we have inside us
lives we havent lived
they demand existence from us
to be birthed
to be unveiled
and we do it in form of words
as a parent we bring them to page
never as perfect as we wanted
and when we look back at them after a time
is like they gave another meaning to their selves
seing in them secrets we wanted to hide
and unveil at the same time
genesis of worlds in themself
lyrical,stoic ,secret
our minds generates worlds,
a need to express our inner rythm
a child of our soul
taken life forever

In the vastness of my space
I write messages in the bathroom mirror
I adress them to myself
Hoping the next day
There will be something
To comfort me
in the warm mist,in the breath
but the next day there is no message for me
like my finger never touched the mirror
I strech my mind
in my houses square metres
living room,kitchen,bedroom
searching the least lonely one
I sit at the couch
thinking of people who could sit there
but the hot tea in my mug
Cant warm  my heart
as it exits my eyes transformed in tears

Like surgeons we cut people open
in search of their  faults
we pinpoint and extract them
for us to examine
only to find
the most repulsive of them
are our own

I want to pour myself on page
But I come across a cold landscape
the spark of electricity from me
attunes with that of the pc
In this digital world ,romance is lost
ink and paper relics to a insta post
Information overload cataclysm me
And I dont know how am I supposed to be
In the fringe of my consciousness my thougts reside
elusive,fleeting and hard to abide.
The cursor blinking mocks me
And in anger inspiration evokes me.
Maybe I ll make him my muse
And get inspiration whenever I choose.
This is how my poem is made
Like an emotional grenade.

sunday s dissapointment
six days far
dear oh dear
make me dissapear
I play a game of chess
and go and make a mess
pawn  not a queen
remains to be seen
In front of prying eyes
shredding your disguise
the toughest thing of all
is sunday is gonna come

moving out
from the noise
and the drama
and the control
and the good and the bad
loneliness is freedom
but how far is so far away?
is a blank page empty
or just white?
time in the form of a pen will tell

For me inspiration
does not come from adoration
It comes from depression,
or even regression.
And when im in session
is my doctors question
What did you write?