The lights were dim,
and the noise was loud,
crowds of people all around.
I lost my way in the throng,
bourne along on the beat of the night.
Cigarettes needed, I left the bar
suddenly there you are.
You tried to chat I wanted none of that
just my smokes and a familiar face,
I tried with grace to let you know
move on, just go.
Just then I I knew my mistake,
you grabbed my arm and hissed in my face
“My name is John”
I tried to smile use some guile,
but you were hell bent, and all that I did seemed to provoke.
I choked the fear down, when I realised we were alone,
how did you get me here?
Wedged between the wall and the cigarette machine.
Croaks were all that I could summon as you undid my buttons,
frozen in fear, switched off from here.
Fight or flight?
Neither just fright.
I remember your smell, your touch, your words
I wanted to scream GO TO HELL but nothing came out.
The kisses were the worst,
no matter how hard I tried to move my head away
your lips, your tongue found their target.
Bruising me, pushing me, grabbing me, groping me
As you pinned my hands behind my back, I gave up,
Just like that.

Sipping on OJ after ***, after ******* on a cigarette
   Night outside grows frozen as Autumn slips into Winter
She the Fire sleeps deeply, deep inside of me
   She's determined to hang moss bangs over Her face
      Block Her view from death's stony stare
         She's determined to sleep forever

What if I cut, what if I dig the skin to wake Her?
                   What if I starve the stomach?
Heave the breast toward the hand upon the chest with razor?

We all need Fire in the coldest days
Don't tell me   I'm in control
As you speak them, I speak too
We all say
   We all say
Don't tell me   I'm in control
We all break
   We all break
We've all broken ourselves

She's determined to sleep forever
   I'll
      wake
         Her

when a boy shows you his hands
bare except for the dust
he’s begging you to look past
take them in yours.
squeeze them once.
twice.
say without speaking
that you understand that the valleys
in his palms were meant to cradle
shooting star wishes
that he’s allowed to still hope for.
when a boy shows you his eyes
of milk and crimson and melanin
a bloodshot vein for every night he can’t sleep
let him shut his eyelids.
say without speaking
that you understand that the black hole pinpricks
of his irises hold more than the universe
should allow.
when a boy shows you his soul
shivering but still working toward friction
iced over but still working toward melting
let him come to rest next to yours.
say without speaking
that you understand that he is lonely
and that his silence speaks volumes
and that you kept his treasure close
because you love him.
when a boy shows you his hands
show him your hands.
when a boy shows you his eyes
show him your eyes.
when a boy shows you his soul
show him that
this is a comfortable place to rest it.
when a boy shows you the hardness that shaped him
show him the softness
that you have in store.

How great would it be
To wake up next to the sea
With the sound of birds
Flying above the clouds
Having coconuts as drinks
Lying down at the beach
The sun kissing your skin
Your mind clear of doubts
Away from the hectic life in the city
And dive into peace and serenity

Full to the brim with the coffers of iniquity,
yet thirsting for the riches of enchantment,
too many cheques written to be honoured,
debts due to be recovered at my behest,
I've sailed the seas of temptations tides,
melted my wings in the heat of the sun,
longed for the fulfilment of an honest wage,
would that I could indulge in coffee shop chat,
put all to rights over an intellectual cigarette,
yet here I am, morally broke,
no words in coins left in my bank,
to dream of dreams I now must rest.

On meeting Socrates


It was the end of the day at the old folk’s home,
he had spent the last two years of his life indoors, in this room
he had refused to take his meal in the dining room
together with the old people, this was at first refused, but
after a few days and fearing for his safety, the relented and
served meals in his room, for which he had to pay extra.
Lately, he could feel life seeping out of him; he had taken
to his bed, no, he wasn't hungry but drank some tea.
He thought about his life and as usual, could not make up
his mind, had he tried too hard, or had he not been serious
enough was he just a gnat seeking the lamplight or a tiger
prowling the jungle of words, he giggled over the tiger thing.
His feet felt cold, thought of Socrates who had been forced
to drink Hemlock, he said the death started with his feet
crept upwards till it reached his heart and sudden as a gust
of wind blows out the flickering light of life, he died, and would
never know whether he had taken himself too seriously or not.