City of Molten Souls

Once upon a time
yes, it starts like this
time was a defining moment
a second of realization
that was stamped in
4 simple words

“Once upon a time”
there came an event
that changed the path one simple person
blinded by the routine that has been injected
in his blue veins

He was addicted to it without knowing
a junkie of life, slowly smoking its daily alarms
tapping the ticking needle,
that merciless needle of time
that stops for nothing and no one
falling in the deep illusions of its mushrooms
embodied in cup after cup of caffeine beans
then suddenly crashing in his bed
with a body full of alcohol
the perfect ending for any life junkie
who has succumb to the seducing moments
of a daily routine

Once upon a time
he woke up in his 4 walled bedroom
where pink floyd greeted him with his colored poster
and a psychedelic vortex poster on the next
welcomed his vision
the heat from the summer sun
melted him, sweat droplets
covered his face,
he ached for the morning breath
but it had failed to satisfy his lungs

the summer sun
was careless
he has never experienced such heat
he sat on the edge of his bed
looking through his book of survival
a book an ex of his gave him
for some reason that has slipped his mind
“she probably knew about this” he pondered

“How to survive the end of the world heat?
A step by step survival strategy”


The heat increased forcing his posters to melt
the colors trailed down the walls like colored
tears on the cheek of white porcelain doll

“Did she know?” the question seems to stick to his thoughts
He rushed to the window at the end of his curved room opened the shutters
“FUCK, the world is melting”
He noticed his neighbors carrying buckets and buckets of melted colors
and throwing them from the balcony
creating waterfalls of rainbows, yet conveying
the agony and suffering of the heat

His body was in a state of wetness
the room is falling apart
in the midst of all this, the thought of her
still lingers, eating up his brain

“Who would ever buy such a book?”
when he felt the floor’s texture morphing to liquid form
he knew that this was not a joke
He rushed across the wobbly stairs
their tiles were melting together
forming a river of white with polka dots

His legs were shaking with fear
“i need to make it outside, before the melting
heat eats up my skin”

His body was slippery with sweat
he could see the door
the view was mirage like
the heat made the vision wavey
you see the heat embodied in the air

As he ran across the falling colors from the balcony
all he could think of was that girl and her book

why was she part of his life? why that book?

He ran down the streets
of melting sidewalks
and red bricks
across the screams that horrified him
across the glass that was overcoming the ground
with its translucent colors

all the melting hues seemed to gather
at the end of the street, in a puddle
his body was slowly taking part of the paint concoction
the screams melted away, the sun was hotter than ever

he felt his last breath leaving his body
he took one last look at the sun, it was as yellow
as an innocent child’s drawing of it

while he was being swept away
he saw a paint brush, a huge one
tearing the sky apart and reaching
for his blue eyes that were on the verge of melting

it touched him, that giant brush was dipping its
smooth end in the red of the melting bricks, the grey of the sidewalks
and and the blue of his eyes

he screamed as his eyes melted away
joining the molten magma of the city

once the brush exited the skies
it made its way on a canvas
his soul was alive, he felt the brush
move his blue eyes across the tabula rasa
he heard a giggle
a familiar one
a feminine soft one
that would always compliment any joke he made

It was her!
the woman behind the brush!

She was painting a new world
Pollocking a new city
with the sun by her side
and the city of screams
and colors
in her hand

Through it all
she melted once before
but has allied with the sun
to create a new

melting face



She woke up one day
with IV tubes in each arm
surprised at the matter
she looked frantically
for a familiar face
to ease the shock factor
that has overtaken her
in a split second

Her white robe instilled
a sense of confusion and a dash of fear
“what’s going on?” her mind repeated
the white walls of the room failed to respond
the echo of her voice did not succeed at relaying
the message to a humanoid or even someone capable
of responding

She inspected the room, the IV tubes
she noticed that each baggie at the end
had a name of a person, people that were
familiar to her, to her life
She could not make up the description below
but since the liquid within wasn’t red, she was sure
she wasn’t donating blood, but it was liquid of different colors
leaving her body …

