Feathers torn from the gaping napes of wind began to dwindle and resist in spite of the gravity crushing tsunami.

Trapped in a facade of  impersonating flowing rain every feather dived to their unplanned descent.

All drowning in the nightmarish truth of actually being smothered in tears of a blue eyed-giant as they fell from the sky of that big blue eye’s, dead decapitated face.
A face severed on a head that hid a heavenly chateaus inside a false impersonated globe forever resting among the stars.

Inside housed all kinds of dimensional beings rarely ever seen but all known to possess legendary archaic features.
They mastered all the realms and lastly rule our skies.
They are cold warriors of combat- handled by their deadly grace, poisonous envy,  blinding halos, and suffocating wings…

Oh such undeniably divine things!

First plucked from you, then stolen from me!


A conscious belief known only by those who wish to remain unseen

as we become the common theory of all your pretty inanities.

You are made of honey, sunlight and fire.
Fire that heats me, boiling my insides.
As your honey drizzles, I slowly fade to a simmer.
Your sun shines on me, kissing my skin, leaving freckle like marks of warmth.
Warmth like the mug of coffee I wrap my hands around, inside the black liquid, my reflection smiles at me.
A smile that has been placed on my lips by you.
You are the colours of the sky, as we say our farewell to the ball of light shining upon our world.
And you are the feeling bubbling just at my chest, as I stare at dancing flames, a soft blanket across my legs, light pitter-pattering of rain on my windowsill.
I find my thoughts consumed by your eyes. Brown, gold and green all at once. Like little lakes in a fairy's garden.
Oh, I find myself at home, in you.

the character who plays a part
of your own creation
pulled from the songs you sing
and the movies you've seen
no question now
an important role
in your imagination
appearing when applicable
ignorant of amicable
completely lacking
in empathetic means of relating
for an illusion will never be real

what the **** am I doing
and for how long
at what cost

stuck in all the unfulfilling
seeking the familiar under
every tombstone named "past"

if I met you now
I'd turn the **** around

a clouded aggression
a power
matching your fingers
stuck to my hips
reminiscent of disg(L)ust
what's the difference?

when you lick others
inside your head
the perfect dementia
of who you see unmarked
all ready for you
really the ones
who will never see you

keep me around
here is a fantasy
having absolutely nothing to do
with me

Here is my knife, my scalpel to be exact.
There is your body, your torso in the act.
To slice in the midst, and the sieves on your wrist.

Some want you whole, but I feed on the soul.
Your temple is numb, the reason why I succumb,
To the play of lies, and its mysterious ties.

Yet I keep my self sane, and trying without vain,
I just wish that the windows wouldn't pain.
But I see the tears rushing down like rain.

It cracks me up, in a bad bat of a pup.

Why you place your mask, and leave the trash in my cask.
It keeps me asking why, without a mind to give,
Advantage over the shy, which the latter is how I live.

Your game of tag I am no less than glad.
That it is done, in the hopes of a gun.
To the sky it will turn red.
A shot like a bird it will run, aimed highly at the sun.
Until we both are bled, to the ground each will be wed.

When I was a kid I thought one day,
I could touch the stars.
Now that I am much older,
I realised that I couldn't touch the stars,
The latter makes me feel bleak.

However the beauty is there
And even if I am only allowed to see,
It is a privilege I did not deserve.
I guess I'll always be a star gazer.

I fell helplessly in love with an angel
possessing the Midas touch
and stained glass wings
that had since forgotten how to fly,
but as we immersed ourselves
in unpredictable oceans made of
bizarre dreams and treacherous emotion,
we taught each other how to soar again.

We danced slowly to the melody
of our own syncopated heartbeats
that matched perfectly to the rhythm
of the hushed songs emerging
from the depths of our parched souls

Gone are the hopes of a future
dedicated entirely to our selfish intentions
replaced by ambition revolving around
the art of a future devoted  boundlessly
to each other

We will continue to glide together,
locked in time by fragile pinky promises
as we venture through a broken world
created entirely within
the small waist of an hourglass

And for one day,  I can only pray
that we find ways to love without the limits
of sand aspiring to run out,
because the vastness of the universe
calls me to not only follow
the hushed echoes of my own voice,
but the brilliance of gold my heart has become
ever since he learned how to caress it

Forgetting the past is the easiest thing in the world to preach about, until you're the one in question.