she keeps talking but I don't hear her
thinking about ways I can break her

no matter how much I try
I cannot hate her
dreaming about her
and i'm afraid I'll wake her


burning ourselves with love
and now tears are just vapours

ghosts whispering in my ears
how they're gonna break her

I'm just waiting for the day
when I'll carve her

the way I crave her,
I'll make her.






[in a better world
where i don't fight me
there'll be no hurt, never dear
when you'll be beside me

with all my heart i fear
that you'll never want me
and when I'm not there
i know you'll never remind me


i'll be a better man
when your love finds me
all my heart, my love i understand
but that's if you ever find me]

Arms to hold us up
when our legs buckle
from under us
and lips to kiss us
good morning.

Can you feel the ache in my chest?
Can you touch the cracks in my heart?
Can you tell where my soul begins,
And where it's been torn all apart?

I'm made of sharp edges and pieces fit with super glue
Can you feel it?
I'm a heartless enigma and a soulless slice of truth
Can you feel it?
Enemies make the best friends and now I hate you
Can you feel it?

Lies are like a bullet to my heart, filling me with holes
A feeling of emptiness overwhelms me, a space too bold
Trying to hold on tight to a tangle too tied to unfold
Lost in a web of pain too damaged to be controlled

I'm made of broken glass, chipped and shattered
Can you feel it?
I'm an empty shell of something that once mattered
Can you feel it?
Pieces are falling, a love now bruised and battered
Can you feel it?

The harmony of injustice is ringing in my ears
A lullaby of sweet nothings and my childhood fears
A common trend unfolds, a chorus of chants and tears
A pain ripples through my body and the monster finally appears

Can you feel it?

my mother
is always visible
speaking what she thinks is right
mostly I listen
she does not look like me
she is more talkative
she is always unambiguous
but we are alike
we have the same habits
we share books, clothes
and affinity for the same television characters
my art reflects my mother's art
and sometimes her, herself

I fall
Into Rumination
The thoughts are constant
Buzzing of words
Stinging of fears
I fall
Away from here

I am gone
Into Repetition
The whispers are present
Volume of shouts
Burning of calls
I fall
I fall
I land
Into Rumination

Busy people rarely ever feel sad. Why? Because sadness requires a certain depth of epiphany, a subtle but constant blow in the gut. You can never find sadness lurking in the corners of a busy office or in a library full of curious young minds.

Sadness, I think, is when the world has momentarily left its orbit to embark on a dim lit path. It is there when the day is over and the lights are out and you are left sitting in the dark feeling every bit of human. It is when you'd rather stay in for the rest of the night- and day, as well -because frankly, you have forgotten the difference.