~Wise Night Owl's~


Is a word. Understated. A word so sprawled across, it defies its very definitions. Winged with defiance it invites us, to realms we perceived to be off-limits.

Free. Like one of its many symbols, is a bird, overtaking the skies with its magnanimity and its shadow is equipped with solidarity, a mere dark heraldic shape, of hope.

But free. Freedom. Isn’t pure. It bathes in the waters of those who have inflicted without cause and reasoning, and those, especially those, who have inflicted. It’s a pain that knows no good, no evil –  Its affliction blinds it of discernment. And in its moment of existence, all it identifies with is fire. Molten in veins, charred skin, and salt rubbed in wounds kind of fire.

Free. Is a release. A contamination which brews a preference to rather be  burned than sustain off the poisonous swamp its planted in. It’s an…

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 I don’t want to write 

 I don’t want to look at my emotions 

 In the form of familiar runes 

 Crammed into definitions too narrow 


 I don’t want to write and look 

 At the mess in my head 

 I don’t want to write 

 Because I keep forgetting how to 


 There is no formula to it

 Or is there and I possibly 

 Practice plausible deniability

 For the sake of not jinxing it


 I want to write 

 Yet my will withers at the thought

 What more could I express 

 That I haven’t already 


 What therapy and healing 

 Could it offer

 That I would accept 

 Without skepticism 


 I don’t want to write 

 Because it takes too much from me

 And it still is never enough 

 Never entirely satisfied 


 Like storms that exhaust their reserves

 But never quite end

 A bolt continuing to strike the same spot 

 Long after it has turned to ash 


 No I don’t want to write 

 I gave it my all 

 When I had nothing left 

 To feed off



 I don’t want to write 

 Because I’m no longer in control

 Of turning it off


No, I don’t want to write 

It’s too deeply etched 

An extension of me 

Now a separate entity on its own 


No I don’t want to write 

It has grown having set its roots in me 

I can’t stop without cutting it off

Without cutting myself free


I want to explore vulnerability
Be vulnerable emotionally
Without feeling like a bank
About to be robbed

They say there’s strength in being open
And how it’s a requirement
For humanly bonds to form and strengthen
But I fear that’s a generalization
Forced upon most like me

What if some connections did connect
Under such instructions and others didn’t
I’m afraid I see emotional vulnerability
As more of a crippling factor
Than a building one

I’ve treaded on these waters
Times only but a few and I’ve tested
The limitations and expirations
I say I want to be limitless and not restrict myself
But what if this trust and exploration 
With how one articulates their emotions
Leads to the collapse 
Of all I’ve managed to construct
Without crippling myself 


Lost and disconnected from ourselves
Watching moving pictures
Sympathizing with plots fictional
But not quite feeling it
The audios loop and tamper
With the otherwise steady flow in my wires
Sounds like external disturbance and I label it so
But it’s not
I seek these inputs
As a distraction for my system 
To sift through files better left unaccessed 
The world and all its games 
Have my energy running out
I’m sick of this recurring theme
To be caught in its loops
And lose all will and motivation
This battle has lasted too long
A war fought with all lost to ashes
And I shift between worlds
My words change with them
There’s a coping system that systematically
Brands all and comes up with logical explanations
Then there’s the other side
The more human part of me
I’m losing access to it
I function well in tune with the basics of survival
Wake up
Clockwork and inhuman
I’m becoming
The human in me
Fades into the abyss of space
A mere memory
Fried from its hardware
I function
But I don’t

Remember me

Remember me like ruins
That hide what’s beneath
My works may not have been worthy of archives
My art not valuable enough for galleries
My vocal cords not mellow enough for an audience
But you will feel me
Riding away with the wind
Humming to a tandem of tunes
See me
Nothing more than a tragicomic doodle
In an alley you haven’t tread on in years
And you will remember me
I live in the crevices of the ordinary
Living off the marrow of trees trancing
To an unfaithful breeze brushing past your mundane life
See me
Hear me
Feel me
Fear me
I’m the life you lost
The craft you lusted for
Now just a could have
A should have
That you didn’t live
Remember me
Like the repentance
You carry in your pores
I’m the wind you should have felt
The tune you didn’t sing
And the art
You were too afraid to become 


When they think of me

May it be with intention or subtlety

Remind one of desolate places

And peeling walls

With paints of vivid colours splayed across

May the words be connotations of buckets with stale water

And brushes that reek of alcohol and turpentine

If by any chance you chance upon a sheet or two

Drifting through windowless halls

Sheaves of scribbles

Torn and probably incomplete

Remember me

Recall me in that moment

And only for a moment

For a moment in desolation

Lasts longer than an eternity