Capitalism works wonders
when you buy your soul again
after selling it to the black market
just to have two more people recognise you

Blood is just another shade of red
for the ties of the clowns with the formal attires
and suddenly everyone's accusing you again
for committing epicureanism
when you were just trying to
devour minimalism
with technology that
working hands got beaten up for

Everything violent is unacceptable
until economy craves it
then you can demolish the whole world

******* doesn't produce
enough serotonin anymore
after you've already licked
every coin you were given
and then you hear a child mourning
their stolen youth
but you're just upset because
I didn't identify their gender

You don't look good with tears
yet you whimper every time
you're not donated with a package
so pathetically sad
when the billionaire
blood feasting cooperation
doesn't acquire your fake money

And then your portrait
in your pseudo glass reality
seems to be getting old
even though they promised
that beauty hurts
but maintenance forges
your ideal mockery

O what a pity
seeing you so edible
yet so gory

I bet you're dating to colonise
and you charge for every kiss
you once assumed you had synesthesia
but you identified every sound and picture
with green
then you proceeded to commercialise
your exquisite palette
with food you yearned for
and with every drop of your saliva
a genocide began to emerge

Crying again you inject yourself with venom
that dances with your older genes that you'll never meet

O what a pity
seeing you so edible

is it considered cannibalism
for us to eat the rich
or for them
to fanatisize our hunger
through bread and circuses?

i shudder to heed
the animal i’ve become:
once a wolf untamed;
now a lost puppy,
squealing for his mum.

a saintly pelican, i thought meself -
back in the day,
with a bill so big as
my heart would weigh;  
now, but a vulture -
feeding on the remains
of unfortunate cows:
with a crooked bill, i prey.

a scorpion’s sting
could go in vain
on skin - like a crocodile’s -
that’s proof of pain.  
a chicken on the run? -
or the bloodhound
that caught her?  
nah -
more like a pig for slaughter.

a rattlesnake in hiding
with its venom depleted,
i long to emerge a phoenix:
find my mission, then complete it.
purge meself of the worm:
eat it - like a songbird, mistreated;
anyway -
i should get off my high horse;
the parasite’s more...
deep-seated.

A poem,
Is a little story,
You write on little paper.
Sometimes it rhymes,
Sometimes it doesn't.

A poem,
Is a song,
That the singer was too hurt to sing aloud.
Sometimes it's mortal and sad,
Sometimes it's the irony of walking out of a flood thirsty.

A poem,
Is a prayer,
One that the author begs you to hear.
Sometimes it will save your soul,
Sometimes it will save another's.

A poem,
Is a gift,
So you should treat it as one.
Sometimes you will receive one,
Sometimes you won't.

A poem,
Is a curse,
So be warry if you steal one.
Sometimes it will come back to bite you,
Sometimes it will just leave you fearing the possibility it would.

A poem,
Is a poet,
And those who are poets, are poetry.
Sometimes they strive for fame,
Sometimes they leave their work in random places under random names.

A poem,
Is a call in the night,
That echoes into the ears of those who are hurting.
Sometimes it heals them,
Sometimes it guides them to healing.

A poem,
Is optional,
But those who read them won't regret.
Sometimes we can't bear to read poems,
Sometimes we can only bear to read poems.

Before I met him, I lived underwater,
A sea of chaos, a storm to slaughter.
Each breath was a battle, each stroke in vain,
A silent war with an endless pain.

Then he arrived, like light on the tide,
Clarity cutting through where shadows abide.
A life raft extended, his hand to my own,
For the first time, it felt I wasn’t alone.

He was the stillness my storms couldn’t shake,
A mirror of truths I feared to face.
His voice was the anchor I craved to stay,
Yet his gaze lingered elsewhere, a fragile sway.

For she was the current pulling him near,
And I, just the waters he learned to clear.
The day he chose her, the raft pulled away,
And I sank, unmoored, into endless gray.

Now my mind’s a swamp of tangled debris,
The echoes of clarity haunting me.
What once was a beacon now clouds my view,
A love that drowned me, though it felt true.

Yet somewhere beneath this murky despair,
The memory lingers, gasping for air.
One day, perhaps, I’ll rise and float free,
No longer his waters—just wholly me.

Wreathe of lies
Adorn my body with your flowers,
Your flowers of lies—warm and afresh.

Pin them hard,
Till my skin becomes rosy,
And cheeks a little lake,
For the flowers must not dry.

Pin them with needles,
Close to my chest,
Where my treasure lives—
Alone and alive.

What have I become,
But a wreath of your lies.
The flowers withered
And the sweetness lost forever.

Unpin the needles,
Tear the flowers,
I’d still be bleeding,
For I held onto your thorns,
Knowing you’re a rose.

someone's home
no light, just a forlorn shining from the windows.
inaudible music plays somewhere,
it's so loud yet so silent.
it rains inside on a yet so sunny day.
someone's home, but isn't.

cold hands grasp after something warm,
they reach into thin air.
empty words align with the silence.
the clock on the wall stopped ticking as the seconds pass.
in someone's home, someone isn't home.

Pure was the snow
now muddied-
by the ***** boots
of travelers
who never settle.

Roaming from town to town
sullying snowfalls everywhere.

Why, oh traveler
do you step onto the snow
and create an eternal imprint,
only to walk away?

Life’s a flight in the Night -
once whence,
then thence
- a perpetual fight…

Frigid is the Night.
Blowing winds bellow,
Birds they bring down like an arrow.
Though their fate be full of contempt,
flight the Birds still attempt.
Frightening, the sight
Frigid, the Night

One winter day,
a Fog of Light was blown so high, it lit up the Sky.
Dusk pierced by Dawn,
it was the End of All,
the Avians‘ downfall.
Frightening, the Night
Frigid, this sight

Though infinite in power, the fog made Them cower.
Into the Ground they dove,
yet for the Sky still strove,
Their stars now but
a dream within
a dream
.

Though,
one summer day,
Night broke through the dark
- and revealed the stars high above.

…in their seat shrouded in Night, They shine ever bright.