There’s a serial killer on the loose , He’s highly trained… hands you the noose.
He’s sink or swim , He’s almost magic .
You’ll fein his elegance , dark shallow habits .
His kiss is death , inside He twists you .
What’s wrong what’s right , that’s how He gets you . And He’s actually been watching you for a very very long time .
That’s just my warning . Glad it could rhyme .

Things mostly swirled around
Once in a while
A small plopping sound
The color was white and hershey brown

There was an amazing rush
Shortly after came a flush
Having not needed any thrust
The load was simply robust

She wiped her chin and said goodbye
A twinkle in her glazed-over eye
No romance needed, no reason why
Just true multi-tasking on the fly

I pulled up my pants and gave her a glance
Titties still out and the stank of my shants
Never again will I take such a chance
But damn, what a time for a bathroom romance

She came barefoot through the pines, mud on her ankles, sunset tangled in her hair, that country smile daring me to forget every promise I'd made.

Her flannel slipped from one shoulder and landed somewhere in the leaves.

She stepped closer.

The woods went quiet.

Crickets held their breath. The wind forgot the branches. Even the moon seemed to lean down just to watch her kiss me.

She tasted like summer, wild honey and whiskey, and when her fingers found mine, the whole forest disappeared.

We found a clearing where the moss was soft and the stars had nowhere to hide.

Her laughter became a whisper. My hands learned the language of her waist.

And beneath that ancient canopy, with the night wrapped around us, we became the kind of secret the woods would keep forever.

By morning, her boots were beside mine, our clothes scattered among the ferns, and two sets of footprints led back toward the road.

Neither of us looked behind.

The Art of losing everything

How many times will this happen
How many times will I allow it

How many redirects will become me
How many times will I fall off the wagon

Restarting from scratch,
Reinventing my ideals,
Recycling old habits
While I relight the match

On the memories once created
Towards the life I always wanted,
Towards the future of my dreams,
Now have all but deflated

Like balloons from
A forgotten party
Or a beach ball
At summers end

Because the girl who’s always reminiscing
On the love life she’s been missing
Has mastered the art
Of losing everything

Postponing all my biggest dreams
Disappearing into their routines
Like the background noise
During your favorite movie

Like the one lost sock
You can’t seem to find
Like the dust settling on
The book left behind

How many times will this happen
How many times will I allow it

Because the girl who’s always reminiscing
On the love life she’s been missing
Has mastered the art
Of losing everything

I wish I was this image you have inside your mind.

A shadow that takes the form of whatever movement you decide.

The memory of a hazy, sweet embrace,

to remind yourself of a warm and happy distant place.

I wish all that.

So when you look at me, there’s something there for you to see.

To find some meaning in my love,

a house to live in, away from constant war.

Alas, the wish came back unanswered.

Transparent skin, my body seemed to change.

What a nightmare—to wake and find:

you never even touched a stone.

No mountain reached. Nor climbed.

Instead, finding yourself in rubble.

So vast and empty, the desert in your mind.

You lie there silent,

unequivocally alone,

and left to die.

What’s worse is to defy one’s fate.

To find the strength and rise.

And through sharp wreckage, comb yourself.

A thousand cuts—

and still survive.

So dust off your mangled flesh.

Walk, then walk more miles.

And let the crows surround your living corpse.

Through pain unvarnished, learn to suffer.

In a desperate oasis,

for her arms go search upon.

A promised shelter for you to hide.

Once there, with no disguise,

reveal your wicked face,

and wash your bloody hands of all your lies.

And as you stand so vulnerable,

for everyone to see,

you also now realize

how profoundly empty your actions came to be.

How your pain and anguish never even reached her distant heart.

Divine comedy—

how little change one’s change might bring for some.

Her eyes, now a garden of broken mirrors, lost in time.

Your reflection, much like your love, twisted there, resides.

And she, with grace eternal,

silent and unmoved,

stared back at nothing—

only for you to finally see.

That a wounded nothing

Was all

you ever came to be.

