Caged Bird

I thought I should honor the mental health awareness month by writing a piece about it. First of all, most of my post are in the neighborhood of psycho which means this piece really won’t be set so far apart from the rest. Secondly, it’s almost end of July and mental health awareness month was in May so let’s just address postponement as a mental illness. Sorry.

The thing about art is you can’t fake it, it takes you to a real place. Sometimes reality can be daunting and you can’t help but feel drawn to anywhere but wherever you are. But caged birds don’t fly. To create anything, you need to navigate through this turbulent, murky waters. Like an adventure, only that in here hell is frozen and it echoes like a cathedral from the colossal desolation.

We move.

Some days we go ice-skating with demons we are yet to be acquainted with and on other days we lose our foot and fall. Hitting the ground with the realization that rock bottom has a basement. Too dark? Well, buckle up, it might be a bumpy ride. Consider this a mental spring cleaning, and as so our hands might get dirty. Just don’t go lurking deep in the closet.

Pick up the feather duster, the heart has been beating too low, it’s dusty.

Air out the vents, all this saltiness is making you rusty

I can hardly breathe darling, I can’t breathe.

Paintings on the wall are starting to come alive, the bloodiness fades…

Let in a little natural light, light kills the darkness, and because you feel like a badass in dark shades.

Bottles of brown liquor, had you thinking you like her. Never been happier that it’s trash day.

This is unapologetically not rosy. Reality is, it’s not the morning of Sunday…

Regardless we get to live through ourselves and that is art. Don’t forget to remember reality but of more importance, remember real G’s move in silence like lasagna.

Have an attitude and believe in love but of more importance, hydrate ’cause we’ll be going in again.


Brewing Storms

Explosions. Interesting how something so destructive can be stunning, don’t you think? The big bang and other explosive tales tell of a bondage, humanity’s. The day our worlds are to collide would be a wedding day. Marriage to oblivion and a happy never after.

I thought as she stroke her match stick. Like a romance it caught fire rapidly then steadied. The moon was full and the night breeze passed in gentle waves upsetting her hair. The blunt was passed over, I inhaled deep and long then I blew a long stream of smoke into space.

On nights like this silence was enough, nights where warm fuzzy feelings and ice cold chills are felt. It was comfortable in the fortress of solitude. It’s not often we misunderstand silence. The kryptonite to reckless souls is the question why.

Can you hear it? The time bomb goes. “…tick, tock…”

I give her the keys to my heart then I change the lock.

She needs no key, neither does she knock…

But she’ll find her way in. She throws the key right next to all the rest, they pile up. This goes on and on, our song is playing in every station but it’s a broken record. There’s only so much we hold sacred once our belief systems are crushed.

I guess it doesn’t matter since she paints me pictures with her true colours. Behind the crooked smile and casual tears are encrypted thoughts.

Even as the bomb goes,

Here we go,

Begins the chaos,

Her eyes filled with panache, there’s no fuss.

I almost get why this happens but it’s just out of grasp

The little caution that exists goes with the wind as does the smoke. We celebrate the spoils of the battles won even though the war is ours to lose.

Like rolling dice, we take the risk or we lose the chance…

An ignored blessing turns into a curse

God bless.


The Moment Before It Starts

Take a trip with me, into the dugout before the final game begins. The coach whispers a final word in your ear, thousands of crowd roar. Both feel like the same thing. Like the sound of rain. You could almost ignore it. Your heart beats, reminding you that you are alive. Alive than you have ever been. Life is for the living and you are owning it. You now understand how it’s the only thing you can ever own. A short prayer and you swear to God that you will always live by this and steal a glance at the skies.

Take a trip with me, backstage, the audience settles and the chatter subsides to complete silence. So silent you can hear the hiss of a cigarette burning. She blows a ring of smoke in the air as he stares right into you. She doesn’t speak, she barely moves. Just the smoke rising from her lips. It fades, slowly into the air. It all happens so fast, you could have missed it if you blinked. As the smoke faded into the air this moment too will fade out once you are passed the curtains.

Our lives are summation of moments, ones that we will remember till we are old and grey, ones that lead to greater moments, the ones we will wish to forget and the ones we will never remember. Sheds a whole lot of shade to the idea of ever holding onto one, especially a wrong one.

…ideas can be a dangerous thing to love but the man to whom they are most dangerous is the man of no ideas…

If nothing matters, isn’t that all the reason you need to glow for no reason and shrug about like you don’t know?

Glow and never burn out

Fly so close to the sun that our lashes will catch fire but not burn.

Smoulder in perpetuity.

Of all the four-letter words in the world we’ll spell out the word love on our knuckles with ink.

Before the ink is dry, the next moment will be here.

And through it, we will glow.

Whether we are cheating life ‘cause we can’t cheat death, or whether we are honest as the day.

Whether we are making love by the moon or whether we are fucking like savages.

Whether we live on the edge or whether we dream about libraries.

Whether we concur the world by shooting arrows from horse backs or whether we concur the world by scratching paper with quill pens.

We will glow.

Perhaps okay will be our always…

Subscribe, like, share (in whichever order :))


Dying to Live

What’s the worst that could happen if you just ran? If you just chased the sunset and became one with the wind. Away from all the prisons we have created for ourselves. Away from all the madness that we consider sane.

I feel sorry for the ones that don’t go a little crazy. The ones that try to make sense out of everything. The ones that can’t distinguish fear from danger. The ones that wonder how you can chase the sunset and be one with the wind. The ones who don’t know that the ones who wonder, don’t know.

