Microcosm

There's an old man sitting over there,
Playing his heart out on an antiquated accordion,
Retracing the path of his past with his calloused hands
And softening the hearts of many with his tales of hardship.

There's an old lady, on a bench with a blanket,
Muttering small nothings to the shadows that surround her,
Hoping for company, but dreading it as well.
She hums along to the accordion that's been playing in her head.

There's a litre boy tugging at the bottom of a man's shirt

Wavering lips, begging frightened eyes.
I would say he wants to be picked up,
And be propped onto his fathers shoulders,
As he used to do before that winter came.

There's a seventeen year old girl
Standing in the middle of the crossroads
With a backpack hunched on her back
Her tights are ripped, and her makeup is smudged
But her hair remains perfect, glistening in the rain.

There are pieces of dreams scattered down the streets,
Where alleyways conceal nonsense-driven nightmares,
Where the memories of the past mingle with the perceptions of the present.
Where a bookstore on the corner of two forgotten streets
Holds every dusty image anyone has ever laid eyes on.

Pass The Skins

A man resting by the tree,
in the darkness of the shadows and the moon.
A silent rendezvous.
The beat of the bass runs deep
And the lake reflects
the image of two forbidden lovers.
Cigarettes burn through the heart faster.

Deeply dosed and involved
Were we, weren't we, we were.
Highly incandescent icebergs,
Inflammable hearts and forgotten souls.
Homes of the homeless,
Mansions of sinful temptations.
Rolling hard and tumbling slow,
Tired minds breed restless hearts.
We had a supernova between our finger tips.
Jokester of the monarchs,
Guru of the spirits,
Empty spaces and full moons.
There's a naked lady in my swimming pool,
I think she's getting high
Off of her own loneliness...

Sweet sweet child you will be dead soon

The Undoing

Unlock my limits
Uncage my mind
Undo my wrappings
Unwind my heart.
Understand my smile
Underline my meanings
Unbalance my emotions.
Untie my knots
And strip me down.

The idea that we have in our heads, the notion that we've always held: Turned around and switched over.

Oh for fucks sake, what do I have to do ?
The answer is always nothing.
But anxiety gets the best of me
And the need for nothing
Turns into a desire for something.

Ugly spaces
Rotten cores
Dire Destruction
Perhaps life.

I have them too you know?
Non chalantness can only pretend for so long
I have them too
And they're dying to come out
Dying to live.
I think it is somewhat dire
That you had to try to die in order to live.

No one asked for this,
Who would have?
All the internal scrunch
And the mental fuck.
Nobody thought that a feeling
That was meant to mean happiness
In turn would bring bitterness;
A bitterness that clings onto you like a
Leech.

The answer, the means to an end,
Is to pretend.
Feign your smiles
Because no one wants to know
That that constant smile
Can often times be broken;
It is better for them to think
Of eternal sunshine.
than of changing skies.

There's An Old Man...

There's an old man
Sitting beside the shadows
Of his two children.

The children he lost track of,
The children he was snatched away from.

With a blank expression on
His phantom-like face,
He can't fathom
Where he left his keys
Or his home-made accordion.

Where was all the wood
That sculpted his hands,
That in turn
he sculpted with his hands?

Why weren't they talking?
And why are they so young?


They look about ten,
When did the last forty years fly by?

He hums a silent tune
And plays an accordion
Without using any hands.

Did he make the wrong choices?
He feels a nod one each side.


Did he left himself go?
They're nodding.
Why won't they speak?

Inside his head, it was
Always him and his workshop
Him and his music

Him and his accordion
Him and himself.
Maybe being here wasn't too bad
At least it seemed


Like he wasn't alone.
He'd been alone for too long.

ABC's of Nothingness

Another day in the life of a lost soul.
Behind my eyes lies a story of unattainable memories and unreachable ends.
Centuries of nothingness has taught me that some things are only worth giving up on.
Despite the endless attempts to reach the end of the lane, the endless tries to leave behind the land of unwanted serendipities, it was proved impossible for me to leave my state of mind. Everything I did resulted in the most obsolete nothingness; I was in the core of existence, but yet nothing existed.
Friends of mine had once told me that I should always look at the world in a varying light, to avoid losing myself in routine and ennui.
Ghouls took the best of my weaknesses and turned it into the worst.
Had I only been more wary of myself, of my surroundings, of my tendency to disappear, I would perhaps still be here.
I didn't even know what "here" consisted of, or where it was now located.
Jubilantly, one day I decided to stop caring altogether.
Knowledge proved to be weaker than Ignorance, and I found myself ignoring more and more, and hence becoming more and more ignorant.
Lights no longer phased me, I was at the peak of my blased state, I was delving into the realms of pointless imagination.
Maybe it was the imagination that snatched me away that spring evening, under the mist of mountain tops.
Nobody was there to see it; nobody would have noticed either way.
Only my body and I were present; and I believe that that was when I lost my body, somewhere in that hexed, merry mist.
People say that your eyes have to be open to more than just what you see; but what happens when you can see too much?
Queens too are forgotten in the land where I found myself lost.
Recently, I've heard stories of people who are so forgotten, they forget themselves and cease to exist.
Several souls agglomerate here, but within instants most of them forget that they are surrounded by others, mirrors of themselves.
They are blinded by the memories of the unison with their forgotten bodies, memories of motion, of senses, of contact.
United loneliness is the only thing that comes to mind when you become a lost soul.
Vicious tricks of the mind, and if you get too carried away, they will carry you away.
Whenever I try to pull myself closer to what I used to be, I feel myself getting dragged further south, further away from my desires, from my fears, from everything that once made me myself. X-ray vision goggles wouldn't serve me much to look within myself, to find the burnt out flame that used to ignite me.
Years have gone by, and I still haven't moved.
Zephyrs brush past my cage of nothingness, and remind me slightly of what it used to be like to be alive; a cold warming breeze.

Lost

A stranger witnesses a tear born from the eyes of a lost girl.

I keep lost things inside a mirrored box.
They're just never there.

Banging metal
Golden locks
And cherry trees.