I was always wise to know
That life is best spent solo.

I am Groot.

film 2

I am everyday older than my brother. Those years I did not have him, he did not have me. Gods die in the star they sleep in. There are eyes in my sadness when I look at my sons.

Sitting in the dark dark room,
in the corner of my mind,
in the corner of the room where the shadows loom.

The rivers of salty water flow down the river styx that guides me thru the end.
The boat is floating and flowing with screams of the unfortunate and unforgiving as the death rows thru the gates of the end.
But the end is never truly the end.

Shadow people twist their dark grins in forms that hurts,
the death is hanging over my shoulder whispering,
urging me to torment my broken mind until it falls and becomes theirs.

Theirs, theirs like a thing or a toy or like a match that isn’t destroyed.

From dust we come to dust we go, what’s the point of life, if we must die?

I woke up with
A sore back, and
stepped in cat
***** when my
feet hit the floor.
I turned on the
radio, and My Favorite
Things was playing,
the John Coltrane
version.
It reminds me of
rainy July nights.

I make some coffee,
And check the book sales.
Hey, I got a couple in
India, and the coffee tastes
right.

I take it as it comes.
Black and true, like
Steinbeck's bones.
Don’t forget about the
goings of mice and men.

Fallen snow covering rooftops, pigeons walking on tiles, claw prints intertwined.

Water changing colour becoming ice, scattering light.

Air being trapped on the tips of ice crystals, appearing a beautiful white sight.

Cold wind blowing with a loud whispering sound, hurting my mind.

Triggering memories of a lifetime with you, years and years rewind.

Waking up from the pain in the past, my aching heart confined.

Wavelengths of red, orange and yellow releasing the sun, becoming free as the moon appears bright.

                                                        ­          
                                                   *Ş.Ü

Hey you,

I hope you’re not sick of hearing from me.
I’ve been writing letters to you in my sleep.
It seems your last reply got lost in the mail.
Or I probably just forgot the return address.                                                  
Again.­

It’s been a long time, hasn’t it?
I’m not quite sure anymore.
I’ve never seemed to be able to keep track.
I think I’ve been stuck in this sort of -
loop.

Have you ever felt like that?
Spinning over, and over, and over,
and over.
A record on repeat.

Anyways, I miss you.
I’ve been trying to call, but it’s kind of funny –
it never even goes to voicemail.
It just keeps on ringing.
Ring. Ring. Ring.

I guess your inbox is full.
All those missed messages from me.
You’re probably just busy.
Again.

I should be busy too –
But of course, I’m not.
Again.

I guess I’ll go and write more letters in my sleep.
Wait for the lost replies –
Ignore the tears in my eyes.
Keep playing that record on repeat.

I know you’ll be home eventually.

Love you always.
Sincerely, me.

☕︎‎

I want to be the light leaking through your kitchen window.

The fresh juice.
Warm muffins.
Birds singing.
Coffee brewing.

                                                    But,
                                                I am not.


I’m the leaky faucet you still haven’t got around to fixing.

The orange peels.
Burnt toast.
Cracked eggs.
Broken mug.

                                        Breakfast ruined.

𓇋

i was five years-
mabye 8-
i dont know
but i lost him
and i
        lost
              myself
                         too
ah mon grandpere
tu es tres important
je
          deteste
                              toi

why did you leave
i needed you
dad needed you
but most of all
you needed you

𝙰𝚝 𝚢𝚘𝚞𝚗𝚐 𝚒𝚝 𝚠𝚊𝚜 𝚏𝚞𝚕𝚕
𝚂𝚘 𝚏𝚞𝚕𝚕 𝚝𝚑𝚊𝚝 𝚢𝚘𝚞 𝚍𝚘𝚗’𝚝 𝚕𝚒𝚔𝚎 𝚒𝚝
𝙳𝚒𝚍𝚗’𝚝 𝚕𝚒𝚔𝚎 𝚒𝚝 𝚠𝚑𝚎𝚗 𝚒𝚝’𝚜 𝚙𝚕𝚎𝚗𝚝𝚢
𝚂𝚘 𝚙𝚕𝚎𝚗𝚝𝚢 𝚊𝚗𝚍 𝚒𝚝’𝚜 𝚝𝚘𝚘 𝚖𝚞𝚌𝚑

