We’re sad because

I think we’re sad because we’ve built ourselves prisons.

Tall, beautiful cathedrals with a vision

into what our lives should be

forever and ever, dazzling in the horizon.


They’re easy, they’re the same

until never becomes a day

leaning on our necks with the deadweight of knowing

that the mountains we raised from the depths are falling.


We’re sad because it’s evident

that there’s nothing in the space-time continuum

that will just, please, stay put—

pristinely, never-endingly put.


But, we try.


By building perfectly carved out shells

around our beating selves,

in miniature monumets of places, things and faces

that have long lived and left their moment.


They once-upon-a-time made us remember

what it’s like to float in the breeze above the great big ocean.

But now, they’ve faded dead.

It’s time to walk out these mansion gates.


Image- Stairwell in Building 138 by Gary Heller



Last night I eddied wakeless,

down my well of secrets, where

I rushed to swallow the sound of myself

– it rippled far too much of a dread.


Down the well I felt, a life that I’ll never know

watching me glide – although

the threat of water only trickled in drops,

the air has already resigned to choke.


Washed up on the morning

I found someone new under my skin;

alive, breathing and already awake

sitting drinking the sun on my bed.


Her newborn thoughts fresh and pink,

cut holes in my perfect morning routine.

‘Is this what tea tastes like? Do I just hang my hands –

otiose down the sides?’


You live your names for the many, many calls

in every mirror, bead and bone.

How long before we lose sight

of the ocean between our secret souls?



Image by Freudenthal Verhagen, uncategorised.







Love is important.

Because it is the one time when we truly meet someone. When we love is when we abandon our wounds and look at someone with the grace of an unburnt child. It braves us to hammer at the walls of our self’s cathedrals and grow beyond ourselves, bursting, to meet the light cast by another. It humbles our supremeness, rusts our pitiful cages and allows in the light that brought us all to doubt the darkness in the first place.

Window by Mikhail Palinchak Jr

Window by Mikhail Palinchak Jr


Swallowed ghosts

Did you know, that you can swallow pain?

Uncried on his shoulders, unhurled at her face and bored out your mind,

it will float aimlessly in your head.

It will bounce off the walls of your skull,

picking up debris, rubble of the past;

tunes, pictures, embarrassments,

vicious triumphs, ugly treasures.


Drinking these in you will conceive a ghost from your pain

-alive, real enough for the world,


black, bitter,

looking for vengeance

and cast away only by

the shame of destruction.


Are you afraid of ghosts?

In that case, you can hide pain in the everyday;

between work and home,

with the piece of paper in the pocket of his coat…

Hide it long enough to forget they existed and


you’ll surely be cured into society.


If you don’t,

like the old man at the top of the road

speaking to the lamppost,

they will christen you mad.

Mad-  the only respectable thing to be

in a ritually cowardly world.


Photo by Josh

Photo by Josh