Like a meteor bursting through the atmosphere.

Im at full speed.

Im running so fast.

Faster than my thoughts.

Faster than my demons.

Faster than my afterthoughts.

I don’t want them to catch up to me.

I can’t.

So I run.

For the life of me.

I run.

Running with an empty vessel makes it easier.

It makes it lighter.

Lighter than the air that surrounds me.

Lighter than the color of your eyes.

Lighter than a feather.

Lighter than the color of your lips.


Im afraid of crashing.

I don’t know what kind of crash would it be this time.

A collision of two atoms?

Or a collision of two stars?

Theres always beauty in a crash.

I see serenity in it.

It happened.

Theres nothing you can do to prevent it.

You can’t run back in time to avoid it.

It’s done.

Your mind is put to rest.

Your fear ended and so you look for another.

For that moment, your mind is empty just like your vessel.

And so you fill it with nonsense to try to at least occupy something in you.

Something to remind you that you’re still here.

You’re still now.

You’re still alive.

But for now

I run.

With my very last breath.

I run.



I wanna know what goes inside your head.

I wanna take a glimpse of whats inside your head.

I wish I could go inside your head and see whats in there.

I kept hearing this all my life and laugh.

But, in all reality

I wish I could leave my head.

I wish I could take a break from all the noise thats inside.

Maybe thats why I like to get high.

It gets quiet.

Maybe thats why I liked being around you.

It got quieter.

Theres too much noise that I can’t ignore sometimes and the noise becomes reality.

It becomes tangible.

It has a certain color to it.

A certain smell of a leftover burning fuel of memories.

And, no…. there are no more ways to quiet them down.

No calmness.

No muse.

Only noise.


Being a dreamer in a dreamless world.

Trying to make sense of the senseless and the absurd.

It is not one, it is not two, it is not three, but it is four that meet the unknown.

This knocks you out.

This wakes you up.

This quiets the demons.

This keeps you sane.

But, where is the one that makes you happy ?

Can you stuff happy in a pill ?

Can you take pieces of them inside of you ?

Devour them till your veins turn blue ?

Crucify the demons with your mother’s prayers.

Justify your sins with your father’s blade.

This will forever be the mystery.

Of what became of my history.

War Child

Have you ever noticed how

When the moon is in its crescent phase

It looks like the light might devour the darkness ?

Is it just me and my hopeful optimistic bullshit or is that what everyone else notices as well ?

Maybe its God.

Communicating to those who are seeking.

Light devours darkness.

I have not thought about death in a long time.

I admit I was afraid of admitting that.

Once you admit something it kinda vanishes.

I hear you God.

I hear you on the moon.

I hear you in the wind.

I am a child born in the midst of a war.

I was born a fighter and a survivor.

Even when my lungs were giving out.

My mother gave me air.

My mother gave me life.

That must mean something, shouldn’t it ?

Everything has its meaning.

Seek and you shall find.

I searched, as far as I could.

I discovered death at the edge of the world.

And then I looked up.

There are far more things to be discovered.

Far more things to live for.

Light devours the darkness.

And I want to let my light out, devour all darkness thats in this world.

I hear you God.

I know why I am here.

I am a war child that will spread peace.


Out in the ocean where everything is set in motion.
The waves, they crash, and with it my heart feels the commotion.

Up and down the way they move.

Round and round my thoughts confused.

How can a simple thought turn to a dark source.

The light illuminates but the screams are hoarse.

They say the only way a heart is open, is when its broken.

But the soul freezes, and the walls become the unspoken.

Grey is the color that took my mother.

Green is the color my skin had as cover.

This is the day you got your freedom.

This is the day I was beaten.

I know the guilt you feel for loving this day.

How the breath of fresh air came your way.

I watched you as you became smaller and smaller.

In my head, it replays over and over.

The sun

The wind

The heat

My feet

They are not running after you.

They are pinned down on the ground looking blue.

My blood stopped.

As my heart dropped.

Now, I pour my darkened soul that was taken over by this hole.

I pour it all down the gutter to try and make me whole.

But what if life takes its toll.

And the thing that gave you warmth makes you cold.

What if I had control over my feet.

And ran after you in the midst of your fleet.

Will it be any different ?

Will I still feel this feeling of false healing.

Knees kneeling till they are numb from weeping.

Grey is the color that took my mother.

Black is the color I painted the gutter.

The Sun and The Moon

The wind blows, and I am lost in thoughts.

Thoughts of you.

Thoughts of me.

Thoughts of us.

Galaxies wrapping themselves around my wrist.

As she wraps herself around my mind.

She, the moon.

I, the sun.

Meeting only on eclipses.

Filling each other with fire and dust.

I wait, and I wait till she circles back towards me.

Till she fills me up with her beauty.

And takes over my view. 

And I let her.

For being soaked in her, is far better than being choked by them.

And I let her.

For my soul is between her lips.

And I let her.

For my faith is between her thighs.

And I let her.

For she is the commander of my thoughts.

This is the story of the sun and the moon.

The oldest story in the history of time.

The saddest story in the future to come.

I, the sun.

She, the moon.

As I wait with fire.

She floats flawlessly. 

The Needle and The Thread

The torture we inflict on ourselves with our daydreams.

The lives we wish we had.

The feelings we wish we felt.

The human need to feel.

How foolish must we sound to the stones.




Wounds cut so deep, that will make an opening on the other side.

Stitch through the pain. 

Stitch through the dreams.

Stitch.. Stitch.. Stitch..

The needle and the thread.

Of whats to come and whats gone.

Stitch through the heartache.

Stitch through the memories.


Till you can no longer remember their faces.

Their smiles.

Your name.


Till you run out of daydreams.

Of memories.

Of breath.


For the life of you.

For the life of your mother.

Leave the dreams to those who still have hope.

Leave the hope to those who still have faith.

Leave the faith to those who still believe.

Your only truth is behind a needle and a thread.

So, stitch like its your only religion. 

Like its the only thing you ever knew.