Now Deeply rooted in my grey matter, emotions stem from a flower that never leaves. I lay there, mired in thought, wondering how different my plot would be, if her seeds were never sown… If she had never grown on me…

Her petals shine like gold medals, on my podium of pandemonium, cropping up ever more awesome with each blossom…implanted in my dreams, almost magically…

Tragically, She radically soils my clarity…
I work tirelessly to harvest reality, supersede her from train of thought, weed her from my memories…an endless lobotomy, aimed at this enigmatic botany… My efforts are fruitless…

But the truth is, she is not to blame for this matter, It was I who plowed my grey matter, till it was conducive, exclusively for… my flower

Shallow tears


Her heart breaks, not for the player and his promiscuous ways, but for the homeless lady she sees in the same spot everyday. Her heart bleeds, not for gucci bags or anything else she might wish to keep. But because she heard about families in Grenfell towers burning in their sleep. Her heart weeps not because of her flaws or insecurities, but for the mother of that little boy that was stabbed on her own high street. She’s human too. Full of her own doubts regrets and fears. But her angelic eyes would just not let her cry,  shallow tears.


Shadow of supremacy


 They stand against the light to cast shadows, that make our paths dark, it’s no wonder we got lost on our way home. We once sat on gold thrones, now we beg thieves for a place in our own home…

we’ve been taught to fight their shadows, with the shade we throw, while the grave they dug for us grows and grows…Go to their schools to borrow our own ideas, the innovators become imitators, in hopes to integrate, into their hateful ways..  

 When they can’t break us, they’ll force us to bend, and blend, into the violent trends they set without regrets. They’ll pretend to be our friends, tell us they mean “no offence” …while keeping our very being misunderstood.

Until we end up in a shadow war with no end. Cast by burning crosses ,pointed hoods…and fear 


Peice of my mind 

The mind;

a battle field, for the worrier warrior, who draws the will he wields from his soul sheath, while hiding behind his ego shield.

Fighting for a sense of security, defending a feeling of purity, descending and transcending maturity. An odyssey not for the eyes to see, just time zones redefined by a mind blown, as the worrier fights to align the crown.
The brain;

a vast network of ever growing chains , the worriers bane,as he approaches insane…

Fighting to figure out how to eat love, somewhere in-between the stomach and the heart, torn apart, by hard fought thoughts of heaven and hell, hard thoughts sought out where his conscience may dwell. He may well, free all the great warriors, trapped in his grey cells…

A thought;

The pen and the sword that are equally mighty, that colour and carve the warrior worriers reality…

Fighting for a glimpse of clarity, while fighting reality. A missile from a mile away, a beacon beaming through the darkest day, that of which , could guide the blind , and on its way, destroy every last remaining peace …of mind


moral fabric

Sever ties, or sew it’s seems…fabricated materialism tightly woven into a dream…

Buttons pushed, tighter at the collar…the emperor needs a new suit, for which he will pay top dollar…

Strung along ever so gently, tucked neatly into a pocket, ironed out,nice and clean….Or so it seams…

Fabricated materialism;

satin stitches sewn, the emperors stunning new suit, embroidered with silky half truths…And severed ties…

A striking moral fabric! …That feels like wool over the eyes…


All the pitter-patter prints different patterns in the back of my mind. I try to be shelter in turbid times.

All the chitter-chatter puts new coats on old characters, at the forefront of your thoughts. I pray we make the most of these rainy days.

You storm in, I storm out. Its almost always windy in our city, scatter-scatter, raining pain again… We try to drip dry under damaged umbrellas.

All the helter skelter, yet you are still, and I am still your shelter

The mad men I met

I met  preacher man, who would twist his own philosophy, purposely, to make short term profit off a long term prophecy.

I met a bunch of bankers ,that toppled the economy

I met a politician, with his vision, so impaired, he was unaware, of his hypocrisy, trying to force democracy, using guns and bureaucracy

Hell…I even met a martyr with a life insurance policy…


With words 

I’ve been told I have a way with words …now  I wonder; 
Is it because I’m always getting carried away with words?
Maybe Because I tend to get my way with words; 
and when my diction turns frictional and rubs someone up the wrong way, I tend to get away, with words… 
It might even be because, when My mind was dull, and my life was null, I managed to find my way, with words… 

You got a light? 

Lost looking for a light. Pain in my back pocket. sailing away on white rockets made of grass. Sleeping in the clouds above the crowd, free at last. Loudest silence I ever heard…This too shall pass…

Rotating states of mind. Highs and lows, Mixed up in the smoke, Fiery ash. Blown away by a breath of fresh air. Never cowered, still scared. Didn’t know, still cared. Lost and looking for a light. Searching for a star in myself every night. 

Reflecting my perspective. Choosing the less selective. Forcing myself do the elective. Over protective of my pros. Ablaze but burning bright,ironically, still lost, looking for a light…


She says it’s a great day, while I take in all the suffering around us.

Low Serotonin shrinking my hippocampus.

She wants to get a meal, maybe stop at a mall. This doesn’t appeal to me at all.

A dopamine feind going through withdrawal. 

We drive past a place she says does really great food, I try not to come across rude, as I explain that I’m not in the mood.
She thinks I’m tired… So she asks if I want to go home… She just wants to be with me, and I just want to be alone.

She tries to change the subject, to when I first met her, I smile as she tells the story, but I can’t even remember…”something-something library, bla bla bla university campus”

Low serotonin shrinking my hippocampus.