on the last bus
going home

all the flowers
crushed beneath
the sky

cry for the
mother tree

it's not that hard
to mute the violence

for she was standing
still when I met her

now she's part
of the crop

I don't know what
else to tell you

I've never known
what it feels to be
someone else

I wear my skin
more drunk then
others

my bones pierce
through my veins

the blood rushes
down the staircase

spiralling into
the circles

circling the end
of times

I wish I'd known
you better

but you don't
exist inside these
walls

if only I was trying
to build a better world

we could've known
each of us

there's nothing
else to succeed our
thoughts

there's only so much
you can feed the insides
before it eats you in your
moment of silence

it's better to burn the
rest of you than keep
living the lies

maybe the fire will
cleanse us of our stagnant
despair

nothing moves without
a herculean effort

is this how you feel
when you are sober?

it's better I don't
wake before the end
of another year

I've never felt more
alive when my mind is
blank

so let them come
and find me

I'm waiting for
something to happen
anyway

I'll trade all my
fantasies for one
moment of absolute
nothingness

I can't even tell when
the summer begins and
where it ends

I wasn't born to
count reality

here I am

here I come

thy kingdom calls

as I am

as I'll be undone

inside these walls

there won't be a name

nothing to love and hate

and that is all

there is nothing at all

so let the years fade
into the distance

so let the smile cut
open your throat

there is no hurt
there is no despair

there is only
you

between sunrise
and sunsets

confined bone
and flesh

nests an ocean
that cannot sleep

each drop a
breath escaped

where it pours
in the sorrow

of everything
in mourning

for eyes that
do not speak

when did you go
grey?

I asked the yellow
sun

I've watched you
as you've watched
me

grow from young
summer

to an autumn that
nests in comfort of
a heavy blanket

worn down with
every breath of the
weary chore

how come we're
so old now?

to have lived everyday
not knowing the colour of
the morning sun

such is my burden of
nothingness

that has made a home
somewhere deep within
me

slowly emptying into
the expanding sorrows

finding not one and
nothing to hold on to

as the world spins every
twenty four hours back to
square one

that is all that I have to
call of my own

a chain of thought
amplifying the silence

ten thousand steps back
and forth going nowhere

black coffee that tastes
like cigarettes

pointless letters to
no one

that is all that I have to
call of my own

night's young and
I'm lost in age

her blindness is upon
my days

drowning in darkness
gasping to forget

lord bless me for I
swallowed the sunset

the last of lights have
left me to be her solemn
prey

prayers won't save me
worship won't save me

I need you to burn this
world down and show me
the way

for her double faced
sword of regret

hangs from the ceiling
quietly waiting for me to
take another breath

I'll shed my skin show
her my teeth bare

offer her my kingdom
of bones and flesh

bow to her crown of
dusk and despair

prayers won't save me
worship won't save me

her blindness is upon
my days

I need you to burn this
fallen town and show me
the way

every whisper
of my disguise

sets in my house
of summer

for the western
winds pass through
the alleys of my
mind

and every breath
takes away of the
little i have known

each cascading
thought mixes into
the never ending
abyss

dance of the
spiralling tears i've
come to mourn

how do I tell
myself

that my heart is
caught in a well
of sadness

and a thousand
years have found
a home within me

as my lungs expand
into the never-ending
nothingness

oceans rage
inside of my veins

storms peer
through my eye

each dream a
memory that fades
away

i am my own
escape

the prison is
deep

her walls masked
in sewed flesh

there is only
a sliver of light

that comes from
the womb

awakening the
night

brewing many
storms into potent
thoughts

hide them
well

lest they pierce
through the skin

make a home
of murals

unwritten letters
to no one

that you keep
inside

let them return
to dusk

decay into
the rose tinted
sunsets

there are no
photographs
to remind you
of anything

nothing has
happened for
years.

