You, who spoke.

Writing doesn
‘t ease the stress?
no
soo u gt creative
wen ur depressed too?
no
I write
By hours
Of rain.
The world a silvery globe,
And me its only tree. Of green alone.

Pecadillo

I have just smoked.
Yes, I done it again and not care.
I move my tongue and memorize the taste
I apply balm to the dry lips
I swing I glide free.

And I have not fought
Or drank water
Or shut my room

I want you to see.
The chamber music in my head,
The sadness of the strings
By your very voice.

Amen, smoke in the air.

Preview

It is here, the flowers falling
They board thoughts of mercy to the cold
And float down
Touching to feel the air the last
And kissing the others unto their death
Touched away from faces upward
Sun breaks no light at fleeting drops

MY MAN-PSYCHOLOGIST

Oh, thank you

Hapless man,

With all your love for common coffee and rain.

By sleep alone, rectifying dreams to form sorrows

I can mull over as I walk alone

Step on step without the lines

Dear man. Come here. Thank me in my dread,

I love you in my very dread to dread to dread from dread by dread on dread

This is my free fall.

Look, I murmur-mur heavy lines

To look a neurotic and escape your definition,

You easy, simple psychologist, you want your sick patient.

Dear man.

No, you don’t know you can’t see through,

You don’t even wear spectacles, not even them.

Pickles of lying, spicy carved animals

Under a thin layer of, I built civilisation

To avoid you savages of green and brown

Dear, dear man, hold me and do not look.

Love, love man, eat me up but do not look.