I write poems
so as to give life to the words.

With a beautiful red silk
ribbon,
I tie a bow
on each one’s neck.

As I’m holding them into my fist,
they seem like spring butterflies.
They start to fly,
wandering happily into my room.

Every time, I see a swarm of them above my page,
I am so grateful.

Grateful to see them hovering around,
telling me how different this world would be,

Tinnitus chants more
music through doorways,
drafting feathers
distort the ear spine,
shaping uproars,
shifting the sand-
castles where silence
cradles wordlessness.

I stand bejeweled, with feathers in my hair,
A pretty girl, in a pretty world.
But I’m not pretty enough.
I’m the ghost by the door, hiding in the walls,
The glass ornament on the mantel,
The ornate dish, a holder for what they truly want.
I bury my head beneath the sands.
I do it as best I can.
But I’m not perfect enough.
So I cower under embellished fabrics.
My voice stays as silent as if it did not exist.
The colors of the world are seeping away.
The ocean, the sky have turned grey.

Oft cast aside for the sun, the shadow is a silent killer.
For you can survive a flame only to feel smoke’s knife twist through you.
Beware the masks that hang from the walls
For behind them hide the deadliest flames

If only the fire had kept to the walls
Perhaps the smoke scars that line my arms
Would be naught but peach fuzz
and the night would remain dark.

Find an empty charging port
Get your plug inserted
You better be quick about it
You need to be concerted

You should keep an eye out
Watch your failing charge
Because, it's hard to find a charging port
In a city that's this large

Keep your charging apparatus
With you at all times
Make sure you are at ready
Keep them in your head like rhymes

Don't get caught with your battery down
Watch the energy you have left
Or you may lose your big connection
And find yourself bereft

pause of time:
hark!

through the mid
night

wide awaken birds
sing;

the moon shines
away

the white colour hangs

above their roofs,

                          dreams of fog;

deeper down the earth is wet,

watery clouds shine in the puddles

            and the morning birds are still asleep.

people, locked up on doors and thresholds,

wear their good attires and stand,

peering through the crevices.

they do not know that

          neither the teddy-bear-man shall pass under their windows,

          nor shall the children run on the iced roads,

Hey Bro. I don't want to sound like this is a happy occasion
but I can't bring myself to be all morbid and down
when I'm thinking of you. We always tried to find the good side
of any situation that we found ourselves in.

I thought that you probably have had enough time to settle in.
I hope that your accommodations are comfy and the food is good.
What kind of car are you driving now? I'll bet that it's red!
Maybe one of those new Hellcats?

A glass heart was dropped,
It fell to the floor, misunderstood.
And it died with no witness to bear.
I never kept a religion, never prayed to the gods,
I don’t believe in kneeling to nothing.
The sky turned gray under pressure of a hurricane.
You held an ax behind your back, sharp points in view.
They threatened to take prisoners.
You said we’d buried the hatchet,
Truth is- you buried it in me.
Call me your bambi baby, your guilty pleasure.
I laugh from the grave-
No longer the doe eyed deer and