i am woe

her endless
desolation

the last refuge
of her memory

of the bitter
days and sweet
summers

of an autumn
that sleeps in
me

and i hear
her silence

reverberate in
the abyss of my
confinement

but there is no
escape

i am nothing
without her

and she is
my dream

rest with me on
the rainbow

come with me
to the sun

i see you alone
by the window

waiting for us
to get young

we'll make love
in the meadow

burn everything
that hasn't come

i see you staring
into the shadows

waiting for one
of us to return

they sought me in whisper
in colours they could find

they painted of me a picture
of a man bitter and confined

they found me in winter
a song frozen in time

they caught me - a sliver
symphony of the mind

they bought me in silver
treasure of the divine

they divide me in scripture
then imprison me in science

they cast from me a river
of melancholy and wine

they ask of me a mirror
to show them they're blind

the day
is lost

i sit in
defeat

it's a lonely
place

of fractured
memories

and boarded
windows

there's
nothing
to do

the world
must keep
spinning

until i fall
asleep

it stops
for no one

sound of wilderness
has come to pass

machines of men
have come to age  

children no longer
go outside

it is not safe to
breathe

the traffic is
too much

and streets
are all crowded

old buses are filled
with people who do
not have time to live

there are no
stars in the sky

the sun is masked
by the tall buildings

water is no
longer free

fire is now
expensive

the night is
never dark

pierced by the
screams of a thousand
lights

without hope
or the warm sun

tired and
weary

people watch the
tall buildings

stare them
down

watch the
neon signs
street lights

cars, trees
and music

pass them
by

one by
one

they are
forgotten

placed inside
decaying

old crowded
buses

one by
one

they become
so many

a town
a city
a slum

that speaks of
nothing

not a word

only silence and
more silence

and the silence
becomes so heavy

crushing dreams
of every new born

until the silence
begets a scream

begets a machine
with a hammer

that knocks
on their feeble
doors

flatten their
denude walls

for opulent men living in
the silver clouds

in tall buildings with
neon signs

men who
own

hope

the sun
the buildings
the mountains
expensive cars
diamond rings
salaries
army

old crowded
buses

traffic and
winter smog

birds chirping
by the windows

voices talking
in the room

people tired
and bothered

hunch over in
their despair

coiled up in
corners

waiting for
the batteries
to run out

suffering in
silence

telling their
fractured stories

that speak of
nothing

not a word

only silence and
more silence

until the silence
becomes so heavy

that speaks of
nothing

not a word
only silence  

until the silence
begets a scream

begets a machine
with a hammer

that knocks on
feeble doors

flatten the
rustic walls

to mine the rubble
and mint more sky for
opulent men living in
the silver clouds

men who
own

hope

the sun
the river
the moon
the mountain
summer
spring

golden sunsets
expensive cars
exquisite laughter

each worth more
than a lifetime

of impoverished
daughters and their
sons

angry fathers and
women they beat

mothers and
****** and
beggars and

millions upon
millions

without hope
or the bright sun

silent as
a scream

silent as
a whisper

silent as
violence

and it speaks
of nothing

not a word

only silence and
more silence

passed down
impoverished
malnutritioned

millions upon
millions

such is the
world

without hope
or the bright sun

each laugh as expensive
as an entire lifetime

suffering in
silence.

she was
violence

the violet
dream

they saw her
on weekends

when she
was lonely

dancing for
the winds

mixed with
ecstasy

she tasted
like silence

mixed with
whiskey

stronger than
most

stranger than
nothing

she was
she was
she was

i don't know my favourite
colour or the greatest film
i've seen

i know very little about
this world

i know even less about
everything

everyday i wake up and
write some of it down

and i watch the same
people do the same things
over and over

that's all they
know

and when they ask me
what my favourite colour
is

i lie and i tell them that i
enjoy all colours

that my favourite film
is a Clockwork Orange by
Stanley Kubrick

that i read books and
how politicians are ruining
the society

i want them to say
you're so great avi you
know so much about the
world

i want them to see
more of me so i see
less of them

and more they
see of me the less i
care

for i know they have
a favourite colour

i know they know
lyrics to their favourite
songs

and they've seen a
movie ten times and
remember all of it

how bored i am
of their constant
knowing

their constant
listening

there's no scarcity
of men and women who
think they know things

but have so little
to say

it's better to not
know than be bright
and boring

better to be
miserable and not laugh
than to be so mechanical
and submissive

most people are
not free

because they know
too much

at some point knowing
becomes a permanent
burden

too heavy for any
evolution to repair

that's when you
stop to live and start
to die

and i don't want
to die just yet

and i don't want to
be mundane

i don't want the
answers or want to know
my favourite colour

i simply don't want to
be boring.

.

stranded, here in this
infinite room

darkness falls through
the ages

pages turn old and
rust, the winds cease
to whisper

heavy air sits in the
corner with me

in deafening silence
of another autumn

how many days have
passed me by?

i must be so old now

i remember i was
young once

that i lived under a
blue sky,

and i must be so old now.



@writeweird

haunt me my heart
of october

forged remains of the
days spent in disguise

breathing, always breathing
settled in ruins

caught in the arms of
the morning thought

swirling in strokes of
the painted nights

how far has sun
come to rule?

for mine is the
house of summer

where she haunts
me still

old photographs melt
into the moonlight

to never stay in
dusk

for mine is the colour
of her design

drawn on the edge
of my despair

castle of decay melting
into the melancholy

a glance in memory
but unfamiliar

silent tears prying
into the wilderness

how far has sun
come to rule

how long has it been?

settled in ruins

caught in the arms of
a morning thought

swirling in strokes of
the painted nights

how far has sun
come to rule?

for mine is the
house of summer

where she haunts
me still

old photographs melt
into the moonlight

to never stay in
dusk

the house of april


september skies
summer stars

faults within me

expanding into the
night

flaws within me

birthing autumns
morrow

sowing the seeds
of wilderness

in the eye of
nothingness

stark as reality  

stands still a
home

false within me










@writeweird

.

what paints the house
in swirl of the night

what lurks in the shadows
the unknown?

a fleeting glimpse
of reality

or just a distant glare
in nothingness

held together by the
summers greed

falling asleep in arms
of tomorrow

resting in old photographs
collecting dust

in wilderness that comes
with dying dusk

hunted by the ends
we seek  

barely ever breathing



@writeweird

how is everything so purple?









everything is purple

purple my heart

it's like autumn but
unfamiliar

heavy like air

i feel it breathing
in a corner

it's never ending
and so near

i can see it's
made of purple

purple the letters
in my name

purple are my arms

purple my veins

i'm falling asleep
my dream is purple

i see you and
you're purple

look around everything
is purple

it's what we are,

in decay.









@writeweird

13/9/22


black the soil
black the stone
black the grass

black the fruit
black the sepal
black the seed

black the thorn
black the petal
black the leaf

black the eye
black the breath

black the dye
black the flesh

there's a dead rose that
grows in my garden



@writeweird