So — here again,
Strange — as always,
Café — in french? typical,
Funny — how we always meet at the stroke of each minute,
Almost — like the last time was a past life,
It Begins — A new encounter each time,
Hugging — at the frontier of a new life, each existence,
Sweet — is the moment, the fruit we eat, the coffee we drink,
The things we say — the moments we share

The tranquility within the chaos

"The rubble lies at the castle's wake!"
and the bishop grows a garden in the blood
Missionary tales paint caustic consequences -
crunching men like chocolate
From one end — to another,
the peace we hold holds us from the peace we seek
There is no fight, no victory, but an end to the massacre
Unshaken peace becomes comfort
Unawakened comfort becomes sleep
Sleep becomes death
If vigour will cause me to live then
let my blood bubble like wine
The work is in the ease and in the fear
To go beyond what is known to my shadow
Moving into somewhere with no forward
The chaos that swallows, and jails with its teeth
No mercy can be given without retribution
Those who stay in the shroud, cry and laugh
They are now jackals, guard dogs
to the world of the broken
Once the illusion is dissolved
The Pearl of Peace shall fall at your feet
Glowing, in the castle's wake.

The potential has been actualised

The stars continue to fluster
may I come into your view?
The soul looks dark tonight
But the mind looks bright today
A child is born but never birthed
The produce, the milk of the universal radiation
The microwaves wash me of doubt
they wash me of happiness
The power to fall has been realised
White has now found black
My eyes see now instead of my thoughts
The artist's imagination blocks his intuition
To create he must become free
To succeed he must learn how to be


Every time my heart is broken,
Love spills out
and pure blood's on the floor —
bubbling like soup,
it fizzles out,
the spark dies,
and the patch stains,
soaking into the cracks of the bedroom carpet.
What must must I do?
I can't carry it in my hands.
It'll only get taken away.

It’s Cool

It’s okay to be silent
You don’t always have to talk
Only talk when it means something
You can’t control how other people feel
You’re not rude for taking care of yourself
Find peace within yourself
Learn to enjoy just being
Enjoy the silence, the clarity

if you don’t want to talk, don’t talk.

You are in control.

That’s What it’s Like

Imagine ghosts haunting you day and night
and you’re the only one that can see them
They can touch you
but you can’t touch them, and
The only way to move them away
is to be okay with seeing ghosts

That’s what mental illness is like.

Wednesday Night in London

I love the smell of a cold, rainy night
so brittle, the air freezes in my nostrils
It’s sobering in a way
with my lamp on and I, with my head poking out my window
a great time to smoke
But I quit last week
The music of the raindrops will suffice
The moisture turns the estate into wetlands
I can smell the earth three stories high
It’s consoling in a way
With my record playing and I, sitting here writing this poem.

Run away into my future-self’s arms

middle men in devil comstumes could never take what we had
sown together at the atriums, the string only loosened
We thought it broke apart at the seams, tearing like flesh
Turns out we didn't give each other enough space to move.

internal catastrophe

To those now lost:

The love was always there,
the hate was just stronger.

The fear was even worse.

Poetry booklet: Smoke Alarm