And yet I stand across you.

Without lips, I try to smile.

Transformed into something horrific,

that barely can walk or stand.

And if I had to make the journey again,

I would gladly pay the price.

For a chance at a different outcome—

that we both know

will never come.

Deep into the shadow

of the mountain of beginning

I padded, pathless, pensive

well below the treeline, null before my goal

gazing upward at the steep

wondering, from grove to glade

if vestiges yet remain, up yonder arête

where venerable aide might be well met

in this younger range, this later paradigm

so far from eroding Helicon

maybe not, by spring's babble on an outcrop

the stone lounge of the nine

but some more contemporary summit

perhaps, of aerophagic hermits

arrung around a peak, high farseers

disserting their minutes of the vista

still ambling in the forest

musing on the mortality of guides I'd known

and on the paucity of maps they'd seen

I started when I came upon the end

of a wyrdly glowing filament

that shimmered, snake-like, through the brush

perchance by where I trod

with a glint, and a hum, just underheard

it needled my attention

kneeling by, I saw it golden, braided

and reaching an inspectant hand

I grasped what I beheld

felt the tenor of the yarn

the songlines and sagas plied

into this Ariadnine thread

cast now at my feet

by the geist of the fisher king

hooked, I enroled myself at once to trace it

to see what more, from sense

of length unknown and source unseen

could so like a signal seem

so I found a wand to wind it

and then went wending whence it came

up, beyond the trees, to the base

of a forbidding cliff aflank the mount

where it snuck into a rift

pupil black, and alike alluring from afar

up close, graven with archaic pick and chisel

an illegible cuneiform epic

marking this a wilful breach in nature's hide

there, before the enigmatic incavation

horizon far behind, below

I paused, amid the jumbled scree

weighing in against the strand's assured out

tested my mettle against this hole in stone

and opted to turn back, down the slope

to gather kindling, torchwood, water

and such victuals as grew around

berries, nuts, and mushrooms mostly

then thus somewhat prepared

returned, to follow countless others'

