Some call it wisdom, some call it philosophical, some call it pretentious rubbish. Me, I am just a bit relieved that there are still words left that I deem worthy to share with the world.



To feel hope means letting go of the harrowing thoughts inside of me

If I were a painter, I would paint an open cage

If I were a poet, I would write words that made sense

But I am just a jester floating on lilac light

Feeling hope means remembering the broken fragments residing in me


First poem of the year.


If I was able to sleep, I would dream of a blink in an eye when your colour seeps into mine. Light and love fill every part of my being. One last time before everything changes. All the things we used to have and used to be... Nothing. Everything. A fantasy that becomes reality. High up in my tower, I left parts of me to turn into a spirit that is holding your hand and is cradling your tired mind. But I don't sleep. I will never fall asleep again.


Black hands are clawing at my dreams
Stealing those rare moments of peace.
Shaking and shivering, I turn to you, my safe light.
You understand what I need; tell me to breathe,
until the evil spirits vanish and leave.
Protected in your arms, I drift off to sleep.

Madness is Sadness

Down this river, I swam
As if someone had stolen my ham.
I ran and I ran
Chasing after the hen.
Swimming and running
Of course, I was looking stunning.
No hair out of place
No run in my lace.
Threading water and kicking stones
whispering my moans.
If the moon hides my madness
The sun blinds my sadness.
Chasing dreams that never were
Seeing my life go by in a blur.
Stop! I yelled and stood still
It was time to taste the yellow pill.
Too tired to understand the rabbits in my head
I lay down on top of your bed.
Losing my mind between your sheets
I was remembering my time on the streets.
I was the meat and you were the butcher
Joined with sutures.
Black beauty was fading
As an imminent result of your degrading.
But the tambourine man kept playing his songs
To keep me where I never belonged.
I jumped off the mountain and landed on the moon
If I survived, I would sleep until noon.
Kiss me away and draw me in the sand
Toss me aside like I am banned.
I ran from you and run to you
Never mind my footprintโ€™s tattoo.
Out of the river, I rose
Striking a glorious pose.
And as you watched me from afar
I shone brighter than the stars
Our fling was too good to be true
It resulted in our hearts bleeding, black and blue.
There is never an end to this sham, thatโ€™s why
Down this river, I swam
As if someone had stolen my ham.
I ran and I ran
Chasing after the hen.



I am not sure what I was drinking/thinking that night in 2018 when this left my fingers, but this must be one of the weirdest pieces I ever wrote. Thoughts?

Throwback poetry

Memories of you are dripping off the edge of my mind,
forming a puddle at my feet.
I might drown in the melancholia
of past days.
The November rain mingles with the remnants
of my grief.
To hold you again,
to taste your skin
one last time.
It all comes down to greed
I need more
more time
more me
more you;
More of everything.
Memories of you are dripping off the edge of my mind,
turning into a river.
I fall off the cliff.
Catch me while I
sacrifice my wings.
I am
and all I want is

(November 2015)

my sun

If I could live without you and go where my mind wants to send me, darkness would be my comforting blanket. But I cannot breathe without you, and my heart keeps racing into your arms, where I find a love so strong that everything feels like a new sunrise.ย 
Sunrise as seen from our old home (Sept. 22nd, 2017)


Through the shadows of the trees shines the moon for you and me
It guides us on our path over mountains and seas
Your hand in mine and all the emotions in your eyes
Starfall over night thoughts, and we walk through the rain
Every moment we experience has a reason and a meaning
For my love grows every time our souls and bodies are entwined.


She became a habit that was hard to shake. A thought that became clearer and clearer until he needed to have his fix every day. More and more. There was nothing he could do. He became addicted to her mind. He was addicted to the little oddities and eccentricities. It had to be her. Every day he needed a little piece of her. She was a habit that was hard to shake.

Take me home tonight

He intended to leave with grace, but he is unable to forget her face
The feel of her skin against his fingers, it is a memory that still lingers
He walks down the empty street; head bowed down in defeat
She is an explosion in his emotions, tears in neverending oceans
He wants to hold her one more time and see her light shine
And there she is, under a streetlight, illuminated by the nightย 
He remembers the smell of her hair, and strolls over there
Their eyes meet, and he wants to run. What if she is done?
But she is not; she holds out her hand as if there had never been an end
That slight touch makes everything right, and they walk off into the midnight.
Together, at last, he is glad that life without her is in the past.