#settings
from the garden of Eden
to the garden of Gethsemane.
Apr 4
Apr 4, 2026 at 7:40 AM UTC
The man delves in the grim settings of rooms,
Tickling bones of the dark,
Perusing silences so beautiful and monstrous,
Gazing at oddities so dead and alive.
These settings communicate a bunch of languages,
Sometimes, even gibberish.
Wrapped in a trance, the man becomes a tune in the song.
He becomes the friend of the loner.
He becomes the itch of the room.
Pouring out his reality, he becomes the air of the room.
Dec 29, 2020
Dec 29, 2020 at 4:35 PM UTC
When I was young I was frightened of ghosts,
but now that i'm old i'd give anything to see them.
Just like how I spent my best days dreaming of new beginnings,
Now I use it as an opportunity to return to those settings
just so i can picture familiar faces.
Aug 5, 2019
Aug 5, 2019 at 7:43 PM UTC
I walk alleys and avenues of broken roads.
Black tops eroded from years of punishing
Rainfall, passerbys and time.
After a hard rain, shallow mirrors open up,
Revealing an unyielding world on its head.
It seems, as I walk amidst the distinguished,
Cracks, chips and pebbles that this moment,
Both real and a memory is everlasting.
Overcast, both dismal and hopeful, I read
Between the skylines of the upsidedown.
I breath in this parallel, I write it all down,
A collection of neverhaves.
A creation that is mine for the making, or
For the taking, should I wish.
Dec 2, 2018
Dec 2, 2018 at 9:17 AM UTC
The party is over, music has stopped
and all i can hear is the cries of a young girl whose heart
had just been broken
bright lights shining down on my dilated eyes
slowly coming down from the sky
body still tingling
feeling your body resting on mine, a glance
at the blue sliver of iris sitting beside the black void
that was your pupils, she is the epitome of beauty for me.
Down goes another one for the lovebirds
back to the clouds
^^^^^^^^^^^
Jul 3, 2018
Jul 3, 2018 at 3:59 AM UTC
My roots aren't here
They never were
I planted some crops
But they were imported
An ideal situation this land may be
To the adaptable, changing and innovative breeds
It is habitable to the natives and hybrids that are able to flourish
But me, my roots come from a different tree
They belong somewhere else
They always have
I can survive in new elements
But only with proper care and chemicals
The artificial adaptations eventually take their wear
And usually from the inside out
Without the natural nourishment I whither
So as thankful as I am for a land that harvested growth
It is essential to my survival that I find my proper home
May 22, 2014
May 22, 2014 at 1:54 AM UTC