I stood looking out the window,
searching for a vision of you,
but the blinds stood between us,
hiding what my heart once knew.
If I pulled the strings and let in the light,
would I see your face again?
Or would your memory slowly disappear,
like shadows fading at the day's end?
The honest answer is—I don't know.
So I let the darkness take control,
while two strings move gently up and down,
like tired eyes protecting the soul.
Opening and closing,
revealing what I’m afraid to find,
because sometimes what blocks our vision
isn't the window—it's the mind.
If only you could see the secrets
hidden quietly behind these blinds,
memories my heart keeps sheltered
from the searching eyes of light.
So I remain inside this silent room,
where yesterday still survives,
adjusting my eyes to the darkness
while your memory waits behind the blinds.
The song my soul never seeked
The writings I never wanted to keep
The beautiful pain that’s started to leak
And my ugly heart that only shrieked
I own your signature.
The dappled papers in the ancient literature
The ink rubbing against my thumb and forefinger
My adoring gaze caressing everything you and similar
Your darling face, particular
Although I am ever the wonderer:
Who was the relationship’s true severer?
The blissful cherry-pink of a spring-summer’s day?
It is but, I say:
Your ears’ colourful glaze
When I am not the one to spot you first; but they
Perhaps you are a swallow
With a sweet sound of chirp at morn - no sorrow
Dawn and midday, the sound is never hollow
And in my calm heartache, I wallow.
Perhaps the poppy and the willow
is a better combo
Although you weep with joy, not with ashamed gusto
I would be lost, without you, you know;
In fact, you are my hero.
No, no, whatever was I thinking - my mind must be slowing -
You are a stream, blue-silver and glowing
Helping us swim, getting us going
Taking a chance, and always flowing
Until you have been stopped by cold weather and snowing
Alibi: Faeren
MY pulse falters when her shadow drags across the floor.
LOVE rots slow in places sunlight never reaches.
GROWS the hunger in the walls each time I speak her name.
WHERE she once walked, the air bends, listening for blood.
MY ROSEMARY GOES where the dead wait for me to follow.
Decoded message:
My love grows where my rosemary goes
On a cloudy night
A dark sun shines, cold and vast
While moon shades the light
In the forest of broken hearts
Darkness embraces the love
In a heart torn apart
Inside the pieces
It lays down and sleeps
Wakes up in a beat
Whilst at the dark midnight
Behind your curtains, under your sheets
Where madness flowers
Whether in a dark deep cave
Or at the beach of paradise
You won't see the light
Ever again, and never
At the dark midnight
There was that absolute obsidian in the air,
Not the holy kind -
But the kind you burn,
The dangerous fatal!
I wanted to kneel,
Not to worship -
But to plead with the grace you bled into,
Not to abandon me.
You walked like undone hymns,
A prayer with no mercy,
A pulse with no damnation,
The undoes sanity, dressed in reverence.
A moth that denies its hunger for the blaze,
A dagger veiled in silk,
For I drowned in a gaze -
I was never meant to hold.
A daylight will stay with us from on high
And mailings will be reviewed when I sigh
Among bleeding cacti within the fence
After we are engaged in a pretence
Here I, reversal permeability
Reduced to wearing only this vittae
watch my wristwatch
and what time is it
I cannot not tell you
though this is partly sunny
each laughter from the room
is that document
in a time of war
the evidence is happiness
we are deaf near the wall
I look from my window—
the city is silent and serene.
I give another glance:
the light of bulbs moves slowly
through the twilight night.
Suddenly,
the uproar of parasite cars
breaks the seamless silence,
conspiring against the beauty
born of that celestial scene.
The wondering, waning moon—
like a besought fortune—
shy and quiet,
approaches me.
Enchanting, she whispers:
Take my light
and ignite the darkness within.
Baby we're still young
Vibrant and promising
I promise you
Together we can grow strong
Before we get old
We can correct our wrongs
So let the bond be strong, holding onto each no matter the circumstances.
Let's stay locked in
Together we'll build
Our own empire
I am the king and you are the queen
Ruling our kingdom without any opposition.
