Storms knock on closed doors
Windows seek out vacant souls
Tomorrow brings today as we levitate in pain
Shadows linger amongst vivid dreams

Black clouds beckon; calling out my name
The grey swells of normalcy
Death, taxes; medicated haze
Our bones rattle; virginity, chastity, abstain
Metaphoric pillows yearn to be free
Why must I be tormented by flesh
I tease it; it tortures me.

“If I had 9 lives I would spend each of them with you” you said in a cheesy voice
I giggled a little bit but then you asked if I were to have 9 lives what would I do with them
I sit back and think
I would probably say something like “I would try to not to spend my lives so easily as if they were currency”
but to be honest
I would spend each life as if it was its last
and when I do reach my last life
I’ll cherish it like it was my first

I am eight, I dream
Not of missiles that permeate rooftops
From dream to reality

Here I lay
Powdered concrete fills my nostrils
Schoolgirl crush, shards of glass, metal beams
Breath,Breath

Scars of misery
Souls that linger
Voices screams
War is pungent and mean
I am eight, I bleed

By the sea, by the dreary, darkening sea,
Stands a youthful man,
His heart all sorrowing, his head all doubting,
And with gloomy lips he questions the billows:
[...]
The billows are murmuring their murmur unceasing,
Wild blows the wind, the dark clouds are fleeting.
The stars are still gleaming, so calmly and cold,
And a fool waits for an answer.

Heinrich Heine, Questioning from the North Sea cycle

I sped to the temple.
Breaking human laws,
to align with universal ones.

I approached.
As my brow lowered,
grace entered my being.

Sunlight greeted me.
As I slowly passed
A stone Buddha.

No one was around.
Monks must be out.
Only a bird sat and sang
to all the flowers.
~
As I entered the main hall,
the wood creaked beneath me,
And my awareness became acute.

The large Buddha towered
over a myriad of empty zafus.
All in accordance and order.

I sat, emulating the statue.
Even my temporal imperfections
matched the stone carvings.
Yet, my mind was with the bird.

I stretched out my legs,
toward the wall,
after a long sit.
The flowers were still after a breeze
And that bird had flown away.

it was much heavier than I expected
the cherry-wood box
all that's left of you
it was heavier than the news of your death
but not nearly as heavy as the loss of you
every moment you weren't there when I was a child.
you taught me a lot,
not directly,
but your absence taught me everything
about loneliness
about pretending to be strong
during my weakest times
it taught me how to do time
without expecting anyone to be there
and no one ever was
but you're finally with me,
now that you're gone.
the news of losin' you wasn't
what I expected it to be
that cherry-wood box was a lot
heavier than I thought it'd be
I wish I had a softer past
so I could cry for you
like I ought to be
but my baby, she cries for you, for me
and it helps
I miss you like I always have
it's just different now

~
Lipstick to void. She is a race against time. The beveled past a disruption in her lines of influence.

Travel is dangerous, and tonight it darkens the highway of blood vessels coursing through her extremities. She wants to be luminous and under the skin.

While Dorothy dreams of tornadoes in Kansas, she dreams of remote climbs in lesser Glasgow, of party drugs in Tokyo. How many lights does she see?

In her hair are sixty circuits. But she waits, religiously inclined on the hotel bed. She drove through ghosts to get here wearing nothing but Las Vegas.

So strange at this hour, in a city full of sleepwalkers for the taking, she now dreams she's a bulldozer, she now dreams she's alone in an empty field.
~

So many parties, brands we wear ,
Stress to impress, keep up with their pace.
Networking or Socialising they say,
Deep down even we don’t know
Is that we simply feed our ego.