𝙰𝚝 youth 𝚒𝚝 𝚠𝚊𝚜 𝚑𝚊𝚕𝚏 𝚏𝚞𝚕𝚕
𝙷𝚊𝚕𝚏 𝚏𝚞𝚕𝚕 𝚊𝚗𝚍 𝚢𝚘𝚞 𝚗𝚎𝚎𝚍𝚎𝚍 𝚖𝚘𝚛𝚎
𝚂𝚘𝚖𝚎𝚝𝚒𝚖𝚎𝚜 𝚖𝚘𝚛𝚎, 𝚜𝚘𝚖𝚎𝚝𝚒𝚖𝚎𝚜 𝚕𝚎𝚜𝚜
𝙱𝚞𝚝 𝚗𝚎𝚟𝚎𝚛 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚠𝚊𝚗𝚝𝚎𝚍𝚗𝚎𝚜𝚜

𝙰𝚝 𝚠𝚘𝚛𝚔 𝚒𝚝 𝚠𝚊𝚜 𝚑𝚊𝚕𝚏 𝚎𝚖𝚙𝚝𝚢
𝙷𝚊𝚕𝚏 𝚎𝚖𝚙𝚝𝚢 𝚊𝚗𝚍 𝚊𝚕𝚖𝚘𝚜𝚝 𝚐𝚘𝚗𝚎
𝙶𝚘𝚗𝚎 𝚠𝚒𝚝𝚑 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚠𝚒𝚗𝚍 𝚊𝚗𝚍 𝚒𝚗 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚌𝚊𝚕𝚖
𝙴𝚟𝚎𝚗 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚌𝚊𝚕𝚖𝚗𝚎𝚜𝚜 𝚒𝚜 𝚍𝚘𝚗𝚎

𝙰𝚝 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚋𝚎𝚍 𝚒𝚝 𝚠𝚊𝚜 𝚎𝚖𝚙𝚝𝚢
𝙴𝚖𝚙𝚝𝚒𝚎𝚍 𝚒𝚝, 𝚗𝚘𝚝 𝚎𝚟𝚎𝚗 𝚊 𝚍𝚛𝚘𝚙
𝙰𝚜 𝚠𝚎 𝚍𝚛𝚘𝚙𝚙𝚎𝚍 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚐𝚕𝚊𝚜𝚜 𝚝𝚑𝚊𝚝 𝚘𝚗𝚌𝚎 𝚠𝚊𝚜 𝚏𝚞𝚕𝚕
𝚂𝚘 𝚏𝚘𝚘𝚕, 𝚝𝚑𝚊𝚝 𝚒𝚝 𝚠𝚊𝚜 𝚗𝚎𝚟𝚎𝚛 𝚊𝚗𝚢𝚖𝚘𝚛𝚎 𝚏𝚘𝚞𝚗𝚍

𝙰𝚝 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚋𝚘𝚡 𝚒𝚝 𝚠𝚊𝚜 𝚜𝚘 𝚏𝚞𝚕𝚕
𝚂𝚘 𝚏𝚞𝚕𝚕 𝚝𝚑𝚊𝚝 𝚢𝚘𝚞 𝚍𝚘𝚗’𝚝 𝚕𝚒𝚔𝚎 𝚒𝚝
𝙳𝚒𝚍𝚗’𝚝 𝚕𝚒𝚔𝚎𝚍 𝚒𝚝 𝚠𝚑𝚎𝚗 𝚒𝚝’𝚜 𝚜𝚝𝚒𝚕𝚕 𝚙𝚕𝚎𝚗𝚝𝚢
𝙽𝚘𝚠 𝚜𝚘 𝚙𝚕𝚎𝚗𝚝𝚢 𝚝𝚑𝚊𝚝 𝚒𝚝’𝚜 𝚝𝚘𝚘 𝚖𝚞𝚌𝚑