Painting mirrors

And they tell you

That they could’ve broken you more

After they’ve broken you entirely


These cracks on the wall, I run my hands on

If concrete didn’t keep its promise,

How could glass?

I see myself in them, rough, inside out

See, I can relate to spiders crawling in, and then emerging hungry for a home


Bullets fired from a shotgun

Two inches away from you

And they still tell you

‘I would’ve fired more, if only I had more bullets’


I guess my fireworks

dug underground

And treated rabbits with a surprise

Guess they no longer need a show

they were the show themselves, taking over


Why tip a waiter?

They get from taxes anyways

The only difference you think you make,

comes from people watching, thinking you are someone

other than the someone they see everyday


The word itself is contradictory, ‘someone’


Just a part

Just a piece


Look at you,

painting mirrors orange

To show the world you carry ‘positive’ energy in you

Don’t tell them your favorite colour is different shades of gray and black


Some deep psychology shit,

give them a deadline to figure you out


Went away with dawn

Pieces of a puzzle
Form a newer picture
One I hadn’t known
By any mismatched chaos of my own

Sprinkled over ice-cream
Dentists leaving the plaque
Pulling out flawless teeth
Wisdom to stay

Together as separate beings
One about to snap
The other wanting to get hurt
For the pain let out a beast
Too great to feel weak

And the coconut can’t seem to fall
On our heads
Even on earthquakes
Beaches deemed mad?

What a travesty
To live like living is done
For one small move and its gone
Extremism too risky a truce

Naive lives
Clever, chameleons covered with themselves
Watching over, in 360 degree angles
Their fear, a camouflage
Their danger, joy or thirst,
The same

Victimizing the victims,

pitying the fools,

to make the weak weaker.

It’s like catcalling a bull towards

the centered red, bloodshed of your words

Zoned out, for when it was your turn
When you break someone, you break your own
Heart? Or bone
Fractures, or decaying ligaments

Between our sighs
In twilight
An owl speaks our secrets
And watches over pride

And the stars that wouldn’t let us see
The darkness beyond the nearest heaven
Dimmed and went to sleep
And we called that supernatural

Humans, predictable
Gravity to feel responsible
Although birds will flap their feathers at your face
And your feet will feel prejudice
Over the mud, after the rain
It didn’t wash away your guilt
Neither did it conquer
That edifice about to fall
Yet you look past the thrill
And get another glass of milk,

You were no whiskey material

And the sweets you keep in your pockets
For when acidity burns your chest
They only work as ekstasis
Itching substituted by tickles
What a mockery
Fools, geniuses, no-names, somebody’s, and then

the detached, solos.

Before you even get flashbacks of the cruelty you spread,

Your stuck parachute now opens, no-default

Your feet tiptoe in sand safe and sound
Your certainty, laid out in your palms
You believe now
You were just floating in doubt in mid air
But you’re a believer now

So predictable
What a waste
And yet, God loves you
He knew it all along
But gave you enough to plunge out

of your own misery by dawn.
Of your own misery by dawn.

Since 1973

You see, these walls we build

Are to separate purity from filth

Yet we,

Rose above them

And became beings without a name

Mixing white with black

And getting blood

Instead of an obvious gray


What a play

To live like there’s no tomorrow

It’s like wasting today

For an immediate future

You will never get


It’s like flooding a delicate crop

with juice, made out of it’s own nectar

Or to rip tailored clothes apart,

to get back to having cloth without a shape,

and run naked


What would you do? if every year you ‘lived’

shrank down to two: to settle or to possess

a mind that wasn’t thinking of you.

Faith, like ants feeding on crumbles of our leftovers

Ate us raw

We are cannibals, homicidal, cynical


Open up that newspaper, from 1973

And the year after

And the year after

Needless to say

Decades away

We were still a virus

Without a cure

And we have only evolved

To a more accepted form

Of hell


Funny, for you thought evil meant

listening to metal and getting tattoed above your neck

The darker a person seems the lighter ‘it’ becomes

Why tagline human beings as species

We are anything but beings

What heaven meant to me

They say heaven is to thee,
what God is to the angels.
What then is hell to me,
besides demons crawled beneath thy nations?

They ignite in my bones,
like clouds on the sky.
Like thorns on them roses
and resurrect among stones and bonsai.

They flow through me,
like wind beneath a bird’s wings.
Only directionless, repelling against sea.
Only hopeless, pulled apart by a dozen strings.

And I wonder what this may bring,
on behalf of beautiful things.
For you make me want to destroy what I had built,
only for the sake of unsatisfied guilt.