This sparked even more fear
why her? why was her body a medium
from which these baggies with names are collecting

Her instincts kicked in
she did not agree with the fact
that her own temple is being abused
as a lab rat

She removed the tubes from her pulsing veins
and ran down the door full hallway
the whiteness of the place was disturbing
the walls emitted cold, her skin did not like it
the kind of cold that your heart knows is followed
by a demerit to paint its purity black

She saw a cabinet
“files, records, that’s good” she vocalized
she was sure she’d find the answers to her presence there
Her feet could not pace her anxiety,
they ran like wild horses away from that horrid room
away from those parasitic baggies that just hung there
getting fattened by different colored liquids
from the same person

Flipping through the files
her name flashed in front of her tired eyes
she just noticed how lethargic she is
picked it up and opened it

She saw endless columns of names
she knew – but did not want her memory
to remember or even highlight the brim
of their existence

“what do they want?
what the hell were they extracting?”

As her vision trailed with her finger
after each name, she traced it back
to the “Reason” column

Her eye lids flickered in astonishment
“They want my essence?”

She closed the folder
and followed the exit arrows to reach the roof top
it was dark, the car honks and the lights
made it look like a loud teenage club
nothing was in sync, but as a whole
it looked just fine
she sat on the ledge
aching for a cigarette
she saw another man
with a white coat, smoking a rolled

“Hey you..
yea you.. roll me one”

He looked at her
his dark framed glasses
reflected the lights of the city
his coal dark hair brushed back
in a sleek manner that reflected his own

“Ah, it’s you, I was up here thinking
about your case… why everyone wants your essence”

She walked up to him, with
whatever was left of her energy
“So you know” as she watched him
roll her cigarette

“Of course, have you looked at
yourself lately? did you notice
your pale skin?”

She couldn’t pin point the color under the
blue night sky
but she had one question boggling her

“Why were the baggies with names and each had a different color?”

She dragged the nicotine stick, gestured for a lighter
and paused in anticipation

“you see, those were people in your past
who have been infected… well not infected
let’s say blessed with your essence
time has slowly but surely taken its toll
on the sparkle that you left in them
so they gathered and requested
some of your essence to be injected back into their lives
since they cant chop you apart and keep
bits and pieces of you” he smirked

“Each baggie knew which essence to withdraw
hence the different colors, baggie 1- I forgot the label
wanted the humor you injected, that’s why it was pink
the blue baggie was full of your wit…” he exhaled smoke as
he told her

She was speechless
Every time she tried to say something
silence filled her mouth and ate her words

“I came up here to wait for your process to finish
but here you are
on the verge of collapsing, yet so curious”

She turned to leave
her robe slid from her shoulder
The doctor, yelled
there’s still some left
on your shoulder ……”

She ran like no tomorrow
towards the red exit sign
“what have
they given me?”

color back tattoo no lines

The Other You

She’s in bed
it’s 10:00 pm, the series in the background
provided her with comfort noise
it’s odd, she always needs sound
not traffic sounds, but music,
conversation, brightness, light

She’s in shorts, in her room
facing a wall, with a painting
it’s not straight, but her body is too weak
to get up and fix it, yet it’s fucking with her brain

Her legs are exposed
her skin is happy, as the fan blows
chilly breezes across from them
lacing them with a coat of cold

Her legs are crossed, as if they missed one another
those long winter months, kept them covered
hidden from each other

She’s sitting on her bed
back relaxed on the mountain of pillows
that separated her from the wall
she’s sitting, lethargic
yet at peace

She’s enjoying her aloneness
it’s solitude, not loneliness
please don’t confuse
she picked up her wine cup
ornamented with droplets of humidity
she sipped it, licked her lips after she’s done

She’s not paying attention to what’s
playing on television, even though her eyes
are fixated on the screen,

