Silent Condolences

The ground threatened solitude
Dreary pavements never remembered,
your footprints.
Arms stretched out,
You balance on forgotten beams
Giving suicide a stamp and an envelope.

Weaving through discontent figures
Who had their dreams forfeited for gold
and Guardian Angles shoved into classy briefcases.

Finding one uncertain spot in the sky
Where an aeroplane flew
With people who were hesitant,
To level out with broken people,
Who had the smiles cut from their faces.


Dusk to Dawn

Pure light infects tear soaked sheets
The moonlight steals a sigh
Spiralling around limp muscles
Folds of protection burst on contact
You are not blinded for long enough.

Clasping translucent numbers
With hands woven from the clouds of philosophy
And stitched with inspirations
You check that everything is cited.

Everything you desired to fix
Collapsed in spite
Around your trembling knees
And misplaced devotion.
Into the holes you’d dug,
For other purposes.


Glass Houses

She lived in a glass house
Secluded from gunless cowboys,
And toothless monsters.

Frequently checking the windows and the doors
For intruders with sharp fingernails,
Clasping yesterday’s paper.

She watered her dead plants,
With gasoline
And stocked her fridge,
With lightbulbs.
She kept lipstick and broken sunglasses,
In her cupboards.

She threw stones at her walls,
Nothing ever broke.
But she was no longer a child.


Unmarked Headstones

She lay placidly
On the uncomfortable train tracks
Where locations exchanged details,
and forced pleasantries.
Her stomach filled with pig’s blood
And bloated with anguish

The sky harboured a tearful violet
And the shadowy clouds ached corruption.
Underneath it all, her inflexible assurance,
Sparked an indigo fire,
Within her departed soul.
And in the surrounding fog,
of the looming light
She didn’t see anything at all.



Gold soaked temptation
Seeps through unfinished pieces of poetry
And into half empty coffee cups
The time can’t make its mind up

You might be late
That doesn’t matter
You might be early
But who will notice?

Inside people are mutating
Outside the world is ablaze,
The flames are waving

A floating face apologises
For jolting you
You nod and wonder,
What he fears most

The music drowns out,
Everything you don’t want to analyse
Songs that sounded appealing an hour ago
Now, thaw your brain

You wait for something inspiring
To knock you over the head

Nothing comes.

So you get up and head to the destination
You should have been half an hour ago


Sugar Coated Fury

glass bottles
filled to the brim
with insecurity
on unstable shelves
and inside stolen suitcases

breaking open windows
trying to find a way inside
and bleeding from the effort

anger never quite suited you
but all you’ve ever needed
was to hate something

on top of the world
all you’ll ever think about
is how far the drop would be
and whether you’d like the company


Deficient Empathy

Parading to the clocks tocks and inept ticks
Holding blank pages and inkless pens
Waiting for toxic brainwaves,
To neutralise controversial spectacles
and drown romantic defects.

Loading your gun with discordant piano keys
Waiting patiently for their admiration,
and half hearted embraces.

You answer questions with full stops
And hope conversations with the lovesick
Solve unaddressed problems,
and transacted helpfully
with their long sleepless nights.


Timeless Overpasses

Discrete surrender
Fuses sections of obsession
Around immense overpasses
Into the exhaust engines,
Of passing vehicles
Passengers gaze at the luminous lights
Drivers are masked in a veil of meditation
Looking for places to unburden their secrets
Amber searchlights momentarily replace the stars
Intimately searching for warm skin,
Instead, finding drained waterways and small skeletons

Sitting where the world assembles onto a pause
You forget how long you’ve been fixed here,
and why you can no longer move.


Faulty Openings

Beneath the glimmering sky
Psychobabble evaporates,
On diseased lips. Inside decayed skulls.

Clasping torn pieces of responsibility.
Who had forgotten to lock the doors?

Chuckling at their false accusations
Discretely shuffling lies at your feet,
Into the mouths of the Devils

Apologising to the children caught in the crossfire,
Secretly hoping their skins would grow out of those scars

With your back pressed against the door,
Keys had always been just as unnecessary as visitors.