where gravity fails

the smoke rises.
i am here again, staring at what time has left me.
the dusk is heavy, falling like ash in the wind
from a sky that hangs like broken fences
and wet clothing.
the monochrome folds have lifted
giving way to the colours of a mindscape
that echoes through the plains of what is
long barren and forgotten

all eyes are on me like
needles piercing my nerves
and the angels hide their faces
as their hymns burn to the ground
like the work of terrorists that live in mirrors

this is an unforgiving world
spitting delicate acid in the shy of the night
into the embers of our hearts
look now, look hard into the eyes of the dead
and find life that you will never understand.

lift my shade, see the colours
unfold like maps that lead you nowhere
watch me thaw
from the ice in my heart and fire in my soul
as i dance
as i dance
as i dance
with the demons

get caught from the outside
get caught from the center of
diseased beliefs and treacherous hope

count me in
count the steps it takes
to frown in the cold face of death
as it laughs at an immortality
you will never learn of.

this blessed curse

i reuse this weight of bleeding carpets
trays and trays of distractions parallel to one another
the truth lies under their breaths
kissed out and sucked into the core of me
i hide in corners forgetting my existence
focusing on my eternal lineage
to let it all out
to let it all out.

black shards of hate
staining my lungs until i
stagger my breath and fall out of line
i close my eyes
turning inside out to
shed some skin from within
draining my veins and rinsing them clean
because being reborn every day
is no easy task
when people take the shine in your eyes for granted
never seeing the way they will
glaze over and turn to stone.

they ask about miracles
they ask about magic.
with every one of those spectacular
breathtaking moments
comes a soul that is breaking
little by little everyday behind the curtains
bearing down by all the weight of
vacuumed pain and brushed up hate
piles and piles of negative debris left over
that don't reach enough light to evaporate out of tangibility
because we live under sunless skies
in the grey that blinds happiness.

shedding skin is never enough
to tamper with the unbalance of
all that still writhe and coil inside me;
this growing beast
feed it or flee it,
the choice is not there, the choice
was never mine to make.


these winds have blown
too long for its wear,
i create energy within each vowel
each consonant, each idea
that hang like ripe apples off a tree
ready to be picked.

certain emotions can stagger,
can shake your entirety,
and these are the emotions we learn from,
these are our mentors
when we face the worst alone.

there are no more seeds to plant
on this patch of trodden, dug up,
ripped apart wasteland,
where everything will have an end,
because death is the biggest certainty
of this uncertain life.

this is a comforting thought
among the rubble and
decrepit landscapes that shape
the world in my hands.

death is coming
it always is
but i will not just sit and wait for it
but let it work hard
to catch up to me
one more time, one last time.
and when it does
it will not let me go
so i will embrace the surrender
the final overtake.

there are no more seeds to plant
on the landscapes of this restless life,
now watch as the rest of us
wither into frail, dried up
images of time.

dancing shadows

shock therapy, brandished
like an angry blade
over love
the blinding shine of sharp edges
caught in the burn of the sun.
there are strangers, dancing on glass
before me,
every step closer shatters beneath their feet
in a disarray of  forbidden colours
for my timely visual feast.

i see it all when i step back
for a clearer view; my schizophrenic 
conversations play back like old films,
my inability to breathe when the tides of hostility
rises over the shore of my calm.

these visions, they leave me stranded on 
the barren plains of my mindscape,
with feral desires, primal instincts that 
teach to inflict or retreat as i encounter
the darkest of memory matter. 
these visions show me the art
of raw survival.

we are the pioneers of our own demise
our own eternal bliss/ the words
get stuck between these organic cogs
placing pressure on unwanted silence 
that dry up our lips, until one day
something breaks in the quiet
sending unwanted sentences hurtling through
the parallels of our sane perception of reality -

here is where we unravel
becoming wholly stretched out
and centered. 

hidden in the folds of time
are intangible pockets of unforgettable consequences
those that are too big to fit in tiny pockets
drop down like bombs
leaving you scattered and scraping for the most basic level
of life on its hinges, covered in the ashes of
broken truths and long-term denial.

