Delete the Text of my time – the Seconds won’t reply
Money in the Worth of time; is never worth the Money,
If all it does is Slowly eat away Pieces of your Time

No shape, but Maybe it’s shaped like your darling;
But they won't promise you the entire World

                             We live, surrounded by Time
                             Consumed by money & Wealth

The worth of self, has
Now become what
Worth
You hope to buy–

they'll give it a name,
but a name doesn't mean
they'll take it more seriously
now that it has a place
in the common vocabulary.
it's still something
they don't understand,
since they can't relate
to battling the heaviness
just to stay present,
they don't know the weight
of staying awake.
now they put it on screens,
they promote it commercially,
mass-produced relief.
it still doesn't equal acceptance,
and just being able to live
shouldn't need to be paid for.
they give it a name,
but a name doesn't mean
they're no longer afraid to say it.
though it has its own place
in the vocabulary,
the victims remain unseen.

there’s a garden in my chest – I pulled out a couple of
weeds, buried a handful of thorns, choked a sunflower
seed that was trying to grow. growing sick of watered-down
versions of love, my soul sneezed; cheeks squeezed to utter
those emotionless words from my lips,
                                      
                                                       “hey, it’s okay, I’m okay.”

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?

would it seem so wrong to disassociate – to sever ties
from those closest to you, who know where to strike,
piercing through your heart? yet, I lay bare my flesh,
offering myself as a service to people, in the most
fleeting of ways. true friends are a rarity nowadays;
my eyes are unaccustomed to pretend; smiling with
practiced ease before their gaze

and I only have a few tears to shed, shielding myself
from the gossip of the rain. my unclean skin gleams
under the sun’s harsh light – I am a million desolate
stars, yearning for a miracle amidst the lull of dreams

as father time offers no gifts to the innocent, mother
nature trembles at the sight of her fragile offspring –
we, the inhuman

and life demands that you work like a machine,
yet a machine cannot be alive. but in a similar sense,
both the machine and I grow tired – so, so very tired
        ...the machine would love to disassociate.

The broken promises

Pile up in the corner

Left behind

A feeling of guilt

Evaded

Because no one can remember

The oath once sworn

When lost to the power of time










The unfinished Ideas

Flowing freely like a river

Always starting

Quite plentiful

Until all that’s left

Is a trickle

For all things

Are forgotten with time




Words on a paper

Mark down the past

Yet it only takes

A single act

To go away forever

The shredded pieces

Fall before your eyes

Maybe one day

They say

You will find out why

The reason you are here

But that will have to wait for another time




When the act began

You found no way to stop

Backs turned

Eyes glared

Curses flew

And all towards you

Thrown to the side

They don’t remember you

Wishful thinking

That it was just at the wrong time










A word once spoken

A commitment lost

An excuse made

I was busy

It wasn’t my fault

Because no one can admit

That they forgot

That they never even cared

Knowing that one day you will forget

Because nothing escapes

The power of time

when the nights grow longer
and the days grow darker,
and the only light is the one
that can be switched off anytime,
you force yourself to wake up,
you force yourself to eat,
you force yourself to try
just a little harder,
and when you need to sleep
you have to force yourself,
ironically enough,
not to think
about the looming danger,
about the trembling hands,
about every test you couldn't pass,
about how the nights are longer
and how the days are darker,
and the only light you've got
is the one inside your heart.

i stay out of it more than i used to,
painting pictures on a metaphorical canvas.
anything is possible if i want to
find something that catches on,
leave everything else that matters
and turn away from it all.

i have great conversations with myself,
drawing memories like a string to wrap and tighten.
i live and die keeping it to myself
with every thought that spills through
like gasoline, begging for a lighter.
i stay out of it more than i used to.

You!?.*

WanT
        o         P
                   a   My
                   i                                          Well two bad,
                   n   Portrait                         I'm not real,
                   t                                           I am a Chemical
                                                        ­                    a
                                           ­                                 o        Fee(l) you seem
                                                            ­                t         To like to Get
                                                             ­               i                           o  
                                                                ­            c                          ThoUght
                  ­                                                                 ­                            p
im nobody who is you im a piece of glass in the ocean an unexpected regret you didnt want but now you have im the kind of thing you get in a goodie bag from a party you didnt want to go to but you still did an embodiment of every reason you doubt yourself on a daily basses im the one whom sits behind the screen not watching but watchin you thats the scary part of me that you arent quite ready to leave because who will watch you if im gone

somewhere out in the world, somebody’s child is dying –
we all should be crying, but being miles apart, you right
now could be smiling – knowing not a thing

life is often tragedy; in other times it’s the happier times
to make us smile. we are a billion diamonds reflecting
each other lights – we hope to live, we all know we’ll
die, some hope for peace, still we fight within this life
to try and survive  

we do our best to dream, even when sleep has other plans
so for some, they re-enact the scenes from dreams to make
them seem real. though the past is gone, some of the memories
of it don’t make a retreat; some hope for peace, still we fight
within this life to try and survive  
                seems we’ve always been bred to fight.