If there were no restraints
I would skin the skin off of your body
and spread it on my canvas
and with a knife cut the words I want
to say to leave an impression
of the pain you signed on my heart
with beat and and a thud

If I could remove the anchor
that weighs my tongue down
from the insecurities that clothe me
I would stand naked and confident
to show you how my skin
speaks in a language only linguists
understand.. a dead language not common
to the common sense.

If I could enjoy the delicacies
of life, anytime I please, to taste
the forbidden fruit of spontaneity
I would leave bite marks
on scrumptious beauties
that seduce my eye
before my appetite

If I could put my best foot forward
I would step on all the muck that
made it harder for me to get over
all the thorns of guilt
regret, killed pride
that kept pulling me back
with that a magnetic pull
that has sucked me
into a black hole
of unknowns

If my eyes could speak
what’s on the tip of my tongue
at all times, each person
I encounter
I would have volumes of
first impressions that change
with the setting, the time, the context
and oh of course
the moment

If my hands could
dance on your skin
would trace the mistakes
my skin has endured

If I could sword fight
against every lie
that dressed itself in the most
beautiful colors, just to paint
my world with a false hue
I would slice the façade layer
of fakeness that I fell for
and turned it into my world

If there was a day
that I myself could
narrate what my instincts
tell me,
what churns in
a gut full of alcohol
I would
have lived a
different story
and what you see
in front of you
would be a completely
human being

Artist Unknown (well to me)





I ran against time
this morning, hoping
I’d get somewhere
hoping every step
stomps the life out of yesterday

My breath tried to catch itself
against the beating lungs
cloaked by the thick layer
of tar, I blame on
every angry inhale
of a death stick
I finish

My eyes fought
the light of day
that lit like a torch
from the behind the night
burning all my dreams away
a sense of innocence
filled the dirty streets of my city
a mist like incense smoke
in a church injecting a holy feel
in these streets of hell

Shops opening
humming prayers
hoping God graces
their day to come
with blessings of green
that turn their pockets heavy
and their homes filled
with warmth with satisfaction

I ran past morning dog walkers
succumbing to a ritual
of walking and pausing
I saw people standing in front
of ATMs that looked
like confession stands
silently humming their prayers
their sins, entering numbers
that will get them
closer to the false god that they
praise ever so religiously

I ran past dawn
across the finish line
of yesterday, past the past
past the moments
that turned to memories
past the today of yesterday
I ran past my breaths that no longer
belonged to me
the ideas that didn’t live on paper
that remained
under the
ashes of
auld lang syne

running gif


Spilled Paint

She lay there in front of me
sugarcoated with the light of dawn
her skin showed me stretchmarks
of her past
that clawed their way on her breasts
on both sides
it looked as if she wanted to open
her rib cage and give that heart
of hers
some space

I traced them
hoping these creases would lead
me to the fountain of youth
that once nestled in that cage
of hers

Yet I found my palm resting
in that valley, between her mounds
a valley with a beat that let out a thud
every time her eyes blink
every time she speaks
like a tribal drum complying
to her sermon
summoning the gods
to listen to her prayers
pleading for a miracle

As I caressed her
I could see her eyes
were somewhere else
in a world I have yet to open
and the key to those doors
is another adventure
she has yet to grant me access to

“Where are you?”

She took a cigarette from
that crumpled pack that has made it
through sessions of anger
reckless nights of spilled drinks
and placed it on her dry lips
those with cracks that have yet
to be wet with a lover’s kiss

She turned her head to face
the bedroom window
her escape to the outside world

“Don’t you see it?”

As she turned her body
to face the moon,
her bones slithered under
her skin, like waves
that look so beautiful
and so bold

My vision traced hers
to end on the night sky
she exhaled
blurring my vision
clouding the stars outside
with poisonous smoke

“it looks like rain”

It started drizzling

I looked back at her.

She took a drag from her cigarette
that she treated like a lover
kissing it passionately
clouding her mind

The glowing line
that bordered her silhouette
separating her from the rest
of the world
started to blur
and blend into
her surrounding
back into
that cloud of smoke
that harnesses
my dreams

Art by Daniel Hayek

Art by Daniel Hayek


Moon Lover

The halves of you
glowed under the sun
and showed me a sense of purity
that I once saw, in childhood

A type of transparency
that’s cloaked with lightness
with pure vision

A version of innocence
that turned all the greyness
of those temple stones
to colors that made no sense
but married beautifully together

The halves of you
molded seamlessly
together like Persian carpet
threading an image
from millions of colored

I saw a woman
that the sun embraced with beauty
natural enough for nature
to call its own
and the moon…
oh the moon… brave enough
to call his “lover”

Strong in speech
that words weighed in wisdom
comforting and warm at times
yet blazing and awakening at other
they balanced like the forces of nature
when the time is right for each

Dawn looked down
at the stability of her forces
and wanted to pause time
at the thin line between night and day
that galactic fluorescent line, between purple and blue
just to see a glimpse of her
a sight only he and her lover
can see..
a sight of magic
he called it

The halves of you
spoke through your eyes
in times of silence
when the stars took the sky
and those who can read the stillness
understood …
and smiled

Balinese Nights

When in Bali





It will never make sense
why the sun rises
with a smile
and other times
with happiness
miles away

Why mornings
can be cold
with no lover to hold
and others
with warmth
that melts the coldest
of winters

Why some days
are productive
rewarding your sense of being
and others
lazy and hazy
collecting the dust
the sun sets you in bed

time can be quick
as quick as sobriety leaves
you on a Friday night
and others
it lags like
dripping strings of honey
elongated, slow, defying
all the literal meaning
of a second, a minute..

