I jumped and looked behind,
Something was there or just some doubts in my mind.
I stared into the empty space,
Something stayed still and dared not to move.
I lifted my chin and rolled my eyes,
Nothing was there but a ghost in my head.
I turned to my desk and heard a snap,
Something poofed and made a step.
I froze in place and dared not to look back,
Something brushed above my head with a cold breath on my neck.
One knock, two knocks, I gained my control back.
I leapt forward and looked behind.
Nothing was there but was the ghost only in my head?

There is a tree
with falling leaves.
It releases a sigh.
Flapping leaves. Lifeless.
The sigh
sentences the death pile.
You stand besides it,
and release a sigh.
Are you the judge
or the executor?
You tilt your head, laughing with mockery.
“I am neither.” You cite yourself.

There is a network, working interactively.
You think you are sick. Doctors certified.
Thumbs are numb, mumbling
on the crumbles, plumbing
comfort from the invisible.
A plaster face,
the same as his, hers, and theirs.
You stand besides the tree.

A monster is awake:
too much noise,
too much vibration.
It opens its eyes:
Who are they?
Faces on him, her and them.
They move fast,
faster than lightning.
You stand besides the tree.

Then the face is torn off.
You look at the tree:
Life in the trunk,
death in the pile of leaves.
A judge or executor?
The face in the leaves.

You think
you are unique.
Which face is it?
Seeing a fly on the net.
And thousands of flies.
Then you encounter that tree
out of thousands of trees.
That tree and you:
Half alive,
half dead.

The fly, or the tree, on the net.
You watch and cannot touch,
You stare and cannot move.
The spider climbs close.
You finish the sentence.

Sometimes, he owns an ocean.
And occasionally drowns in it.
No bubbles, no eyes, no one
is looking for the ears.
You protest the ridicule:
“There must be fish! It is the ocean.”
No. Is it?
Who is there?
There is only water, flipping back and forth.
Does it matter?
He senses a blank space
strangles something,
or nothing?
And he runs,
or stops?
It is the wave of his ocean;
Rolling up and down,
frying the darkness,
And one meal, and second meal, and so forth, and asking for nothing.
He swims with a belly full of emptiness,
Webbed hands and feet and he drowns
with a twisted face:
a nose on the eyes, two mouths on the ears.
Then he breathes in a knife of silence:
……
Slash! A marsh of crash
knocks on his body.
The pea pod cracks,
a flash of pain rolls down his nerves,
rocks his flesh.
Two mouths for screaming, one nose for a startled breath.
Breathe!
Breathe.
Two meals in and thousands after.
He struggles.
Every time.
Someone are struggling beneath him.
Water washes off
their faces. Almost his.
Already?
And one face, and second face, and so forth, and bellowing for something.
He breathes, only he breathes.
And he breathes
after he kicks, yells, and rejects
with no fangs, no strength, and no menace.
He drowns. Occasionally.
In his ocean. Sometimes.

“I am sad”. The bubbles.
They are alive and throws
The ripples here and there.
“I am sad”. Still. Still.
Is he alive? Tik. Tok.
He is sad. No eyes.
A sack of ink. Heavy.
Sad. Words fade away.
Two mouths. Glued.
He drowns.
He ceases.
His heart. Bump, pump.
His blood. Dip, peek.
He listens,
as no one listens.
He knocks on the door: “I am sad.”
He falls,
the first time.
He floats,
the first time.
He melts,
the end.

Then he wins a sky.
“Can you drown in a sky?”
You point your finger.
He nods and drowns.
No wind, no mouth, and his face is missing.
He floats
and breathes.
Breathes once, twice, and so forth, and continues.
“I own an ocean.”
Air shakes.
“And I welcome you.”
Air trembles.

He floats in his sky,
above the ground that does not belong to him.
Nothing stops him,
and he sinks upward.
Simple. Simple.
He rings the bell.
The air vibrates.
And he stays
in his purest solitude,
above his darkest loneliness.

And he stays.

He said he lost everything.
From his hair to toenails.
From his skin to the mind.
He was depressed and blind.
Then, he becomes a particle of dust.
Then, he owns everything.

A door opens.
He rides the wind.
What is that?
Orange, yellow and red;
Burning, hot, and warm.
A fireplace with an orange bubble.
A strip of scarf,
and the coziness is hung around the house.
What is that?
Brown and white are swirling,
Bitter and sweet,
A stream is running down the throat and raising the heat.
He signs with a scent of cocoa.
What is that?
A body sinks into a pile of marshmallows,
A breath as light as feathers brush against the air.
Even and thick.
He melts into the armchair,
and snores with comfort hugging his soul.

