Saturday, July 30, 2016

Demon Zero

I've got poems stuck in my throat
I cough and cough and cough
I've got tears streaming down my face
Whatever I do it's not enough

I've tried it all to get the poems out
Some of those things were fucking sick
I've stuck fingers deep down my throat
I've even tried to choke on my own dick

Nothing helps, these poems are lodged
Like unwanted guests on a couch
The only way they're going is in
I swallow and keep yelling ouch

Now I'm sitting on porcelain throne
Face contorted, I want to shout
If these poems won't come out of my mouth
Maybe I can shit them out

Just a funny feeling.

I don't want to breathe

I want to eat air in big chunks
Till I choke on oxygen
It gets stuck in my throat
And I'm forced to slam my own back
I want to sink my teeth
In life's throat
And drench me in its blood
Be angry be thirsty be fucked up
And maybe a little mad

I don't want to breathe
I want to explode every time
I inhale and burn hotter than hell
A supernova with fingers raised to the sky
Screaming fuck the gods till I burn down and die

I don't want to breathe
I want to turn myself inside out
Till my heart is exposed
To all the bullshit
That the world wants to throw at me

I don't want to breathe
I don't want to survive
I don't want to breathe
I just want to be alive


Thursday, July 28, 2016


They walk around in a circle
They walk around the bush
Beating the ground with their feet
Till the mud is a bloody slush

For nine days and nine nights
The men and women walked
Beating around the bush, but
Without a word being talked

On the tenth day they stopped
The shaman set the bush on fire
The flames drenched the faces
That were dying with desire

Soon their hearts were beating
To the sounds of the maniac drums
As the fire reached the skies
And made the heavens thrum

In a helix around the fire
All of them did lay
Did they dream of whorls and spirals
This I cannot say

This it ends. (3 of 3)

Tuesday, July 26, 2016


he was but a man
freed by a dreamy mess
the ringing war cry
of a man born in darkness

this one man is awake
while the others sleep
he is blind like all of them
but he can still see

he can see in his mind's eye
the color of the sounds
he can see the shades of death
and the poison in the sky

what woke him up was a dream
of his tongue stuck in a hole
a hole that dripped and squelched
as he tried to drink it all

the clear water, the catalyst
the pool of life, the whorl
that spun and spun, like a third eye
pulling him away from whispered lies

Whorl (2 of 3)

Sunday, July 24, 2016


far away in a field made of gold and green
girls with butterflies in their hair pick up dreams
swollen with desire and fallen on the ground
they bite into each dream and pass them around

thick dream juice coats their mouths and chins
they giggle with joy and their laughter starts to sing
fingers dripping with the ichor, they lick the digits dry
overwhelmed with joy some of them even start to cry

these girls with butterflies in their hair
they're addicted to dreams and they simply don't care
where the dreams come from, to whom they belong
they just want the dream juice, they long for its song

beneath the earth in cryo-chambers, an army of men sleeps
kept alive by technology, a thousand machines beep
their eyes plucked from sockets, fucked up and drugged
they dream of the day when they will be unplugged

Spiral (1 of 3)

Saturday, July 23, 2016

Hole in my Head

I can feel the breeze on my brain
Sucking in views of everything around me
Listening, soaking, taking it all in
My head is your garbage bin

I've become an information junkie
My brain is a hyperactive monkey
Licking the feeds for gossip and news
So why don't you feed me your views

I'm grabbing and collecting tit-bits like a whore
If I could ever get enough I'd just want more
The hole in my head is a pulsating beast
Could I ever get tired of this never ending feast

You ask where does all this information go
I am still stupid cuz I think I fucking know
The second hole in my skull is open like a door
My brain matter lessens the more I fucking pour

Garbage In, Garbage Out

Wednesday, July 20, 2016

La Haine

I think I am sick
Many others think so too
My thoughts are impure and fucked up
My opinions are filled with poison and hate
For you, you, you and yes, you too
They're rotting away in my head
Like corpses under the ground
There is a worm buffet in my head, man
The stench of one thousand opinions unsaid
Because, let's face it,
I am fucking afraid
Afraid of the rabid, faceless mob
Of people who know better than me
Of course they do, they've read books
And journals, and published papers
Headed an NGO or two too
They rescue kittens from the roads, man
For fuck's sake, how can they be wrong?
They'd tweet out requests for blood
And retweet tweets to find missing children
They'd stand on their soapboxes and shot
Hashtag, bro.
It's got to be important. Right?
They're here.
Big brother is the new mob
And the mob is always watching
With a phone album of screenshots
Of every transgression against every opinion
They'll file an FIR on me, man.
It makes me want to shit my pants.
I am so fucking afraid, dude
What if they land up at my house?
Or stop me in the street
With a print out of my 2011 tweet
Where I called some bitch a bitch
I don't want to deal with cops, man
All I had was an opinion
Now my foot is in my mouth
And I am chewing on my sock
Online activism makes my brain hurt
But it rushes blood to my cock
Saliva runs down my chin
As I scroll through the lull
My belly gurgles empty
But my mouth is always full

Social media feeds are full of shit. But this blog will always be my safe place.