Why the mind races
at the sight of still beauty
other times it casts
the dark veil of apathy
on your daily vision
with elevator music
playing in your mind

Why catastrophes lead to crisis
when the sun is shining
existential questioning
that hover over your head
like an unwanted halo

Some days you hunger
for the unknown
aching to satiate
that sweet taste of curiosity
others you just let life
toss you from side to side
like a pendulum
ticking with time

Why some ..times
the stars marvel
at your beauty
your solidarity

Why flowers
seduce you with their beauty
while on other days
hurt you
when try to grab
love by the stem

It will never make sense
so why try
to make
sense of it



Her Room

Her room is a mess
much like her soul
her bedsheets
tell the story of lovers
that loved
those that used
and passer-by’s

Her walls plastered
with posters
with illustrations
that reminded her of the innocence
that once was
and the innocence
that yet remains
somehow, somewhere
deep inside

6 dead roses stand tall
defying the test of time
reminding her
of the years that passed
since she once felt

Her desk
a clutter of stolen shot cups
of memorable nights
actually not really, the shot
is her only memory
that dangle holding
compliments, and insults
but they’re her favorite

Napkins of random dinners
with doodles and dates
lay there collecting dust
creating a history
of what was to be

Creams and eye liner
to remind her of beauty
that one that people wear
to evade age and somehow
stand out, but honestly
it’s just a step closer
to blend in

Perfumes and scents
that take her back
in time to moments
that once mattered,
to relive winter with his hand in hers
walking under the rain
wet hair, messy scarf and that scent
an overdose of nostalgia
that knocks her out of “now”
fainting into “back then”

That leather book
fat with notes
dented with pressured writing,
dried flowers that call it home,
glued papers, messages
pages upon pages
of word vomit
that dried out the bad scent
of anger, that nestled in her core
That leather book of sinful confessions
lay there, with a pencil inside
longing for her touch
every night …
awaiting the day’s

A pack of cigarettes
that seduces her fingers
to rest one between
her index and the middle one
to lay on her lips
tempting her to inhale
the day’s exhaustion
and exhale
I am

flower ring

Line of Light

Waiting for the sun
to line the cusp of dawn
wetting the cigarette path
that has ashed my throat
with the last sip of yesterday
I saw my tomorrow
sugarcoated with a hangover
and sprinkled with reality

I am still alive

It’s up
I can taste the realization of tomorrow
as the rays of the sun spill over the sky

I don’t want it,
I lie there in my ashtray
holding on to a reckless night
memory-less, worry-free
I don’t want it

My shutters try to shield
the light of day
try to fight the hands of time
as they pull the blanket from me
down the body
trailing down my breathing lungs
undressing me
from that feeling of slumber
that has paralyzed my body

I still don’t want it

The memories start surfacing
like diluted ice spending the night
in my drink, slowly and lightly
yet I still drink it keeping it
nestled in the bottom
sipping on the liquid
keeping my inhibitions low
and my tolerance

Lying there
balancing on the thin line
between awake
and sleeplessness
my eye lids
fell heavy
closing the shutters
of my body
into the land of dreams
where my fantasies
keep me very far
from a morning
of realities

here not here


Just like a flower
she took her time
to soak up the brightness
of the sun and bloom
into a ripe
mature fruit
seducing the Adams
of the world
to sin with the first bite
of sweetness

Reveling in her nudity
as that nectar trails
down her soft arms
there’s nothing more beautiful
than what nature
clothed her with

Pale white skin
soft and plum
with sun and sweetness
with natural freckles
from those burning
passionate sun kisses

She sways with the rays
making sure
every curve gets a taste
of those golden touches

Hair of curly nature
thanks to the wind
that played in every thread
to put her to sleep
twisting breaths of strength
to withstand forces
that oppose hers

Golden in nature
touched by the harps
of angels
for when she walks
music fills the air
sunshines fills darkness
yet remember
she’s the origin of sin
isn’t she?

Her eyes

The sun
has embedded stars in those eyes
so they shine back at the moon
when she watches the sky at night
and talks to the moon
to remind the him
of his lover, the sun

Come, she tells me
my body
could not but comply
and my heart
could not





Consider This

Consider this
your mind racing
every thud

Consider this
eyes that comply
and a mind
that counts..

when.. reading..

Consider yourself
no rules
no guilt trip

Consider yourself
of past
and present

Consider yourself
bold, brave
staring back
at life’s ambiguity
and giving it the finger

Consider yourself
borderline careless
jumping at any
without enough time
to process the aftermath
its aftermath

Consider yourself
in love
selfishly, selflessly
and insanely
to understand
the meaning of chemical imbalance
have a taste mental illness, a day in a straight jacket
for a change

Consider yourself
enough to pursue happiness
the simple one
that makes your heart laugh
and your face glow
that magic

Consider yourself
of anything
and everything
able of painting
over blankness
and blackness
and gilding
and forming new worlds

Consider yourself
with the pleasures of life
high on emotions
hyper on thought generation
ecstatic on ideation
drunk on writing

Consider yourself
in control
of situations
whipping them into shape
and inking your mark
on every single
high and low
in every row

Consider yourself
to be yourself
change for

Photography by Helmut Newton

Not For You

On my planet
hearts don’t fall,

On my planet
the sun doesn’t set,

On my planet
the moon doesn’t glow,

The stars don’t glisten

The mind doesn’t rest

On my planet
tongues don’t speak,

Lips don’t caress

Eyes don’t blink


Tears don’t wet

Hands don’t stay still

On my planet
things don’t get broken
get beautiful

on my planet
some are invited
won’t even
make it