Mad Blood

First, when

Flying down-

Questions fill my veins-

‘Til they rupture-

And I am drowning

In my own gushing blood

The insanity of riddles-

Why do the sane question their sanity?

Why do the insane accept theirs?

For the sane mans sanity is a democratic sanity-

But the madman’s sanity is truly their own.

Swimming up-

I taste salty brine-

I breath the breath of near death-

Inhaling the insanity-

Of someone else.


I Claw At Empty Air

I claw at empty air

Hoping to get somewhere, anywhere.

I claw at empty air,

Grasping onto sanity.

Lingering on thoughts of morbidity.

I claw at empty air-


I claw at empty air-

I get nowhere…

I Dwell Within A Moment

I dwell within a moment, I take the time to look and see-

Disturbances in this fluctuating reality:


Teal sky-

Crows flying away from falling rain they cannot outpace.

An old woman smoking, each breath almost her last…

A river where a river cannot be.

I think of you, of how far you are away from me now…

My love stronger for you than the sun itself…

And yet, the moon outshines the sun today…

The Moon is whiter than ever.

An unusual sight-

The moon in the day.

A mixture of madness and reality-

Is all I can see now…

But the question still screams for an answer:


Which is which?




The pain in my head grows fiercer with each day…

So many connections.

So many lights.

So many noises.

So many thoughts.

So much white light…

Yet also black air suffocating me.

People, people.

Why do you ask me what I do not know?

Why do you shout and shout?

And pierce me with your black whispers?

I cry, I shout.

I grimace, I run.

I try and jump over hurdles higher than my soul…

I trip.

I fall.

Gravel in my knees,

Blood in my walk.

A vice like hand is crushing my mind.

The hell inside of me is growing tired.

I hurt.






Surrounded everywhere by everything.

I am surrounded by it all.



Illuminated in black venom is this word,

Screaming out from within me,

Trying to escape from my desperate soul…

No one will listen.

No one can listen.

Not anymore.

Not when the noise deafens,

And my scream is nothing but a feeble breath falling through the abyss,

Among uncountable voices, all vying for their space…

Like they are trying to get through their own personal, physical hell…

No one hears…

And yet I keep screaming-




White Violin

The blind violinist plays,
To an audience she cannot see.
She bows to the applause,
She’s on the street,
But she can’t be sure…
Yet still she bows to the audience she cannot see–

She hears a door closing,
A key turning,
Locking her in…

She listens and ignores,
She just keeps playing,
Imagining the calls of “encore, encore”…


The day when something happens, a death, a life.

A ripping apart, a bringing together.

These things shape who we are.

Afterwards, we see.

Maybe more, sometimes less.

But mostly, just differently.

Connections, details and harmony between impossible things.

A lurid, yellow flower against a black sky.

We know what is meant to be, but it never is.

We want the world to be as we wish, as we saw it once before.

But there is no return from our one-way street.

Understanding the patterns, but not the whole picture.

Saying words that people want us to say, not knowing what they mean.

Being ourself, our new self, is against the rules.

Whose rules?

The rules of the unaffected.

We are different.

They say we are strange, broken.

Are we?

Are they?

Only one can be right.

But we are left and they are right.

But left can not exist without right.

So are we right?

The answer to this concocted riddle,

Is within itself.