if my next lines,
my next poems,
or my next works
aren’t beautiful
please don’t be surprised
even the author
isn’t one.

compare me
to the most
interesting person
you know and
you’d know that
i’m a complete
hole of a mess

like leaves falling
I start to fall down,
sinking into the ground
forcing myself to capsize
cave in, drop, submerge

and as I plummet, plunge
to the bottom,
not in my life
will I go back

for this lonely fortress
is now my home.



safely, they cross the creaking bridge
that my ancestors traversed for years
on end
one step, two steps, three steps
step by step
you hear the silent touch of
the footsteps drawing close,
one cannot fathom
how silent the loudness is,
if auditory senses were to control me
I would slowly destroy myself
into nothingness
disappear as if I
were to become
sound itself,
echoes inside a tunnel
tardily hop through the corners
hopping back and forth
with no direction or end,
I join them
no destination
a journey, useless
I surrender myself.


Kneel before me,
oh dying king

your relentless pursuit
of fame and fortune
has come to last
at this very moment

kneel before me,
oh dying king

let your tree
falter and wither,
let its branches
waver and stumble

kneel before me,
oh dying king

treacherous plans abound,
nearing plunder and piracy,
butcher house of dogs and cats,
slaughterhouse of gold and coins

kneel before me,
oh dying king

when wrath falls
upon the heavens above
all shall see your suffering

kneel before me,
oh dying king

you have left
this world
at last.


If bats can hopelessly
flap their wings
into the night
survive the wilderness
with such little bodies
and small wingspan,
why can’t I?

why can’t I
go into the night
with nothing but hope
that I will make it out alive
and not minding all fears
that I will not survive
and not letting
the darkness
devour me whole

how idiotic
how optimistic
how clueless I am

If there is a hell,
I am already inside it.


If I were to make
children’s books
it would contain
dinosaurs with schizophrenia
insects with depression
suicidal fruits
dyslexic alphabet
traumatized cars
dying athletes
autistic fairies
mesmerizing rivers
contemplating plants
flat earth
imperfect gods
burning forests
summer vikings
frightening sunflowers
immovable feathers
endless energy
drugged aeroplanes
perfect losers
perpetual suffering
eternal sadness
happy terrorists
joyful extremists
hate speech
living hell
horrifying love birds
rotten musicians
painful radio stations
perfect government
quiet concerts
trashy opera
historical fiction
private conversations
different synonyms
opposite inquiries
muted sports events
unexpressed words


Two in the morning
early morning
with nothing but
window curtains and moonlight
as company

sounds of the fan spinning
cockroaches silently screaming
ants slowly dying
human sweat drilling

around this time
our hero is reminded
of the horrors of reality
being seized again
by the crows and night owls
with nothing but
window curtains and moonlight
as company


around this time
our hero is reminded



A hermit once said to me:

Hey there, young traveler
seek not the treasures abound
seek not the golds and treasures
seek not the fountain of youth
seek only one thing,

To which I replied:

Why is that so, old hermit?
Why must I not seek the treasures
that await me and my soul?
Why must I not seek that which
will grant me glory and power?
Why not, old hermit?

As the hands of the clock tick
the hermit’s reply resonated
within the confines of the trees,
how eerie and fascinating,
words of time
flowing through us

Young traveler, remember this
remember this for a lifetime

It is not gold
nor is it all the treasures
you might find and hold,

It is not the conqueror
that is in power,
It is the conquered

It is only after we’ve lost everything
that we are free to do anything.