Numb spectators, loud parties,
Drones, civilizing armies,
Hedonistic city lives;
Golden virtues lost to vice.

Workers run at full throttle;
The rich pop champagne bottles;
The poor search pockets for rent;
Memories stray, bodies spent.

News anchors condemn unrest;
Algorithms know you best;
Truth is false, words discarded,
Dishonesty rewarded.

Economists guiding down;
Kings are jesters with a crown;
Heaven is the excuse sent;
Reason, a means to an end.

Shadows dance along walls
Cold, undulating fire
Threatens to suffocate
My thoughts,—I go on walks
Outside, the golden leaves
Know how to be better.

A dormant forest sees
Balance between forces,
Ever-changing seasons,
The purposeful movement
Of critters and giants.

Is the forest moral?
Wolves know moderation
Better than most of us.
My reason breaks:
Do humans still bother
With being good
These days?

If ever one nation were two, then we.
If ever man loved his **** friends, thee;
If ever this empire’s fall began,
It shall fall faster with thee, worthless man.
Despair in the streets as thy henchman stands,
Saluting tyranny with bloodied hands.
Thy greed is such that leaves our nature bruised,
In this waltz thou called Earth to, She refused.
Thy hate is such thou canst no way repay
The families destroyed, lives cast away.
But while we live, let our love persevere
That soon thou live no more, and we shall cheer.

Pluto was upset—he'd been demoted.
His cold earth shook and grew colder;
He, who locked the moon's eyes on him, scolded
other planets, who dared to grow bolder
injuring his giant ego—what for?
Lonely thing, being Pluto: failed solar
dwarf, who still thinks he is more
than a bore.

you place polaroids on your fridge with care
safekeeping those days like a sacred tome,
freshly baked cinnamon rolls fill the air—
in this cold city, yours is a warm home.

not scents, not flavours—'tis our laughs that bind,
my best friend—always gentle—through the years
our anthem softly echoes in my mind
and times, easy or hard, will have me near.

a cat now purrs beside your lover's chair,
old love stays like a quiet snowy day
you called me with the news you longed to share—
screams! diamond ring! you danced the night away.

but remember a country song that plays
our cinnamon start, our friendship's first page
"it was the end of a decade," it'd say,
"but the start of an age"—our age, our age.

We flew over a highlands silver lake,
Dancing moonlight caressed its dark waters;
It mirrored visions I'll never forsake.

The Milky Way waltzed above you, awake,
Planets laughed at us; they knew our chances.
We flew over a highlands silver lake.

I followed the brightest star—your namesake.
Phantoms of my friends swam in the deep glass;
It mirrored visions I'll never forsake.

Self-preserving, I escaped like a snake,
Slithering past a wildfire, free at last:
We flew over a highlands silver lake.

Once I thought you were nothing but a rake,
Then you bewitched me with tales of heroes;
It mirrored visions I'll never forsake.

In the dead of night, we are an earthquake—
Am I mad or brave for coming with you?
We flew over a highlands silver lake,
It mirrored visions I'll never forsake.

Some nights I visit you on Martian lands,
The red dust swirls in mindless, restless air.
We walk, I hold your cold, unearthly hands;
I tell you, always remember I care.

In ocean blue lives, I cared for your hair,
Your graceful brown curls falling down your face;
I cared for your voice in songs of despair,
I cared, my love, whom no one can replace.

Another world would give us time to spare
Before the darkness claimed your last pale breath.
We'd dance in moonlit trails for what we share,
And promise nothing would part us, not Death.

     She took you one day, when crossed were our stars.
     As slumber came, you said, see you on Mars.

Frost caught up
to ghostly fingers;
His December walks
filled dark prophecies,
would he witness
another year
or a month?

In the deep snow,
he knew the answer.

The Necromancer told him,
in her underworldly dreams,
he had once been her true love.
He smirked:
I’m still here
in your words.

The Necromancer first noticed her magic
at seven, when her cousin passed.
Thunder descended upon her planet
to whisper a soft, solemn song of despair
and she knew, before anyone told her,
she knew death.

At thirteen, Pops followed into darkness,
but the Necromancer saw him again.
He walked her otherworldly dreams
in some distant galaxy, he held her
crying frame, he pleaded between sobs:
Take care of the living.

Still, the Necromancer never ceased to go
into other realms, flirting with the abyss,
colouring neverlands with her imagination.

It all changed when her youngest sibling
Fell.

Now, only sometimes,
when a full moon looms over silver clouds,
only then she peers behind the veil
and visits her brother in another existence.
They talk, they laugh, they cry,
but she always returns home,
because he is the one soul
with the magic to convince her
to live.

He will forever be
in his poetry notebook
behind my black-and-white poster,
next to ashes—his ashes—I smuggled
through customs in two different countries,
thinking he'd probably do the same for me;
After all, he was the one who taught me
how to smuggle things through airports in the first place.

We would both laugh
that I managed to bring a part of him all the way here,
like we'd laughed when he brought **** in his backpack
from Canada to the U.S., and from the U.S. to South America.
Who can blame him? Canadians have the best ****.
I bet he'd like that I made the inverse journey
with him, or what I have left of him,
and that he's not just at the bottom of some ocean,
or worse, at our mum's.

For the young,
the gut-wrenching ache
of love lost
Remembers.

The old witches know:
it forgets,
for memory is the reward—
a gift for having known
a twin in this world
(even if only for a short time).

I see the lights through the window
Forming shapes in your ceiling
We lie in bed and you look at me
You don't say what you are thinking
But you smile and get closer.

I hear the traffic through my window
Keeping me awake till late at night
Too late to say what I was thinking
That time I wanted to stay
But left anyway.

I can still hear you teasing me
When I'd steal your cigarettes
I only smoked with you
And I miss smoking.

It is too late to sing
‘Wish you were here’
At the park in early spring
Under rainfall and bad covers.
It is too late to ride bikes
To race by the river trail
Fast through flashlights
A thousand stars beneath us.
It is too late to write
About signs and fights
In the drunken crowds
Too late to see a light
I blame this darkened room
Songs, sights, sarcasm, you.

Loud noises in the room are galaxies away
The waves of color on the wall paralyzed me
I lie my head next to them, unsurprised
I hear unfamiliar voices asking ‘why don’t you go for it’
I don't believe in anything anymore
Not the words I pretend not to listen
Not the forms on the wall
Not the green spots in your eyes
I stand in the same place, wanting
Without moving a finger to grab it.