As kinetic chaos surges,
Each atom flings outward,
From my marrow’s middle,
Toward the gates of my skin.

The brittle shell
holding me together
Threatens to burst,
While the entropy
pinging down my limbs
commands me into motion.

Boiling toward a peak within,
the cigarette clenched in hand
Becomes my means to bleed it.

Boredom
Nothing to do
Nothing to say
Nothing to feel
Its peaceful
It’s perfect
If only it didn’t feel so wrong
The yearn for excitement
Something to do
Something to say
Something to feel
It feels so right
If only it didn’t lead to a want to do nothing
A need for Boredom
Nothing to do
Nothing to say
Nothing to feel
And such the cycle goes on
And on
Forever longer

i wait for daybreak —
shed embers of disquiet;
my spirit rages.

Betrayal lurking,
In hope of novelty,
Like news carried by the wind,
Blaming indifference,
Breaking the convention
Imposed by society,
Following rules
Indifferent to the heart.

We seek the reason
That "corrupts" emotion.
To be human is to seek reason,
Hiding from sensation.

To succeed and fail,
To run and fall,
To rise and lower,
To cross,
To decide,
To fix and depart.

Here lies the break
In reconciliation,
In the absence of trust.
Love forgives,
But for how long?
Here’s the issue:
The discontent,
The restlessness,
The blessed novelty.

Would we have arrived here,
Without this search?
I don't think so.
What is normal?
What is predefined?
And by whom?

Betrayal is normalized,
A disruption of trust
From an abnormal union,
But natural to the essence,
Like rivers that flow into the sea,
Waves that break through cliffs,
Eagles that migrate and spread,
Devastating tsunamis,
Storms that ravage.

Ah, commitment, pact,
Agreement, alliances,
Necessary for balance,
But inattentive to temptations
And the shocks of passions,
Stronger and older
Than human wisdom.

prone to narcolepsy;
a second thought, like -
a can of pepsi.
sold my peace for
a moment’s notice;
for the panic that utters -
‘you better not blow this!’

i sulk, i cry, i moan… it rains -
the clouds pull closer to
the gravity of my pain;
the birds find shelter at
the neighbour’s windowpane -
they leave me to dry in a room -
terrified, and insane.

i can feel the bed
warming up to my shape;
there’s a stain on the pillow
that reeks of sour grapes -
i try to rub it off,
but give in to my human make:
i curse the neighbour’s birds -
through a ****
on the moss-green drapes.

i hope it’s worth it:
all the trials, and the errors.
i long for a night,
devoid of terror -
so i may sing for a while,
with nothing to lose;
‘to be, or not to be’ -
left to me - to choose.

a restless jitter;
skin-deep promises, unkept:
no nails left to bite.

The hour is an uneasy,
the hour is exasperated,
it paces from one room to another,
taking great strides
to pull me by the wrist
and take me straight to bed.
Not yet,
give me a second a said.
I thirst for a swig
of what this bar has to offer.
Neat! The hour is impatient,
no chance for me to relish
growing old,
no way to feel my insides glycate,
it wants time back,
this itching hour.