The wind in the pebble.

Writing thoughts,
Is like trying to catch the wind,
Or holding hands with time.
You think you’ve got a good grasp,
But turn to look,
And see you’re holding onto death,
And that the wind is a stone,
And your thoughts are not even blood,
Or water; just a myth.

Untitled short.

I know that I am mad,
I often think of intense violence,
Followed by your gorgeous voice,
But I like the violence most.

Super Mario World, Level 3.

So delicately we throw our emotions around;
Like the bear dancing with the ballerina,
Whilst playing on a Gameboy,
Or the Lioness singing to the Gazelle,
As she tears at another piece of flesh,
And hair and guts,
All I want is some flesh to sing to,
And some hair and guts to love.

if you would like to leave feedback, please use the form below.