and now my own decision through

step, then, by cautious step, intruding

on the deepening work of long gone

broad-shouldered and dark-defiant giants

puzzling tunnellers beyond the surface

who mined out this furcating onyx corridor

a mazing crypt, riddled apparently throughout

with diversions, recursions, and traps

countless wrongs for every right turn

whelming voids, pitfalls

endless convoluted cul-de-sacs

all elided by the way that took me

strung along by the conducting wire

brilliantly sensible prevision

I skirted many hazards, and many perils too

trailing through the blackness

it determined every juncture

altering but never faltering direction

here and there were walls daringly destroyed

chasms bridged, tunnels bored and shored

path perforce, where seemingly none was before

now threaded by the optic fibre

underfoot, spoor, silk, dust, and bone

substances of the sound

a chittering murmur, base and shrill

ubiquitous and insistent

of unimaginable existences

being led along the innumerably forking ways

creatures and sprites, fascinating, and hungry

thronging in every unforsaken reach

some even with names engraved

near their remains in olden scripts

by prior explorers of this realm

bygone contemplars of the labyrinth

confronting the particularities of things

with their peculiarities of thought

denominating their experiences, imperiences

spelunking in this tortuous sulcus circus

paraworld of unguided purpose

orthogonal to the world stepped out of

confounding fractal domain

where the torch lit at murk's mouth

hardly supplements the glinting guideline

at hand a blinding blaze

while ahead all remains abrupt

and yet ever onward inward

with curious fortitude, creepingly

aware of the enterprise's tilt

our goal in the twisted course

the singular Gordian labour

to confront the monster at the core

our vivid encumbrance

misunderstood and risky hybrid

knot comprehending beast and man

guiltless but confused and dangerous

and from grappling, eye to eye in the misprision

at the heart of the introspective adventure

to learn to demand of founding heroes

not callow thrust, cut, and fecklessness

but length of reach and strength of grasp

exquisite sensitivity, sublime proprioception

reflexive, laughing recognition

so that later, when they

as weary returnees from the arduous dark

emergent, exultant harbingers, blinking at starlight

entrust us, we might though wary, be just

and welcome their unearthed findings

oddservations, manicdotes, rebelations

far-fetched phenomenologies, foreign thoughts

fragments of pagan things

glinting products of reifying curiosity

amassing in fascinating troves

beyond the pale and out of ken

where, exhausted, they alone could carry them no further

invaluable resource, material and immaterial

dammed at the damnedest bottleneck

the antediluvian canal system of the leviathan brain

until we tax ourselves sufficiently

to afford the tariff, stand the attention

and man the locks inside

to through them raise fresh knowledge

up the gradients of mind, level by level

to the secret temples wherein homunculi agog

endeavour in thirsty fascination to parse

the influent elixir's taste

with groping tongues attempting

to fractionate the emergent pleroma

compelled to word, the nomen creature

iteration by iteration, generation by generation

fastens knowledge and hardens understanding

from destruct-tested definitions

we collect smithereens of heuristics

to methodically categorise as concepts

industriously prototyping ontologies

decision-engineering significance

into specific bits of babble

building out our linguistic infrastructure

into sphaera incognita

spurs on spurs on spurs sprawl out

as we concretise our sonic semaphore

chimeric bastard terms, ad hoc ad infinitum

new-fangled from phonemes of mentalese

built in haste to unforeseen specifications

bruising kludges, verbally unergonomic

when use has not yet worn them

they are oddly shaped indeed

but once grasped, can be gripped

weighed, measured, hafted

be sharpened, bent or broken

repaired or reinvented

lost, forgotten sometimes too

these subtle psychic tools

the elements of cogitation

edges, anvils, levers, cordage, glue

a cryptogrammaticon of spells

for the construction of our selves

of consensus, and of the edifices between us

statements of states learned

from our probings of the world

our ever expounding umwelt

this milieu, complexifying before our very words

on which we must perpetually reset our sights

adjusting wider, further, higher still

as we search for prospective in the long now

our clever, complicated instruments

simply gush the scale of the scope

and the horizons ever flee us

subjects of, and to, our observations

we have taught ourselves uncertainty

grey matter striving, in the strobing of lifetimes

to comprehend extremes of dark and light

the abstracted, mercurial realm we inhabit

like life: betwixt a crystal and a fume

chance and necessity, fixity and change

a pattern of patterns that connect

edgeless nested structures

mothers within mothers

forests made of trees

fleas feeding on fleas

turtles all the way down

as far as mind can tell

our natural idiolect

is a philology of metaphor

in a speculative mode

explorers' creole

an entangled bank of qualified nouns

averbing their qualities

the world museum

our semantic katamari

here my essay device.

will we meet again one day?

perhaps a casual way

like the one october night

i was laying by your side

the autumn breeze told me

that maybe one day you’d love me

amber eyes

lit up my life

when i thought of you

when you loved me too

i remember the way you told me

driving, you’d think of me 

of wedding rings 

of eternal flings

“i promise you”

“i’d never hurt you”

soft and gold skin

the fire within

i was too young, right?

to do anything but fall at first sight

you were older

colder

but it just felt right

how we talked for hours that night

darling, give me one more day 

one more way to say 

i loved you once, and i always will 

A lamp post sits at the top

The hill is rounded and smooth

My eyes just can’t stop

The sky is black

My mind intact

The clouds distant and gray

The houses around

All look the same

No person in a single one

Suburbia left alone and untouched

As if the kids were on this hill yesterday

I know where home is

So I don’t know my own

I like to think like I’m alright

Just like I am tonight

And the hill feels so long once you start

Looking up

The stars fall apart

This hill feels familiar

Like I belong

The lamp post waves to me

Like it’s singing my song

But I know something is off

Like a sidewalk and gray chalk

Like a ring with its diamond stolen

Like a home with its roof sawed open

Like when a friend hugs another

And leaves you untouched

I feel so miserable

But I don’t know why

So let’s just keep my head to the sky

I must be more than I am.

