Once, they used to associate
the color of terror
With a shade darker than midnight,
Folded deep between the blacks,
They say darkness is never frank.

The ghouls hang after dinner,
After the 7 pm soap opera,
The ones that fear the smell of light,
Scandalized by afternoons,
Only protected by a bribed moon.

I fear there's been a mutation,
A transformance of some sort,
Holding the clear sky a witness
To misfortunes marring the bright of day,
The watching sun didn't scare them away.

So as we're scattered,
Playing along,
As specs in a dynamic universe,
Stirred by life's invisible hands,
Believing in our clockwork plans,
The oil falls and the painting is saturated,
Disrupted, disfigured, ravaged,
Beyond the setting of all the bad bad tales,
Trouble trickles wherever it falls into place,
Never caring to merge into the painting with grace.

My side of the Earth is wrapped in
cellophane,
Wherever I walk the ground
Scrunches,
Mornings feel like the first pages of
different books,
A foreign blink to a familiar eye.

Sometimes I feel no pressure
to unpack the stars,
Laying on my back in a room
with no wires,
Though sometimes I'd plug the moon,
and watch how it scares away
the ghosts,
Their silhouettes marching
on the walls,
Or maybe that's me running from
my thoughts.

The ground feels like it's squeezing
my toes,
Burying the soles of my feet
in the sand,
I hang the sea on the far horizon,
Just to have something to pull me
ahead.

In my two-bedroom cardboard reality,
My mistakes are never quiet,
Going through the tracts
I've burrowed in my existence,
I can't find the hinges that hold my world together,
Or the patterns that could help me try.

Why does the water taste like
it's from a different planet?
Maybe it's just me,
Afraid to get too comfortable,
With a present seemingly
not mine,
A sketch I started drawing,
But felt like I lacked the talent
to finish.

I'm running out of distractions,
My head bobs out of this shallow denial,
With the condensation of the present,
Settling around cruel and final.

With an unsheltered sanctuary,
Broken telepathy to the furthest corners of my mind,
The mystery of the veiled present unfolds,
And only the sullenness is left behind.

I'm running out of distractions,
I can only indulge in this involuntary fall,
Under the lingering shadow of the moment,
The conference of thought stands tall.

What is there playing before my eyes?
Everything I'd hidden my face from day after day...
A world compromising to the speed of sound,
But somehow it remains frozen, behind glass displayed.*

● ● ●

They say, your blood is diluted,
Adulterated with a murky liquid,
What runs through your veins
And what runs through ours
can never be mixed
Soon enough it will turn into water,
and we wouldn't be sure
you ever existed.

What if a few vampires put it to use!
Perhaps it's toxic
Killing two birds with the same stone,
Oh how that'll straighten the land,
More chambers for our offsprings to own,
We won't blink an eye when we see them eliminating
a contaminated form
The blood bank feeds the top of the pyramid,
and you're just unwelcomed in the
enrichment zone.

You see, our pride has taught us
That bloods have different flavors,
When we run out of the fine wine,
That's when our front begins to waver,
But your life is on sale in a thrift store,
If we see none of you, you'll be doing a favor.