Upside down

Surrounded by all fours
To the mystery of howling wolves
See, I have a thing
For beings that aren’t afraid to mourn
Over mourning days
That mourn for a moon spread like sand by a million stars
What a cycle of
Beasts letting it all out
To forget why they scream
And only live by
All that’s kept within

So much beauty
Covered with filth
So much filth
Dusted, cleaned, polished!
What would it be like
To walk on clouds
And stare at our homes and people
As if they were street lights
Am I the only one that will cringe
At the thought of
Rain pouring from their eyes
And the rays of light to only(not)dim by subtle joy
What if our own bricks fall on our heads,
will we be reminded of our works?
What if the tallest buildings
Poke at the fog we walk through?
And pierce throats,
slitting animals in half
And us, in three quarters

Gardens that we reaped will regretfully
smile back, thankful, confused
And us, right back.
Only then, will the well full of wishes
Finally grant us the wishes we didn’t ask for
Worth going mad for

Have you ever been still, near a storm?
It licks the fake off, of every street
Bulldozing all the creeps
So it’s only you,
with the chaos that’s meant to be
Fastened to your waist
By anacondas that call themselves snakes
For their tongue was one
But spoke in lisps
It had two shades to it

Succumbing, diving deep
Like leech
And staying delusional
With one eye dreaming
The other closed
One ear listening
With the other in between ‘amor’

But I don’t know, who am I to talk. All I do is lean on walls, turn my head and look at the world upside down. What was I saying again? I need to type this down.


My hands. Five fingers,

yet not enough to comb a lion’s mane when it roars.

Guilty for stripping a rose naked of its chores

of making perfume

in the disgust that we sow

Not enough to get a firm grip on leaves that

crumble when autumn howls.

Not enough to tap my fears on a piano, that speaks for me.

I didn’t even have the courage

to move them.

I didn’t even let it sing for me.

Too late to plunge in to a tornado and fight to let the current spit me out,

or let it spin and spin

till it mournfully wins, for letting me be

by not letting me be

Inside me somewhere like a plane that took off earlier than its time, but

thanked the Lord for this unintentional pride.

The storms were sweeping by. We can hear them cry, for their misery is their own now. Got to go our own way, passengers, got to leave. Got to stay gone.

What if we keep all the wrappers, of all the chocolates we’ve ever eaten?

Instead of tossing them away, letting them roll

till they’re shut into another cycle, another break.

They’re stepped on, ripped, maybe even chewed by an animal that

forgot its awaiting fate.

Isn’t that what we do to people?

Suck the sweetness, fill the hunger,

on to the next one my friend. Our stomachs won’t be full for long.

Silly little thing, he saw the front but didn’t use his peripheral view.

The line was three-dimensional, and he was surrounded on all fours.

One moment here, and another he was gone. ‘I followed the wrong way’.

It’s like I’m reeling in to pure chaos, and I love it.

A decimal to a number I can count as one.

I’m infinity molded into one. I feel nothing, and this nothingness means the world to me.

You were caught off guard, this time by your own goosebumps.

Hold on.

No recipe to this

Can you tell me what it feels like,
Up in the air,
Where no bird kills another to live
Where no eagle gives up on his own will

How many times, do we flee to catch a drill
Just because we feel pain doesn’t make it right
To suck happiness out of a balloon
We inflated with our own lungs

How sensible of us, to try and figure eachother out
We don’t even know what to eat, how can we even breed
And then send our wisdoms down a line
Endless hope, hopeless reliance on the sun
To shine
And our eyes to stop flooding
And drown a million flies
Running in circles

What did you do, to deserve this
Can the world survive your bitterness
And like the pale fire amidst a winter night
Feel warm and induce comfort on the ones exposed to it

Look into your soul
And distance yourself from the world
Wear your weakness like armour
There’s no damage you can do that hasn’t already been done

The best thing you could do for yourself, is leave yourself

And find your calm by the millions that live in you

How much can you keep in you anyways?

It’s like hearing a nightingale sing with stuffed ears


The best thing you could do for yourself, is leave yourself

And find your calm by the millions that live in you

How much can you keep in you anyways?

It’s like hearing a nightingale sing with stuffed ears


It’s like telling someone to make trees out of paper

Or telling fire to light up the matchstick in your hands

Be wary of a sweet soul offering you sugar

It must have been real messed up

To mix with the vinegar in your diet

Or the oil that leaves you dry

I guess you both risked the upset stomach

Only to relive again after tasting the perfect recipe

There is no recipe