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reflections on the past, the present, and the primordial

I spend my time waiting for things to happen. I am obstinate, and I paint walls red with fear of change. I eagerly yearn for rapture, yet I am inseparable from my crib. I harness lust for life from pages written by the dead, doing them the courtesy of forgetting all by morning. I commit to a new vehicle of fulfilment with every blink of stinging eyes, with no regard for the sanctity of a blood oath. If the screen goes black, I spit on my reflection after I admire it. I am horrified by the look in my own eyes. Not long ago they were made of death, the pupils nought but pinpricks in a conglomerate sea of awareness-abdication. Now they are promise, and zest, and youth, and confession. I believe there are parts of me that are truly changing. I am waking up inside myself.

like god

The promise of betterment, a night owl’s talons drawing blood, The haze of tomorrow, milky eyes of a predator that slept too little The haunting in a house of cards, packing vermilion onto dewy cheeks

Dissolute Sanguine

To perceive is to digest, and to digest is to warp beyond repair; Do not perceive that which you do not wish to be warped. i) Cessation of self prompts the veiling of mirrors, And a vampiric urge to l

I DREAM

It is that spectacular night sky that, shameless, spread before the eyes of the Lord, lures me to all the corners of the cosmos that I've yet to touch, bound by a sense of child-like innocence. It is

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