Patterns float
obscured
by uncertain mists
recreating
a scene perceived
and painted
in washes of water colour
overlapping, merging
transfixed
fresh and timeless.

The shape
of routine activities
unpredictably change
or shatter
behind
the inexorable advance of time
as sequences
inevitably retreat
into a fading future
until the circle is complete.

His texts used to make her smile and laugh
His voice used to heal her broken soul
His love was all she really needed

Now his texts just fill her with pain
His voice makes her heart shatter
And the absence of his love slowly kills her

I am exactly the way you left me
In the wintery day you said I wasn't worthy
The snow has turned me to ice
Like the words spit from your lips turned my heart to glass
So easily shattered
Icebergs of the past revealing the truth of thousands of years in hiding
Brittle bones and DNA
As if you didn't know pain is only temporary
But traces of love last forever
No matter how broken I am
Memories of completeness linger at the back of my mind
Surface back in my dreams like ice cubes in water
Slowly dissolving, transparent and ever changing
Ever alive
A few deep breaths and I see smoke
From the dragon lungs I own
Since the day you turned my heart to ashes
And every season it burst aflame again
Each time a breath comes out
So does the smoke from my burned spirit
And I am back on track
Not the girl I once was
But stronger and weaker at the same time
Hard to love
And be loved
Hard to break
Too tough for you
Sparks flew then it was over
And the only memories I own are those the flames consumed
With burning passion the love evaporated in the heat
Just like the breath of life
I insuflated in your lungs
With my cold cold soul

I am exactly the way you left me
And moving on isn't easy

I flee from the masses
And fly to the rooftops
Up the worn staircase
To the confines of my mind

Within the loneliness
The ever-changing thoughts
The shatters of memories
I am trapped.

There are several ways to earn that loonie,
Or even that toonie,
Just got to look for the right opportunity,
And it is never easy,
But that is the harsh reality.

I know that sounds heavy,
But keep listening to me.

I have a drive that pulsates within me,
And it wants to set a vibe around me,
You see,
I want to make the life,
So I can spend it with a wife,
And buy her the right ring,
And pay my parents back their earnings,
So keep watching me,
Because I am going to make sure,
That barrier will shatter,
Into forgotten matter.

I am an altar boy inside the Church of
Continuous Wasted Opportunities.
Smell that pungent incense?
It is most definitely all that it seems to be.
This God’s gift to mankind is what the three
wise men were really trafficking—bringing
forth a dank Exodus unto the Savior’s parents.
They didn’t inhale the serpent’s lure, of course.
Rejoice, one and all, across the land!
Hallelujah, all ye indigo children of the desert!
Now, a reading from the Book of Wardo,
verse four, passage twenty:
“And it was told that the ancient Aryana region would
offer up such magical wonderment, derived from the
sacred Kush bush, assisting the holiest disciples who
prefer a mystically passive respite—for these blessed
aficionados represent the completely frazzled and yet
cautiously chosen few.”