it has been so long since I last moved,
that I forgot what it means
to take a step forward —
that my feet got stuck to the pavement
& grew roots in its crevices —
that my perception gathered dust &
flightless birds nested in my sentience.

it has been so long since I last moved,
that now
my footfalls echo farther than ever before
& resonate in the depths of my very be(ginn)ing
because this time,
I have nothing to lose.


Before The Dawn

back when the hours still churned slowly,
lilies grew in the palm of your hand —
rooting in deep crevices
forged by the strenuous hours of life
& every day I watched you touch their petals
with a fragile little smile, tucked
into the corner of your mouth.

The Attic

happenstance (d)ripped steadily
until the core became
harder than the shell &
tears were just a by-product
of Going Through The Motions

the soft spot where
You used to reside
has long since
faded into nothingness
& hung its hat
next to wishful thinking.


The Gift of Mor(t)ality

for the longest time I rode
side by side with mor(t)ality
on washed-out, winding roads, searching
for that one shred of humility
that led me back to mySelf

he was a hero of sorts —
with his relaxed posture &
those pearly-white teeth, easily slicing
through even the harshest bits of reality
as if they were nothing

& with just his lopsided smile
he always reminded me what it should feel like
to be human in an inhumane world.


it did not end
in the beginning
when all those little things
were still just little Things
& few noticed
their low-dosed beauty.

now that magnitude
outweighs the gravity of delusion
Little things
are all that matters
in the beginning
of the end
of the beginning.

Once Were Warriors

you used to cover the walls
with pictures of times long past &
between the wooden frames
there was no breathing space
for the present & the future —
but in your eyes
neither the stone grey of perseverance
nor the creeping chill of stale memories

For Miles

I have been traveling for weeks now
on this (dreaded) path you called a symphony
when I still heard the rustle of my mother’s clothes
& tried to suck the warmth out of her shadow
in passing

I will (never) get used to being
the one who waves at you
in the rearview mirror, determined
not to look back —
I guess
life is funny that way.


are you stronger on your own
dragging yourself forward
with broken fingers

& does your voice not matter
while your words
fail to impress?

time flies
and so will you.


Paper Skin

it is a fractured version of
fortitude that floats
to the surface;
neither bound nor held —
but ever straining
against the tides

my thoughts form pale flowers
born too soon —
not fated to survive
the cold Sun of March

one moment too long
is all it takes —
and then

you are gone.

Unsung Melody

long nights (pro)cured the protagonist’s echoes;
those hours when we were too afraid of dawn,
too afraid to count out the seconds
& let time run its course

intricate shells were cracked wide open
by yet another clumsy footfall
& a lopsided smile, jauntily misplaced
beneath the floorboards

our teenage dreams stayed
rubber-stamped & swept away,
our secret a tangible thing —

(or was it)

From Dust ‘Till Dawn

clouds crawl steadily
over your limp form; cracked & chipped
after the dismal desert storm —
it seems like yesterday
has not happened in ages

plastered to the dry dirt, transfixed
by a hyena’s lullaby
you wilt & wait
for forceful hands
to push you deeper

through clotted lips you conjure
a string of allurement, no wider than
a hair’s breath —
but sturdy enough
to get tangled up in.

you never intended
to drown alone.