Maybe I am one of them. Maybe I feel sorry for myself for tiptoeing to my grave, only to die with perfect skin. Wouldn’t you rather die with a mind full of memories and a body full of scars?

How careful can you really be? Careful enough to live forever?

I love The Joker’s laugh. It’s full in its own conniving way. His laugh has more character than most people. Yet he is the crazy one. He is the one who escaped without moving. There is no limit to being unshackled. But you already know this. We all have our own ways of escaping without moving, only that it’s temporary.

Freedom is a promise only you can fulfil. Fear can be a bitch though, like a hurricane it destroys everything it touches. Embrace it, watch it destroy itself, watch it go up in flames…enjoy the fireworks.
Fireworks embody beginnings, a new year, the fourth of July, marriage. You get it.


‘…ideas can be a dangerous thing to love…but the man to whom they are most dangerous is the man of no ideas…’

Ain’t It (Pardon My French)

If the sweet tooth was literal it would be located at the back of our minds because we always know…
At a point in our lives we have wanted something that was bad for us, I think it’s ironic how most stuff we do is unintentionally self-destructive.
Evidently in Christianity when Eve condemned the rest of humanity with that one bite.
I don’t hold it against her. Plenty of times my hand has been in the cookie jar too…
So plenty that in some days it feels like a need a new closet to fit more skeletons.
And it is never about the satisfaction. Satisfaction has a finality that kills the buzz of a good thrill.
It’s about the electricity coursing through you, it’s about the moment you first meet someone and immediately know there will be history.
It’s about the temporary escape from everything that’s real. It’s about the trance you love to get lost in.
It’s about the smell of broken promises. I assume if bottled it would smell like designer perfume and burning rubber.
Unfortunately this isn’t another love story, otherwise I’d have told you that ‘maybe, just maybe if we are nothing we’ll last forever’.
Otherwise I would have asked my heart to work with me, otherwise we’d go skinny dipping in your mind.
But this ain’t it.
It’s like character. The thing about it is that you never know what it is, but you know what it isn’t.
When it ain’t it, it will crush and burn with the constellations that make up your aura. It will feel more like wasting your time than patience.
It’s the thin line that separates passion from obsession.
Only if we could treasure ourselves like we cost a million.
Once upon a time there was no time. No past nor future, just now. No worries about tomorrow nor regrets about yesterday, just the best of the current.
…but ideas can be a dangerous thing to love.
And maybe one day we’ll talk about how we fall out of love as often as we fall in.

Laugh About It

There’s a whole universe of discoveries to be made.
And how oblivious we are of the things we don’t even know we don’t know.
If you are frequently here you would realize that I can be a little obsessed with oblivion.
Weird how you can be obsessed with a bunch of nothing, right?
Ignorance is bliss, said a wise man.
I can picture him. He has kempt hair but a rugged stubble beard because he doesn’t believe in moisturizing his beard like a woman.
He’s seated on a high back chair staring out of the window of his home library. It smells of expensive wood and old books.
By his side is a glass of whisky and an empty ash-tray. He doesn’t smoke but he has an ash-tray.
He’s looking back into a time when he was young, before he decided to study law and philosophy.
Before he was as knowledgeable as he is, before he knew that cooking gas is a liquid, before the stench of heartbreak hovered over him like marabou stocks over a carcass, before he knew that rules are conceptual pinatas; they are meant to be broken.
He knows it’s all because he knows the good and the bad, the black and the white and that they are all one gray illusion. His wide spectrum of knowledge reduces his focus and his mind is a beehive but only that all the bees have doctorates.
He marvels at Jon Snow, for he knows nothing.
He wonders what it would be like if he knew he didn’t know but he knows he knows.
“Fuck!” He snaps, almost psychotically.
He sips his whisky his grandkids pass by his window reminding him that there’s a whole world outside his head.
He smiles semi-consciously, closes his eyes and drifts to a euphoria where nothing matters.
He’s running through the fields like he is sixteen again but then he trips over something and falls to the ground. He looks over at what he stumbled over, it’s an aphorism; Ignorance is bliss.
And he chuckles slightly about it because he knows too well that laughter is the best medicine.
He laughs about all the times he has flirted with the devil
He laughs about all the times he dropped below his level
He laughs about all the shade he finessed like an air bender.
He laughs about all the fakes and the pretenders.
He laughs about all the time he thought of waving a white flag.
Then he laughs about all the time he didn’t surrender.
He laughs about all the times he’s played with fire
He laughs about all the times he has lay with a liar
…just because she was beautiful
Then he laughs when he realizes that flowers are beautiful too but that’s not why the bees go there.
Laugh about it…

Drink Water.


Doubts and second thoughts.
Tick tock, tick tock.
First second, second second, temporary forevers.
Third eye, four in the morning took the fifth, sixth shot.
Anxious over the anxiety.
Coping mechanisms and recipes for disaster.
Highs and lows on the flatline…
Fire that burns in water and swords that cut nothing.
Take my hand, let’s give them something to see tonight.
Autonomous anatomy, baby move.
Finish my sentences, jinx.
Twisted mind, colorful too. Like a rubik’s.
Let’s chill without the Netflix.
Run mazes in my mind…
…I’ll run my fingers over you.
We don’t have to play games.
Let me see that poker face.
You can be my queen of hearts.
I’ll rank as high as two aces.
There’s no saying goodbye now, no deuces.
Tonight you come second to none.