The days do cut my eyes away

and take my breath for an honest day.

They save it for a long time when,

the flowers die and the night is spent.

And when they pierce my ears with Merlin’s drum

a magical lie,

the sorcerers gun,

I will not let my wrists be bound,

cut to the bone,

thrust to the ground.

Stand I will,

against the floods of mind.

The cloudy little whispers

in the cloud of Satan’s shrine.

And the night does dwell on a dose of rum,

the secret cure to a poison sun.

For the day has wrought its dirty deeds,

and given life to blackened seeds.

And what trees they become,

I cannot say,

for my eyes must turn and look away.

And when butterflies dance on a broken dawn

and the light has scattered into streams of orange

the sun will sob until it’s final cries have set

and the moon will laugh the night away……


I don’t exist for a reason

and yet here I am existing.

An ever-present stamp upon the world

that won’t always be this world.


Forever re-shaping.

Until it dies of old age,

or by some tragic accident-

that wasn’t really an accident-

because come on-

we all saw it coming…


Done with the day that sat on me

and laughed when I could not breathe.

The day that began like a candy store,

Enticing me,

the sweet smell of butterscotch and honey dew.

Did I know that I would choke?

Should I have guessed it from the start?

As my finger tips lingered upon the un-dusted shelves

and that small, knowing quiver of doubt.

Sadness for a long abandoned palace of childhood dreams.


You are the lie that sat on the star

and waited for it to explode.

Caught up in its infinite possibilities,

a parasite among the newborn earth.

And now you wander,

an infinite lie,

the putrid impostor.

Can you smell it?

Creeping up from beneath the place

it should never have been to begin with.

We are all Stardust,





There is a secret behind these eyes,

one that you will never know.

Red crescent moons and spider-web silhouettes.

It makes no sense

and yet you will try to decode me,

fix  me.

Computers were not made to last

Didn’t anyone tell you that at the store?

(the one with the apple that isn’t really an apple)

Somebody should have told you.

(It’s just a picture of an apple)

and my secrets are my own.