Tuesday, July 19, 2016

Sleepless Soliloquies

Why am I even in bed
It's only 1:09 AM
Not even properly night
Even though close to morning

I've cycled the channels on TV
It's the same old boring shit as always
I've stared at the ceiling for far too long
Is this behavior even normal?

Sleep has eluded me like a shadow prey
I'm a hunter with no gun in his bullet
My arrow has no bow in it
Set up a trap, but I'm sitting in it

I've let my mind wander far away
In some version of past when things were OK
And I used to fall asleep as my head touched the pillow
But that time is so far away, so gone

Now all I do is write poems about me
It's all me cuz no one else will be me
I'm stuck in my shoes and there is a lot to walk
I'd give you advice but who am I to talk

So I'll stare at the ceiling for some more time
Maybe now sandman will throw dust in my eyes
If I sleep now maybe I won't wake up
With a surprise

Saturday, July 16, 2016


a hand hangs in space
fingers spread wide
multiplying from five to ten to fifteen
grasping, like a child
learning to walk
the fist, squeezing

the hand finds a ribcage
it wants the prize inside
it wraps around the bones
squeezing with all its might

fingers crush the bones
shards pierce through the hand
a finger touches the prize
it's all electric, psychedelic

hand and ribs spliced together now
stuck for an eternity in dead space
and a heart that beats against a palm
like a dying star

i am just fucking with this blog now.

Tuesday, July 12, 2016

the gear

the gear turns and turns
as the world around it burns
splashing darkness
on the canvas of sky
to kill every star
but some still survive
the ancient engine
built with bones
fueled by blood
churns out chaos
a fucking flood
pillars of smoke
kiss the skies
an acid fog
covers the ground
it's all around us
trees, like fractured bones
point guilty branches
towards anyone
who'd shoulder the blame
there is no name of this game
just a choking feeling of
the end of everything

Why is this poem getting more views than usual?
Will someone bother leaving a comment? Where are you coming from?


there is a shadow
inside a shadow
at the edge of consciousness
hovering apparition
staring malevolently
with tired eyes
whispered words
that don't rhyme
praying hands
there it stands
still looking at me
eating its way through
and we play
we play this
every night
till it's time to go again
till it's 5 fucking 30 AM


I have seen
the music change
into something
that wasn't there before
it's exactly like listening to an old song
after ages and ages and ages
and the song sounds like a new beast!
there are things you didn't notice
the first few hundred listens
but now
it's a different song
if the song remained the same
is it you who has changed?
beaten, battered, bludgeoned
into a box of who you're supposed to be
did you too evol?
into a new beast?
I was listening to Tool's aEnima and it sounds so different from the first time I listened to the album.  

Saturday, July 9, 2016

The Circle

A man sits by the pool
Half smoked cigarette smouldering
In the fingers of his left hand
That dangles close to dry tiles

He stares at the green water
As if the water holds the answers
To all the questions that
Fall like meteors on the planet of his mind

The dull heat makes his vision swim
An apparition swims to the surface
Of the water that parts like a door
To throw up a strange mutates figure

The thing plucks the cigarette
From the man's idle hand
It takes a drag, coughs, breathes out smoke
As the man slowly begins to choke

The figure helps the man to his feet
Pushes him into the silent water
That parts to accept him
And the figure sits in the chair
To wait for another apparition

Saturday, July 2, 2016

How to eat a brick

some say it's a science
some say it's an art
but if you have to eat a brick
you better fucking start

all it takes is teeth of steel
a total inability to feel
any kind of pain or remorse
it's just a brick, man. Not a horse

you need to have the hunger
you need a little fire
right inside your belly
to digest what shall transpire

you eat a brick lick by lick
chomp the pieces, crunch the grit
swallow dust, choke your throat
a meal of brick won't let you bloat

I've no idea why i wrote this. Took me about three hours to come up with this though.


you might know me
as a poet
using an extremely loose definition of the word
i, uh, just write here
i string togethe words
some of them, i hope,
make sense to someone
somewhere, out there
and sometimes
you might find rhymes
but the meter is fucked
like a rosebud plucked
and thrown into garbage
you need to have ((The Eye))
my friend
to really read
what i need
to say here
so take these words
chew on them
let them go to your head
maybe then
but a big big maybe
you'd know
what i just said


through the fog in my head
i can still hear the sounds
of drums beating in darkness
an ancient rhythm
that beckons me

to stand under some open sky
on some distant planet

to scream at gods
that are long forgotten
by those that worshipped them

to speak the ancient language
of words that make no sense
the thesaurus of gibberish
every words melts into the next
i can feel the drums beating
like a heartbeat in my chest