things don't work out right
things fall apart
bipolar disorder, Arthur Edens
Shiva, music, art

I haven't been to India
but India came to me
I have been to Stockholm
beauty Baltic Sea

                  mint tea

You are the sparrow, or the one who oversees.
You are the sea worm — the one that bottom-feeds.
You are the urchin which waves could never crash.
You are the person whose feelings will never last.

You are the yeti, whose hand is very grand.
You are the teddy, soft as white sand.
You are all things, and no things, all at once.
You are the heartbeat whose race cannot be won.

there are those
that grab ahold
as well as those
that let it go
there really is
no way to know
how or when
the wind will blow

there are those
who know to cope
with the mess
that this life throws
and also those
out of control
who paddle against
the river's flow

there are those
that hold out hope
and then those
against the ropes
who wrestle with
themselves alone
with the easy come
easy go

with open eyes
and open heart
do you know
which one you are

you could be these
you could be those
honestly
do you know

You are gone
why do I still search?

I look at the stars in the sky
are you amongst them now?

No, you won't be there
It's a quiet place, you won't like

I wonder where you are
hope in someplace
where you can spread your laughter.

Focused but with ease I sit
in a spring-cushioned
armchair coated in
soft leather, dyed
a rich bordeaux.
Cigarette in one hand,
Negroni in the other,
Joint prêt sur la table.

The Ouroboros woman lay
across from me on the
méridienne.
Our eyes not breaking sight,
we're opposite anchors.

Pegs pulling
piano wire.

As the smooth tapestry
of her milky skin is caressed
by one wondrous instrument affixed
upon her slender forearm,
with extensions most
sensual, the other
one implores
herself in
glorious
fervour.

Joie de vivre,
as close as you
can get, at least.

A tenebrous passion.
As thunderous as brief.
Adieux mon cœur,
ma jolie,
Élise.

He carries the weight of his family's name,
A burden shared, yet borne alone in pain,
Expectations high, a path to claim,
Fear of failure's sting, fear of success's flame.

His heart beats with the weight of others' deeds,
He takes the blame, while hiding his own needs,
A selfless soul, with emotions unspoke,
Shining dimly, in the dark of every cloak.

In silence, he seeks attention's gentle gaze,
His heart conveys the depth of his unspoken ways,
A longing for understanding, for someone to hear,
To break the chains of expectation, and wipe away his fear.

His parents' hopes, a heavy load to bear,
A weight that presses, a heart that's aware,
Of every step, every move, every choice,
A life lived under scrutiny, a constant, anxious voice.

Yet, in his silence, there's a story untold,
Of struggles faced, of battles bold,
A tale of resilience, of strength untapped,
A hero's heart, though worn and weary, still intact.

In the depths of his soul, a fire burns bright,
A flame that flickers, with every step of the night,
A desire to be seen, to be heard, to be known,
To shed the weight of expectations, and find his own way home.