Scribble,
Scribble.
The etchings,
of a dreamer.

Who's quill he,
quibbles with.

Grasping at an idea,
that he hydrates
with ink.

In wrathful vengeance,
he abuses parchment,
with a sharpened wood spear.

Drinking his creation,
tweaking the taste,
that's almost bitter.

Slash, ****,
cross out.
He is vexed,
about the ending…

Today was a day.
Nothing more or less
just a touch of gin
poured over unbroken ice
a hint of vermouth
neither shaken or stirred
and a simple olive
for life did not think
I was ready for
a lemon twist

it seems to be true
that in a glass like this
the day is half empty.

In process of knowing who I am!
In process of recalling my memories!
I found an empty space!
A space I can’t remember!
A space I struggle to belong to!
A space I questioned my belongings in this world!
A space I realized I’m forgotten!

14-10-2018

a decimal of time
wedged between a tile
of a room - unknown
it could have been a kitchen or the delirious floor of a bustling shop
down to the tedium of banter and the slow trickle of something like
a cultural shift
inside a downtrodden window she stared too long until she was
unrecognizable by her and those around her
disappearing from picture frames and unable to remember
what it was like to say something of importance
her tongue now a foreign agent unsure if it still served a purpose
other than being in someone else's mouth
her shirt pocket always containing something of a thrill
like pearls or cigarettes
but now there was nothing in those pockets
tea bags were now placed in jars and her nails never veneer various colors but the same **** that had enthralled her years earlier
now blending in with the canvas outfits she wore to be reminded of a hobby that could have meant something
if only she believed in anything

In the process of shielding
My heart
I broke it
Thousand more time
Before anyone could ever do

I live in fear
That I cannot say another word;
The pain descends
On me like a thousand bursts;
Slicing my torso in two.
The burning flame accumulates in my chest
I just want to let it out-
The ebb and flow of unspeakable tones
Articulated from my ***** into letters
Of scarlet-red BLOOD :
Bearing my shame,
My anguish,
My torment
But most of all, my happiness
And faith.