The strings quiver-a broken body in silk,
nails pressed to wood
like bruises that refuse to fade.

A melody bleeds,
sharp notes rip through skin,
veins unravel in cold ink.

Drums crack time open,
tremor down too slow
to outrun the black.
Shadows gather,
drowning the air.

A voice rises-strangled, fractured,
singing what lungs can’t reach.
Each chord a blade,
carving its name into bone.

And when it ends,
silence screams louder
than the song that tore me apart.

Ignore the fibers,
scorched to ash—
the fractured sky bleeds silent light,
where names dissolve like lost prayers,
and time is a body unbroken, yet hollow.

But under the ruins,
the same pulse reverberates—
a seed splits open,
drenched in the same rain,
thirsting for a soil never touched.

We are the void’s breath,
woven in the skin of stars,
lost in the endless touch
of the same hands
that never let go.

There was a Young Lady who tweezed
The hair from her nose as she sneezed;
She then plucked her eyebrows from lowbrows to highbrows,
That plucky Young Lady who tweezed.

There was an Old Person of Cairo,
Whose exploits were carved into hiero-
glyphics on stones where a pharaoh's wrapped bones
Are preserved in a chamber in Cairo.

There was an Old Man of Kampala;
He prayed in the morning to Allah,
And in the bright light of the day, and at night,
That observant Old Man of Kampala.

There was an Old Man of Burundi,
Who prayed to the Salvator Mundi
Who met him upstairs and who answered his prayers
And who sainted that Man of Burundi.

There was an Old Man of Djibouti,
Whose substance was frothy and fruity;
A regular dandy with pickles and candy,
He dandled the Dongs of Djibouti.

There was an Old Man of Manilla,
Whose favoritest bean was vanilla;
He climbed up a tree and befriended a bee,
That beneficent Man of Manilla.

There was an Old Man of Beijing,
Who'd study all day the I Ching;
He balanced his qi with white rice and green tea,
That mystical Man of Beijing.

There was an Old Lady of Donegal,
A sister named Mary McGonegal;
She ruled with a ruler every pre-to-high-schooler,
That punishing Lady of Donegal.

There was a New Baby, whose nose
Was loving the smell of a rose
When it noticed the riper brown smell of a diaper,
Which offended that New Baby's nose.

There was an Old Man of Hong Kong,
Whose nose had a luminous ****;
It lighted his way by night and by day,
That lucky Old Man of Hong Kong.

The rope slumps—an unstrung throat.
Pills rattle like broken teeth.

The mirror unmouths my name,
gulps me in glass, spits static.

Outside, the city chews its own tongue.
Streetlights pulse like exposed nerves.

I step forward.

Or maybe I don’t.

The night swallows.

Nothing shifts.

Three blinking stars, under a cold black sea, 
Fireworks burn on a very old tree,
A seed you threw towards the wind-
Bloomed flowers of fire, But I've lost the flint
2 days have passed, and a quarter of a life. 
I'll cut straight through, with my paper knife
Towards the years that I've left behind.
I'll touch the fog, and maybe I'll  find, 
The exact place where I left you alone,
In that burnt diary, with my broken phone.
How cold did you feel, when you were buried in snow
When I walked away, I'd never thought I'd go,
Just to come back here once again,
In this lonely station, in that empty train.
I have burnt the map, it doesn't end or start
Because I feel the most safe when I'm torn apart.
We are lost in our empty childhood homes
lost in comfort where only white darkness roams.
Nothing remains here, for both you and me.
But we can't ever leave, I've lost the key.
Do you remember my name, before I went away?
Neither do I, so we both have nothing to say. 
So just hold my hands, as you look straight down-
To see fire and snow and our lost hometown.
It's still there now, even when we are gone.
Just like the smile on your face, that I once had drawn,
It wants to go away, but it's stuck with you,
Like an old memory, that keeps feeling new. 
It has lost all the meanings that once made it dear.
But I don't remember myself, so I have no fear. 
And I know you forgot yourself too, long before me
And I'll lose you too, in the dark cold sea. 
But, for a broken second, stay next to my side. 
With a silent kiss of carbon monoxide.

A pulse that never reached the air,
where the ground cracks open,
but no weight falls through.

A flicker burns,
but the flame never touches the wick.

Time folds over itself
a thread pulled thin,
but not unraveled.

A voice is lost
before it’s born,
and nothing moves to fill the gap.

Fulfillment - subconscious commitment
In what is a true - and inner peace -
For acceptance - for embroidery of oneself
In dark, almost frigidless - capability
And salvation - is no where to be found
Spit out the tongue - you almost ate it
Spit out the blood and bits - you chewed
Among the celestial thoughts of being
A timid and behaviourical brightness
In false full of 'less'-es and 'non'-s and 'in'-s
Words - neglect to be said - their weight
Is gone - with a passion - to thrive
But a lesser - is chosen - though - not you
Being the chosen one - but the vivid
Fragile and agonizing - white man's
Deals - quotes and problems - all from his head
Born from air and as chaotic

The womb convulses, spitting me forth—a clot of breath. Light carves itself into my skull. Already, the body is a wound.

I lurch toward meaning, but time gnaws at the marrow. The mirror refuses me. Language drips, cooling into names I do not recognize.

Love lingers but never sinks in. The tongue, a rusted hinge. The hands, outstretched, grasp absences. They call this aging, but it feels like erosion.

Flesh crumbles into concept. Time forgets. A door swings open in the dark—
or was I never here at all?

Solemnity does not speak for you
You - speak for solemnity
And if axe is - upon your head
Do you think it is late to make bet on a coin
Wishing it to fall and stuck on a rib
Wherever you make - an eager-one
To eat all of the soil - he pleaded - he raised -
He walked upon to - the soil which was the
Naturous home of his thoughts - his mind -
His believes and beginnings - nevermind
Let it drink - as like as it's been a decade
Without a bit of a rain due to greedy -
Clouds - who did not want to share themselves
That is why now the blood is sinking
'Cause the soil is drinking in a stimulus need
Not for man - for it's own sake and self
To keep breathing - getting last breaths from
Those - who fall bleeding