How cold the iron is

How cold the iron is
that sits upon my chest
heavy and unyielding
as if an iron vest

Within the chest a flower
it used to be in bloom
once it blossomed beautifully
but now there is no room

Flattened is the flower
the petals too are pressed
from this heavy, heavy iron
frozen on my chest.


Clever Words

Sitting by the captial Sea

Elle waits for the rest

Looking over, E sees

They’re caught at the V

In the road, thinks E

And now here they Are

Her life was a list

Her life was a list
She knew not
what she missed
Her days were
outlines on a page
Imprisoned in her
very own cage
She cared not
for heaven nor hell
her soul had left her body
an empty shell
She had not time
for nature nor art
A well-oiled machine
was her heart
Years ticked by on
the clock on the wall
Still she’s never spared a second
to question if this was all
When in that final box
down she willingly will lay
She’ll smile her last checkmark
on her way to Judgement Day


stop rolling apathy onto your lips
and dressing your body as a corpse
that fashionable cynicism hangs limply
on your anorexic soul
you who dream of slicing your stomach open
with the thin point of your elbow
to watch the knots within you spill out
— now, bend to untangle them.
bathe constantly in your own blood
surely this means you are alive
and these words of yours, capped in a faith
that has faith in no one, proclaim:

no, nothing matters
when everything’s matter

To Live

Is it not beautiful

despite the infinite pain?

Thus is life

And to suffer is to live

To be broken is human

But to heal, that is divine


It is not that I do not believe in God
it is that He matters not to Me.
I decided once to be my own god;
now I Am, and will always be.


do what you will
I will belong to no parties
my sole conviction is
to remain myself,
a cause that will occupy me
for the rest of my life
oh — poor individual!
how peculiar it is that it should be
an injurious disgrace to Humanity
to be human
among the herd.


And the Subject was Life

I sat down to write

and the subject was life

I took my first breath

and then there was death

There was passion in my soul

But it leaked through a hole

Years passed me by

Until my eyes had gone dry

And in my head was a song

but the words were all wrong

And there was an itching in my fingers

for a thought that still lingers

It wandered in like a stray

and now it won’t go away

but it wanted to be fed

and it wanted to be read

So I sat down to write

and the stray was a thought on Life

How it howled here in my head

How it howls still, finally said

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