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.


I can only hope to die
like the distant passage of time
and space through my spacecraft

time passes through me
through rose colored eyes
with a different shade of blue

the space between my eyes
are bridges that connects me
to my mind which produces
this eternal loneliness

I shall not be afraid
of emptiness and sadness
for they will never leave me

I shall cease my thoughts
of endless hunger
for they will never end

I am but a home to this pain,
a house to this fear,
a resident of the horror,
the root of evil.


Frantically plucking the thorns
that wounds me; uncountable

it is the pebble inside my shoe
while hiking up the mountain

prancing the wildfire embers,
such is the masochistic tendency

on and off, on and off
this is a switch

back and forth the home
I go

where do you go when home
makes you homesick?


A warrior turned weary
he who was brave
pleasantly yielding
forces of dream
turns into a wave
of level and doubt
poison and destruction,

panicking peasants
pleasantly panicking,
shouting and screaming
screeching and sleeping,

as sprinting soars the land
they add the winds of sorrow
through continue. dread
they lose hope,