it was dark in the cave
until the moonlight crept in
a glimmer of light
bounced off the vacuum
a thousand sprites
floated around me
wearing garments of fine silk
shining in the light of the night
and suddenly I wasn’t alone. 

the threads, they-
started pulling my arms and legs
twisting and turning me
driving me to a breakdown
as if what had happened
wasn’t enough-
ghosts of the past
they come when all life goes
why god, was I not left alone?  

the sun’s too bright in the day
it is the night when you see them
mistakes and memories
they weave a web around you
and when you get stuck-
strings that tie your story
start tearing you apart,
until you stop moving
until you are done. 

I was trapped-
a lamb to the slaughter
waiting for the monster to come
but no one came
and I lay their waiting.
I wasn’t afraid of the spider
I was afraid of the web
I was afraid of the night
and I was afraid of myself.



Image result for pillow

when I am alone
she listens to me scream
while hushing me to sleep
giving me the comfort I need  

when I cry
she gives me her shoulder
making my tears her own
until I find my solace  

when there is nothing left
I will have her with me
listening to the same tune
of the second’s hand ticking  

and when I am gone,
she will keep my teardrops safe
until they take her cover away
to try and wash off all that was mine  

but my face was buried deep
into her soft skin-
what I gave her won’t come off easy
she will go to another
giving them a part of me
until my tears become theirs
and theirs become mine.  

Goodnight, My Pillow.
Thank you.

En route 

My hands are on the wheel as  
countless images go by  
I keep moving forward 
while my eyes linger behind  

My hands are still on the wheel as  
as I wipe the tears off my cheek  
I keep looking at the mirror until  
the reddest of signals turns green  

My hands are dancing on the wheel 
for a new song has just begun 
I played it over and over again  
until I was ready to move on  

My hands are trembling on the wheel through  
all the twists and turns 
every stop looks the same 
and so does every burn  

My hands will be on the wheel  
My eyes will be on the road  
As long as there is fuel left in my tank 
And until my eyes close. 

The man who never cried 

His eyes were dry 
he walked alone,
never looking behind
here was a man 
who had never cried. 

On the dusty track
like a solitary shack ,
like his clock- he ticks
here was the man 
who really lived

The heart worked fine 
the head didn’t ache,
with a perfect life,
here was the man
whom none could break

While others toiled 
through tears and troubles,
in his simple existence,
he stayed away
from what he didn’t need. 

Here was a man
who never cried
whom none could break 
who stayed away from what he didn’t need 

And he really lived. 

Cease The Day

throw away all the watches 
light the clocks on fire 
shred all the schedules 
time is a bloody liar 

needles and numbers on the wall
show anything but the truth 
right on time – never so
what ought to happen – never would 

resenting those who breathe 
it befriends the lifeless,
Ozymandias became history
urns embellish the present. 

A comment on ‘Ozymandias’ by P.B Shelly and ‘Ode on a Grecian Urn’ by John Keats.