He dances around with delight.
He forgets he once lost everything.
He pivots with the wind and counts what he owns:
A rocky road in front of his house;
New paint on the wall;
The light that only has one light bulb working;
A brick wall with dark bricks embedded among the red bricks.
“Art! Art! That’s a piece of art!”
He proclaims in ecstasy.

Then he counts and falls asleep in his dream of memory.
And wakes up with everything.

If I crawl, will there be
a loop around me?
If I yell, will there be
an echo of tears?
If I grab my heart, will there be
a burst of blood?
If,
if I breath, if I frown, or if I smile, will there…?

It is all dark, all blank, bright, my eyes,
My eyes swell, swell and bleed,
My throat cut, slash, bam,
Please, please grab the knife.
Because, because, cough...
My body, still, full of blood, why?
I do not hear a thing.

Am I blind? Am I? Are you?
Am I deaf? So do you? Nodding?
Answers? I cough, saliva’s dripping.

Then I crawl, a loop around one’s neck.
I yell, all silence.
I grab, reach, dig into my body.
Right Hand as a shovel, left hand as a claw.
Itchy, itchy, I find my heart.
Scratchy, scratchy, I close my fist.

I breathe, I bend, one’s skull kisses the ground...
Knock! Knock!
All!
All blank.

You raise your head.
A red balloon
releases its hands.
A red balloon against the white sky.
It chuckles.
Rubber skin vibrates against the layer of gas.
The red balloon against the cobalt sky.
It spins.
Dancing with the downward blue.
The red balloon against the dark sky.
It whistles. Oxygen brushes its sheer skin.

“Where are you going.”
You ask.
It blushes.
“I am going to hug the stars.”
Then the gravity releases its hands.

The red balloon. A hug.
You hear a laughter.
A star tears open the dark sky.

He is sitting in the dark
Please listen
Listen to his voice
As no one cares
His loneliness is roaring
As loud as a drop of blood
Dangling at the tip of his heart
Please listen
Listen to his plead
Pleading in the dark
Crawling at the corner
Like a doll
Raggy with holes on his body
Soft as a worm under the sun, exposed
Nakedly, colorless
God please
Please listen to him
He is crying, trembling and bleeding
He is silent
He is loud
He is chaos with only one color around
He is noisy with only his heart bumping
He is dying
Dying as a fish in a shallow hole
Please listen
He begins to sing

He walks in the rain
All by himself
Injured, humbling along the road
Raising his head with mouth wide open
Is there a sound
Only the clicking from the rain
Does the wound hurt?
Red is a burn, now it is cold

He falls
Into a pit
Brown grows all over his body
A camouflage of nothing
He stays still
Thinking
Before everything stops functioning

A flash with two shadows
Whipping his brain
A shout, far, small, disappearing
Then is the rain, red and warm
Then is the rain, black and cold

Cold, as a piece of marble
Brown, ***** as an abandoned doll
Where is the light?
The switch is off.

The sound! The sound! Popping around
Steam blurs the edge of the hair
Fire is stomping in the stomach.
The heat saturates the body. Help!

The dance! The dance! A cold beer offer
Luggages slide down the conveyor belt
Bubbles are counting the beats and pops
The ice swings the heat over and behind.
“It’s now the warmth and peace.” The first new-year sentence
spoken by the stomach and beyond.

On an unknown day, with mysterious weather, at x o’clock, my out-of-focused eyesight vaguely saw a red dot tiptoeing blatantly through the grey carpet.
I zoomed in up front,
leapt away down back.

The ferocious heir of Arthropoda, the Ladybug.

It marched, one pixel by pixel, from the center of the ocean-size carpet towards the great wall, body swaying slightly left and right.
“The pilgrimage must be done on foot.”
One eighth of a fingernail, color of a ripe tomato, the shell hard as diamond, exerting awe.

And it stopped, facing the skyscraper wall.
And few days later, it disappeared

from the surface of the earth.
Maybe was vacuumed up to its tomb,
or crushed by a malicious human being, or caught in a spider net,
or crushed by an unintentional human being, or starved,
or crushed by a fearful human being…


So fragile yet so unreasonably intimidating
With a shell on the back that can split open
with the reveal of an oily segmented soft body and a pair of wings of broken glass
plus six counting legs, the alien’s claw.

Yet with no intention to harm but to stay alive.

A life that should value the same as mine
yet wasted so easily.
Though we do not share the same aspect of life
we all aim to survive.
What is so intimidating about you?

Your tragic death,
probably faced immense fear in a stranger space
froze in desperation in front of a dead end
forgot you could fly
died with only me remembering.


I mourned and mourned as I wrote and reflected,
and jumped at the sight of
a friendly ant,
squeezed out a sentence with my limbic mind:
“if you… don’t come close to me… I will not… harm you…”
Suicide by bugs, quite a scene.

The absurd fear that I can never **** off
and the hypocrite said
I treat every earth life the same.