I look at the walls and remember what it’s like to live
I look at the swirling mess in the ashtray and remember what it’s like to slowly kill myself
I look at the specs of dirt on the lived floor and wonder of the stories that each hold sacredly hidden by age
I sit surrounded by my years of writing
years of useless words
on useless and random paper
and wonder why I sit
in the same place
the same way
as I did Continue reading A CLOCK TOO LOUD


They say that a Libran isĀ supposedĀ to be well balanced. I argue. I walk along the dirty pavements of life and all I seem to ever do is trip myself up. A never ending circus act of rolls and spills and kills. Maybe the rest of the world are the same and maybe not. Maybe not. Sign here loser and accept the contract of terms and conditions set before you on this very day. Accept the worst dream, the best, and at times I may just allow you to reneg momentarily and spend a little time in between.

They say that what doesn’t kill you just makes you stronger. I argue. Pain is real and myth is just that. Dreams. Hopes. Desires. And all the while, the scum-sucking-bottom-feeders who are the only ones who ever seem to get anywhere, sit and await your fall so that they may stand mighty for just a moment and mock you coldly while you try and pick yourself up, brush of the sewerage, and stupidly try again. And again. And again.

Continue reading Backwards.