Nobody really knows
Nobody can peel
Or grate
The layers
Nobody can look
The underneath
The inside
It’s too damaged
Too complex
Soul-encompassing curtains
Slide across
To reveal
The stage is full
Of black-painted windowsills
Which come to show more windows
Behind more curtains
Truth disloyal
Still all-veiled.


run away

There is this urge within me to run very far away, to golden plains,

Drenched in the sun.

When life gets too much;
when thoughts jumble up

and I touch

the possibility

of emancipation.

Don’t Panic

Really now, don’t panic. Does writing to yourself constitute panicking? Just don’t do it. There. No. Don’t panic.

Words are Jumble
Words are fun,
especially when they dart meaningless dagger-points at unsuspecting pages of a book of SANITY.

So, don’t panic.

Oh look! A potato!!!

Oh look! A potato!!!
So velvety
So porous
a la knife and fork
Fork and knife
Knife and spoon
Piercing through the coagulated meaty sauce
Fleshy find
Mash it
Smash it
Play with it in your fingers
Toss it through
the un-transparent window.
Through the broken-glass.

Find it in your sleep
And dream of mushy landscapes.

Written by: Flameheart

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