Baby I want to invest
My all in you
My time, money and more
Never want to see you stressing
Steadily needing your permission to act
I just need your submission
I pledge my loyalty to you, even though I'm royal.
She laughs like an unfinished song—
all melody, no return.
Wears lipstick like armor
and kindness like a borrowed coat
two sizes too large.
She collects cracked mirrors
not to look at herself—
but to see how many versions
can survive the breaking.
She tells me she’s fine
with eyes that scream
in Morse code.
Once, I caught her staring
at a calendar that never turned.
She whispered,
“I think I lost myself in February.”
She sings lullabies
to ghosts she never buried.
Plants flowers
where bruises used to bloom.
People say she’s strong—
but she just learned
how to bleed in invisible colors.
And if you ask me
how well I know her?
I only know
she sleeps on the edge of the bed
as if too close
might burn me.
She once told me
“I love you”—
like a funeral hymn.
And now?
She’s the light switch
I never dared to flip again.
Love lost, by lies and broken promises.
Lost by the one who promised forever, then became lost.
Lost by evil and forces of dark.
Lost by greed and other forces that mark.
Love is always the path to light and love.
Sadly, some cannot find their way to true love and get lost.
It is the world of Shiva and Shaitan
It is the world of Krishna and Kant
Devi on Nandi holding Demon and Son
Devotees, Deities, Ash, Claps and Fun
Fragile girl carrying child in her arm's
Not mother but a sister’s virgin palms
To Die for him but not a bruise to touch
Just Bottom pinching nothing too much
Anguish in her arms to shut the door
Hammer or Paedo, they break the core
Unreal city under brown fog of cold dawn
Slogans, Sighs where savage zombie born
Cow with a nose grip lost her way
Is she mute or has nothing to say?
Another one eating her own skin
Is there Anyone left? kith or a kin
Her body is torn open with the blood
No milk, No Calf. Here screams flood.
By noon, the halls throb with static, a low thrum like teeth grinding in sleep. The school, half-submerged in memory, holds its breath. Beneath a cracked skylight, a locker peels open by itself, slow as a yawn. Inside: a paper crown, soaked in ink, and a polaroid of a girl with mirrors for eyes.
In the boiler room, the janitor sketches circles on the concrete with the burnt end of a matchstick. Each loop traps a sound—laughter, crying, chalk squeaks, the metallic gasp of a vending machine dying. He hums again, off-key. The candle’s flame dances, nodding in rhythm.
Outside, the sky bruises. Rain falls sideways, stinging like questions. A new child, coat too big and eyes too sharp, stands at the school’s rusted gate. He doesn’t knock. The gate unlatches itself. The wind pushes him forward.
Inside, the crow watches from the rafters, its feathers slick with ink. It cocks its head, listening. The boy who vanished left his lunch behind—beneath desk 32B, scratched into the wood: “Don’t let it slip who you were before the dreaming.”
The monkfish, now wearing a teacher’s badge, clicks its pen and begins attendance. One name is circled in red.
Jenny leaned against the counter, counting the stitches where Ariana’s arm had been severed, each segment arranged in clinical precision beneath the glass. The overhead lights hummed, sterile and white, reflecting off the muscle striations, the fine marbling of fat. The attendant, masked and impassive, weighed the cost. A rib’s soft curve. A shoulder blade, gleaming. “Is this enough?” she asked, voice catching in the cold air.
Ariana’s skin, rolled tight like butcher’s parchment, was pressed beneath the scalpel, measured by the inch. Each cut—exact, economical. Josh preferred the delicate portions, the leanest tissue, the parts that held the least resistance. He inspected the yield, thumbs tracing the tendon’s taut line, fingers pressing where nerve met bone, the quicksilver exchange of possession.
Outside, his boots clapped against wet pavement, the rhythm steady, expectant. Jenny imagined his hands pawing through the parcel, the slow unfurling, the practiced hunger. The body, greater than the sum of its parts, was dissolving into the transaction.
The register chimed. A cat licked the wrapping paper. Steam rose from an open vent, curling into the streetlamp glow.
I am in the cold, you looked me out here.
frostbite hits me, the cold air punishes me.
why did i talk, why did i try to make things better.
when i never can. it is my mouth that gets me in to trouble.
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