these eyes, they watch me from afar
as i ferociously dance on glass ceilings
for all the weight of my being
remembering this time
to never ever look down again.

my eyes burn as i stare into the distant
dark of the night
willing all their surging energies of fear and helplessness
to take their exit before i blink.

the strangers steps out of the haze
familiar figures i have known through many universes.

they show me to forget this heightened vertigo
to never stumble on frail glass by looking beneath
the transparency
because all the underlying unknown matter 
we can't reach alive or have to die for
does not deserve the fall of our rhythm.

rats, bloody rats.

these scurrying bastards,
foraging deep inside the guts of my mind
where the pillars still stand strong in their places
whilst their marble tiles crumble,
stripping the surfaces and unveiling underlying structures
that built this mind fortress.

this is where the weak lay to rest
in silent wonderment
and lies find themselves tucked into the cracks on the wall.

this is no safe haven
this is no hiding place
merely a temporary refuge
where you either accept that the world is deteriorating around you
or carry on lying to your sweet, naive self
because everyone is a self obsessed cunt like you
taking everything for granted.

everything is creaking
like the doorknobs that hang tired and abused from their hinges
leaving doors ajar that breathe in their frames
and lead to fucking nowhere at all,
so don't be fooled, my friend, because this
is not a strategy game, this is not a puzzle,
whatever you choose
will always take you
back to you.

judgment day in cups of tea
swallow it all, for when your lips are dried and cracking
from this coarse reality,
nothing will quench this undying thirst,
life as you know it will become a mere mirage
of truths, truths, truths never
to be realised, only to be dreamt upon.

these purple days and satin nights
they give me visions that glow like cheap lampshades
though it is my mind that suffers
this is the best place to get lost in;
these crumbling pillars, they hold my sanity
like a prisoner
like a foreigner.


i feel like crumpled paper
watching the days pass through my pupils like
blinds blocking out the sunlight
as these fingers tremble like leaves
in the passing of unforgiving winds

i align myself to the rhythm of old washing machines
and heavy music, segmenting
the little trails of what is left of me on different corners
for cobwebs to build defense over
until the day comes where i will pick up the
shattered pieces like breadcrumbs
and put myself together again


this is an unbearable time
everything is rushed and raucous
the words fall like rain
on the fray of conversations left unfinished.
the bitter cold
meets my fingertips
clogging my breath and piercing my lungs,
it is the cold of misery, haunting
but endearing, like the ghosts of loneliness
seeking comfort in your peripherals, like a witch on fire
casting spells to fend off her agony of an honest existence.
scream aloud, scream aloud, scream until
your voice breaks into a million discordant notes
that rings out to the dissonance of
an uncouth rage.

everything stalls at once
these are the moments you hear something
in the distance
so i keep going, keep going
keep going
run fast, and run out of breath.


the lights are flickering a dreadful fluorescent,
this is the color of a blind man's soul,
playing mind games and eye illusions that keep the world at
a double vision.

the demons lurk in the shadows you  build for yourself,
the demons, they lurk and smirk, and dance around the sleep you learn to abort,
giving birth to night and shadow puppets that
tell stories of your impending death
egging you on to play
to play.
my friend, succumb to this,
for pain is so much easier to understand than
a full and flourishing
hope is for the weak
hope is for the weak
hope is for the weak.

wake up, shake up - rape yourself
and become the bastard child of your own
mind's abandonment.


these guts ache.
they ache like the end of the world,
they form beautiful disasters in the sky
of a catastrophic mind that survives through
the sufferance of others.

the sudden crash,
i ask you, what is it worth?
this twist of a story that ends almost always
in imminent damage.

light refracts into the pores of my skin,
pinching at veins that feeds out a dead crimson hue,
everything tastes like iron and stale bread,
casting shadows on the spine of every matter,
these shock and awe exhibits
they scare, they intimidate, folding into the corners
of this origami perspective

these scurrying bastards
knew exactly how to pick up
from where they left off.

i stare at the damage
laughing, crying, screaming
and immediately become the witness
the victim
the perpetrator, and realise my statement alone
is enough to put me away for life
but it is times like these when it is clear
that is is easier to take the blame
for all the wrath the world has to offer
than to keep running.