glass bottles

They cracked when i saw you,
That very first time,
these bottles of mine,
I keep them inside me,
They are glass you know,
They keep me sturdy, and firm,
They straighten my back,
Elongate my posture,
But they are just glass,
feeble,fragile, delicate glass,
the liquids inside them,
both fragrant and pungent,
I’ve collected for years,
From the drainage pipes of my soul,
Fluids of pain,
Fluids of angst,
Fluids of passion,
I’ve stored for years,
They have fermented now,
Some fine wines,
Others disgusting sludge,
And now they leak,
Since they cracked when i saw you,
That very first time,
These bottles of mine,
Now i worry,
What will happen if you touch me,
How they will crackle and shatter,
filling my body with spirits and poisons,
dissolving my soul,
Impossible to reconstruct,

open wounds

These damned lesions haunt me,
With their constant bleeds,
21 years 10 months is what they tell me,
Since the last attack,
the cardiologist operated once,
Said he found a knife lodged in,
This monstrous pain beholden to 21 years of rust,
The doctor said he couldn’t excise it,
Apparently I must do it myself,
Be both surgeon and patient,
But whenever I grasp the scalpel,my arms shake,
The cold table leaved me frozen in cold,
I feel it all,
The anesthetic lulls me no more
This pain I am espoused,
beside me day by day,
Shall bury me,
Because with each day,
I grow progressively weaker,
I wonder how much longer I have
Before these open wounds take me.

the nihilist’s prayer

We are but mirrors,
false reflections of the truth,
sentenced to forever imitate,
what nev’r will be,
Ugly misshapen receptacles of the ideal,
And now we have cracked,
Shattered into hopeless shards,
How then shall we recapture that old brilliance,
the brilliance of the true sun,
Must we wait,
Till Midas arrives,
To paint us a golden portrait,
Of the forgotten disc,
Before the wroughtness,
Takes away our shiny surface
Forever leaving us lost,
to the brilliance.

I shall interrupt this dialogue of old,
reveal treasures unseen,
In thine chest,
unleash wonders,
debunk all these blunders,
Within my monologue,
Uncover enlightenment,
In places oft ignored,
With the tenor of my voice,
For I am the one they call Gold,
Bolder than the blond,
They killed me before I spake,
The past before last,
Now I return,
They shall hear,
You shall all hear,
And if I must,
I shall tear thine oratorial orifice,
for he who hears but listens not


It only ever precipitates,
Never to dissolve,
Even after I have mixed it with my blood,
Inhaled it,
It refuses to dissolve,
this existence of mine,
Continually drowning me instead.
I can’t wait till the fluid fills my lungs.