by deviantart

a volume of air begins to strike, hits a body –
like pebbles, like stones,
like rocks or fossils of an ancient man.

softly. slowly.
handcuffs are placed on wrists, like sweet kisses.
then, strongly. swiftly.
a man is dragged out like a prisoner from his own country;
& he lands on his head.

such treachery with an identical feel of the air,
a gentle breeze singing in the ears of one who is not patriotic.
strong winds move his limbs to do the unthinkable,

an appealing hurricane: a few swearwords at the president,
stain the country’s flag with vomit,
hurl something at the “important man’s” statue;

start a crisis, no, a war with your own people.
& let aeolus
drive your feet to the guillotine. there are no last words when the liver is gone.

“at the count of three
hold your breath.”

Red Flickering Eyes

in the night’s sky
a woodpecker kept hitting
on an ivory tree

dissipating light
photon by photon
from a man’s throat to a girl’s larynx.

tying red rubber gloves to his roots
with hackneyed actions.
lets father think he’s insane, holding a candle in broad daylight.

… :
there’s a vial of poison
with an “elixir” label
hanging on the mast of another man’s beard

  • a man hanging upside down
    in a beating heart is gulping it down.
    so when the red light stops blinking
    we’re free to assume, he’s resting

because he’s tired.

The diary of a god’s failure

lips break like
broken lines except
there’s still an ellipsis:
a beating heart; one dot after another,
and zigzags
on that groaning ecg.

i don’t know why
don’t understand how
a heart breaks itself, except
that i feel it all the time: that suffocating weight
that’s breaking the machine, connected to the fragile
part of me; it’s telling me,
it’s enough already,
your heartbeats’ beating me too hard
breaking us to a straight line.

a 180° line i wish to turn into the afterlife;
away from these lying doctors whispering to my patched up body,

it’s okay, keep breathing…. okay
keep living, yea:

how can one
b..breathe when the heart
has finally agreed to kill itself?!
how can you
t..tell me to grow old in a cage w..when i can release myself?!
is it love? selfishness?

one has to leave when
one has to when
the earth doesn’t remember you but is ready to welcome you back
despite your epic failure, your disobedience to the doctors, the
resonance of when God told the first humans,
you must return to this dust;

because a god
never dies.

Fortune Teller

tell me a story,
a mishap
that happened in the ’90’s; or should happen.
don’t warn
don’t bless
don’t preach

to me, my future already,
is the fortune cookie i’ve stepped on so many times
in just a short time.
so hold your peace, close my eyes,
take a piece of me out of my mind
& see for yourself:

i know the fucking future.

i know, lies play a huge role in your incantations.
tell me a story of the past.
tell me,
what’ll happen next after a mother miscarries one who would’ve been a
stillborn; but she lay still, locked souls with the unseen
let herself be born –
someone said it’s god. i have no idea.

as for you, what do you think?

Fractured Lights

Frayed Words

Their wails can be heard from the depths of the ocean of despair

They are walking carcasses, ghouls, spectres created by misfortune

Withered and lost, they tread amongst bones

For the drought is all they know and salvation is not their goal

They blunder in the darkness

Their embers have been quenched, they may not rise again


You know what you see, yet you claim to be blind

You say you are whole, yet you move as one fractured

It is undeniable that you have fallen

You walk on shards of broken dreams and eat the crumbs of shattered hopes

Tears are your master in this nightmare you call a daydream

Your strength is failing in the light of your weaknesses


We have fissures in our hearts, cuts in our spirits

Hope is not in us as our dreams dash at our feet

We hope to rise, we…

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Outlander in Father’s House

pluck purple feathers
from a brown bird: use its blood to write letters
to one who thinks of her – to no one.

shoot green arrows
at the red apples of my father’s eyes. he doesn’t care though,
don’t worry just
divide in twain – body & soul;
take one with you: i don’t know which, houses antipathy.

blue cages.
red flesh.

keep going

form a rainbow from white light
from black light
create a girl’s face,
with hands reaching out from the hollow of her father’s eye socket.

you can’t paint her body, now.
her body repels colours, her mind’s trapped in someone else’s head.
her soul?

somewhere you don’t want to know.

The Lady in Red

Frayed Words

It comes and goes in waves

With pain and fire and blood

It stretches the mind and strengthens the body

It is the bane of the existence of so many

For some, it has the power to heal

For some, it has the power to kill

To some, it is madness

To some, it is purity

There are parts of her that scream once in a moon

They cry and pine

They wax in perplexity

They ache to crush their adversaries

They do not temper the flames that feed them

They do not exonerate the crimes of their children

They want the sweet figs and sweet wine

They want the doe eyes of sharp jawlines

Make them happy, make them pleased

They want the fast tempo of salsa and jazz

They wish for the touch of bass tones

They reach for the caress of strong hands

It comes and goes…

View original post 168 more words

Grey Cup

she squints her eyes
tries to flap the tears away from her ego,
tries to
flap her broken wings back to normal.

she takes an x-ray like medicine,
always wanting to resurrect the dead man
groping inside her ribcage

or wait…

she’s the dead bone inside of him – poking her fossil teeth
& trying to
resurrect herself from the plague, from decay;
from the curse God placed on us –

drinking from the cup Jesus drank,
& living
or rather still struggling, to live a second time.

man don’t teach you how to breathe,
so who does?


she threw me shards of glass,
gave me perfect cuts – a cup of tea; whispering,

you’re not good enough.
you think?

i’m one of those who drew you y’know.
hell yeah, i draw so damn well, bitch!
draw out my veins, thread by thread,
sew a dress to cover your naked body.
draw up my drowning psyche from your
ocean’s belly.
draw you a picture of a man crushed by a sandstorm –
teach you brownian motion the hard way [with art]
through his body;
close it up by turning yours to ashes,

or something inside of you,
groping like you are.

some girl’s hand’s reaching out to me
from a closed cupboard.
it’s not dark, but i don’t see her; i just feel soft fingers
doodle invisible marks on my chest, massage me slowly as if trying to say,
“take it easy…easy…”

i’m trying
not to binge live. but tell me,
is there any other way round a bridge asides the one parallel
to your trembling feet? i guess not.

i’m one who understands this world’s
binary system – if it ain’t one,

it’s zero.

Olive Oil

art by loui jover

her body holds colours –
evergreen, black.
a unique splay of mortality
here & there.

the mediterranean man
makes a girl slip on the oil dripping down her thighs, with a
“good day” & a smirk.
his id says nothing but hers, hear poetic words

words – bullets shot at the olea europaea,
pulls down a fruit
she’s in dilemma; haunted
by the thoughts of one who only asked,
“what’s your name?”.

her mind walks faster than her legs,
you don’t need to know how.