a desire to erase,
to stay away forever.

an opportunity to transfigure,
to sit on the floor and wait for storms.

a line to cross, a lion at dusk,
a catastrophist.

a pen filled with acid,
a book of theories full of holes.

once this begins, there are only endings.

Turbulent upbringings
often teach one
to write out the storm

To all the pairs of unimpressed eyes
Please wait a little longer,
Please give me some more time

To your privilege,
And
My dismay,
I'm a pro player,
In the game of
Self-blame.

I heard it's called
"Discombobulation".

Lose hope,
Try and do what the heart whispers,
Impossible will become possible.
24/3/2023

She Comes.

By way of storm.

the waters winding
in a fury of death.

And She. is painting
the sky

Black.

For now.

Oh honey,
Sometimes it’s the timing that’s wrong
Not you.

They speak sand
A million grating opinions
A blinding, scathing storm
Made to leave you raw

They speak sand
So take it with a grain of salt
And douse the world in water
So instead of raw, you're polished