Monthly Archives: December 2015

Midnight Madness

I smile, I grin, I laugh

At the wee hours of drawing dawn

People think I’m a complete madman

But I say each to his own


I squeal and chuckle and giggle

Like a jittery sugar-hyped child

My loud joyous voice resonating

Unruly, startling, wild


I laugh when everyone is snoring

Awake while all the souls are dreaming

Adrenaline coursing at 3 AM

Uncouth, but I just love causing mayhem


They call me strange, but I call it even, simply

For at day I’m always gloomy and I’m always alone

It’s the madness of the midnight scape intoxicating me

For that is when everything’s at peace and all the stars come home.

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Wasting Yet More Time With Haikus



She stole four items

My heart, my soul, my mind, and

My very last breath.



Spreading so slowly

Unfurling like softest cloth

Fluttering, flapping.



I gave you my trust

But you held it way too tight

Until it shattered.



I wish you and me

Wouldn’t be separated

By reality.



Feigning innocence

Smiling angelically

While holding the knife.



What once was a man

Now has a prominent smile

On his rotting skull.



My heart was a star

But then you made it explode

Now it’s a black hole.



She showed me her scars

But what surprised me the most

Was that she survived.



Like planting flowers

But they only bloom brightly

When you’re not around.



Crystalline snowdrops

With intricate patterns etched

Nature’s work of art.


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Why do you need so badly to hide

Under that false fa├žade?

Little one, haven’t you ever tried

To live your life unafraid of blood?


Can’t you shed that faux expression

Without being scared of decimation?

Terrified of acrid words that wound

But really, how much does it matter to you?


Little one, the world’s not a prison

Sure, it may be filled with obstacles and treason

But really, the only chains that stop you so

Are the ones that your emotions shackled to your own.


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Last Man Standing

She could feel the bitter ashes floating in her tongue

The taste of the recently-deceased, and those long gone

As she stood in the ruins of what used to be her home

Staring at what used to be her perfect world, now a shattered dome

The last living human, a hollow victory

Surely heaven had to be nonexistent to allow this cruelty.

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Somehow, inexplicably

My entire being feels very heavy

As if lead was coursing through my veins

And my organs have been replaced with steel

Maybe that’s why I feel

That I’ve lost contact with my emotions and my will

Is because I’ve been upgraded into an automatic machine

Just another cold wind-up robot with no full grasp of living.

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Chasing the Galaxy

Can’t you show me the enigmatic nebula

On your old brass telescope?

Let’s go and chase after the galaxy

Up the lone chartreuse hill, just you and me

For in the tenebris of space lies swirls of white

Dotted with chromatic sprinkles of pretty lights

I wish to see their pure perfection

Clear night skies for revelation

Before, woomph, the sparkles spectacularly erupt

Blinding supernova, before they slowly flicker and die off

And turn into a cruel black hole; dark, unforgiving, grotty

The complete opposite of the once-beautiful vestal stars they used to be.

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Cafe Culaccino

Culacinno: noun; an Italian word describing the mark left on a surface by a cold glass.


In front of me, a brown-tinted awakening potion

Stirring; very slightly, occasionally.

Thick curls of steam, a warm devotion

And a single cube of sugar melting; slowly.


Time ticks by. People hastily rush off.

And yet somehow I’m frozen. So mesmerising,

The whirls of kaleidoscopic patterns are

Forming on the surface; so hypnotising.


A slight bump causes my trance to snap

Somebody accidentally spilled their cup

Midday scuffle, but simply breaks even

As the hand points its way on the number eleven


I return to my coffee, in the cush table I’m alone

By the window, society functioning, passersby on their phone

Nullified existences. Nearly industrial.

Lives of survival, technology and metal.


Time’s up. I sip the remaining scalding liquid down

Grab my hat and my case and head off to town

All that remains, a wispy ghost of my visit

A perfectly round mark on the wooden table, a cry of a soul in transit.

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A Writer’s Woes

It’s your great desire to wound my soul’s skin

But you never bothered knowing what lies within

For the pain you cause is mere inspiration unfurled

And all my body contains is an endless sea of words


Words for the joyous glory, and words for the hurt

Words aureate, lilting, and words ever so curt

Words to keep in secret, words to give and trade

Sentences, verses, stanzas, boundless stories are laid


So go ahead and be my guest

Pierce my heart raw and stab me red

For you’ll never get a satisfying conclusion, lest

For ebony ink is all I’ll ever bled.

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Deus Ex Machina

The creation of the god machine

Was quite the achievement of the century

The inventor, glorified, revered, caused quite a scene

As, in a highfalutin tone, he announced, he decreed

“I’ve created a machine that can solve everything!”


The creation of the god machine

Instead of serving its original purpose

Of advancing humanity’s throes

And curing ignorance and ameliorating problems hard

Rather, seemed to throw our spiraling momentum backwards


The creation of the god machine

Was not a peaceful time at all

As creationists and non-believers cried

And questions of morality thrived

Imploring “You cannot stuff that amount of power

Inside an infernal machine!”


The creation of the god machine

Was further made chaotic

As the moralists’ cries were even more outshone

By those avaricious pigs starving for power

Those twitching hands frenzied with utter greed


The creation of the god machine

Fed the planet into a dark age

Brutes and barbarians acting upon primal rage

Machines and technology shunned and revolted

The dark ages – quite literally, if not red


The creation of the god machine

Nearly wiped the entire world clean

And even the geniuses and clever minds that hid

Barely survived from the ravenous beasts that run

The last remaining shells of what used to be human


The creation of the god machine, he found

Was never worth its discovery, humans were not prepared for this round

Now if only the inventor could create something

To advance; or perhaps, backtrack a million steps

From the cataclysmic maelstrom he had started

…His mistake.

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Nocturnal Cantabile

Breath of midnight filled with caution

Starlight dust intoxication

Tenfold brilliance, galactic consonance

Euphonious voice of darkness, resonance


Sandman’s whispers so captivating

Unconscious harmonic music-making

Into a soft bed of reveries you drown

Leave those pains and ease that frown


Pupils giving off bright reflections

Dull aches flooded with saturation

Slow but steady, hearts they beat

Intertwined breathing, conjure some heat


Ripples of a fragile notion

Reverberate sounds of revelations

Wispy souls assess unknown emotions

As nocturnal birds sing in repetition


Cosmos painted lush; a deep navy blue

As the moon wishes aches away, bid adieu

Let ethereal clouds of imagination float freely in the skies

Sweet dreams, the planet tucks you in, and good night.

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