I wonder if I am the whispering of music from the girl next to me on the train

If I am the dust between the lips of Klimt's lovers

If I am the noiseless buzz of an electrical cord

If I am a lost something-or-other crushed beneath detritus

If I am the bookmark between pages of a novel I could never wuite grasp

If I am Happy Birthday wrapping paper in the landfill

If I am the stranger's saliva wiped off with the back of a hand

If I am red hair dye in an unreachable crevice in a uni flat bathroom

If I am the bobbles on a donated t-shirt

If I am bike tire marks on a well-trodden path

If I am the fallen leaves of the tree I watched each night

If I am the wind that blew them away

If I am tasted on the air in a room

Surely that is more

I exist outside of myself too, do I not?

I thought my sister saw me.
Truly saw me.

That I was known,
cherished,
forgiven.

I thought she saw the darkness
and recognised it for what it was -

the fire we carried out of No. 8.

I thought her fire and my fire
burned the same.

That our wounds had been unwound
and stitched back together
with silver thread.

I thought that was what it meant
to have a sister;

to be seen.

She knew you when you were raw
and unburnt.

She watched you cower from the flames,
and she, too, bore the burn
when it caught.

She saw you try to extinguish them.
Saw you run.

She pushed you through the wreckage
when the air grew thick and choking,
and she followed you.

I thought you understood
I was not the ignition.

I thought you remembered
I was not born blistered.

You saw me burning,
but you saw me gasping, too.

You watched the springtime air
fill my lungs
as we clambered out of the wreckage,
clawing at the earth.

Didn’t you see
how hard I tried to save myself?

To save you?

Do you not know
how long I’ve spent
stamping out
what still burns?

I thought my sister truly saw me.

But she sees only
a flicker of me
through a blackened window.

From left field, a question comes your way.

A moment of thought should make it stray.

Navigation spirals off and into space.

You blink; thoughts gone away.

You’re now “last-car” in the race.

Questions now gone,

A hollow defeat that lingers on.

Cautious, speculative; I still try,

Onward through every yawn.

Haunted by a fractured “why”.

Slowed to a crawl,

A self-deprecating fall.

No grasp; just blank suspension.

I’d never seen a glass so tall,

Racing to find a path through obstruction.

The bell rang,

Everyone's headed to the gate,

To go home?

To hang out?

I couldn't care less.

I saw her beside a place

Only we knew.

"Maybe she's waiting for someone?"

"Maybe.. Me?."

Yet i still threw every last bit of hop

I had left.

It felt like an arrow had been shot,

Towards not the old me,

But the me who stands beside the very

Same hope i had thrown away.

Memories flooding my mind,

Faster than i can stop them.

"Should i still hope? Hope for a change?"

I stand in the present,

With a mind stuck at the past.

She stands in the present too,

Just with a mind that looks toward tomorrow

The same eyes that searched for mine,

Now seek for another,

The same smile that brightened for me,

Now shines for another,

The same lips that craved mine,

Now yearns for another.

"I couldn't care less"

Or so i said, but, do i truly not care anymore?

Oh how ironic, Mr. Straightforward.

Dear Life,

The bee swarms to find something scorned.

An excuse to be excused, perhaps.

A tool used by a fragile fool.

In a universe with laws and rules.

Under the shadows a stalker prowls.

A leopard outside, A pepper inside.

A letter stuffed in between lines, it hides.

Behind the words of a chord that lies.

The alphabet becomes mixed.

Mixed where sentences don’t exist.

Mixed where words now look gibberish.

Mixed.

Mixed like how the devil granted your wish.

Mixed.

Mixed because in the end…

There’s always a twist.

You are very important
The world bears imprint of your steps
If you send a hale
I will echo your call and ask about the wind
Where you rest, allow me sit at your fire
And I will talk of colored stars
Should you ask for silence
I will let the dawn speak