She’s sitting on the bed, legs crossed, body stretched
back straight, fan on, painting in front, eyes on television
but mind somewhere else

Electricity went out!
“That’s great” she sarcastically uttered
she decided to light a cigarette,
she took one out of her crumpled pack
“PHEW, it’s not broken” she sighed in relief

As she sparked her lighter
she saw a shadow, in front of her
she took a short breath
counted to 3, then lit that flame again

With her hand shaking,
she could see the borders of the shadow
with anxiety seeping in, she moved her flame around
she could see her surroundings intact
but that shadow was sitting there, not moving
looking back,

it said nothing, it did not even flinch
after a second or two, she could see it
standing up and coming closer
her hand got numb, the light went off, dropping the lighter
she could feel the shadow against her

it embraced her,
she was stiff with fear,
she managed to grab her phone
she put the light on

Her walls were covered with writings
she squinted her eyes, since her glasses were no where to be found

it was her writing, or writings for that matter


she went on reading and remembering
each and every sentence, every quote
every word,

the writing was lit
it glowed,

the walls were covered from ceiling to floor
all four walls

She wanted to move but couldn’t

the shadow still hugged her, making her motionless

cigarette went out, she noticed there no smoke in the room
the room lit with words

She heard something, she couldn’t make up what it was
it felt like her mind was conversing with her

“you have a world out there
scribble those thoughts on walls
floors, ceilings, engrave them on humans
tattoo them on rebels
voice them across oceans and skies”

She felt as if she was drugged
she was numb, her mind was racing
so were her heartbeats

“who the fuck are you?
who is this?” she asked frantically

Electricity came back

she saw her wine cup was done
a pencil in hand and papers of random scribbles

“Could it be
that the writer in
me has a world
of her own?”

logan by oil Mcavoy


Butterflies you say
they have fled my being
to a lost land
that adventurers seek

Goosebumps, the ones
that ignite your skin
in a series of nervous reactions
have hibernated
hiding away from the coldness
that has taken over

Adrenaline has become an acquired drug
the one you need a prescription for
or nepotism to get your hands on some

Eye glistens, those are now
found in a fairy tale, the one
that once you narrate
starts a series of
“awwws” and melodies
of lovely sighs

Loss of appetite, well
that’s there, but that just
a bodily calling, for fear of
starvation – no longer
linked to euphoria

Rosey cheeks, they now
reminisce over the memories
of warm moments, blushing
torments, that expose the inner
most deepest feelings

Flame inside, it has dimmed
making way for more ideas
new replacements, new habits
new lights, bright delights
in the form of creative juices

Ah nostalgia, what a trip
what a glorious memory,
yet for some messed up reason
when you lay your tender lips on mine
You spontaneously ignite
the serious of previous events
in a split
resulting in an explosion of color
painting my world

agnes cecile

Art by Agnes Cecile


Jittering fingers she’s nervous
“what the fuck is happening?”
This is a first! IT SCARED her
of course it did

it was the first time
she experienced such a feeling, a loss, confusion
and even a bit of nausea

the fucking blinking line why isn’t it moving,
why aren’t her fingers dancing on letters?
Have they become weary
or is it that her brain has become dreary?

She wants to scribble and doodle
even paint a mural but why have her ideas abandoned her?
Could it be that her heart is empty?
Could it be that her spirit is slowly fading
into this so called routine
that they glorify so ideally?

what is happening,
her colors have darkened
and her eyes are dim,
lifeless indeed this is horrific

I am sorry but this does seem grim

Her nails are chipping
and her skin is aching
her brain is screaming,
yearning for a meaning

the loud noise in her head pertains to her,
she only hears it but she looks around,
seeking conformity
she wants to see if anyone else,
is listening

Could it be that those injections of “busy”
have sedated her wild spirit?
Could it be sucking her blood
deriving the color within?

Could it be that she’s overdosing on “busy”?
Slowly enjoying the things momentarily
before she’s gone completely

As I was ending this entry she looked at me,
got closer she lay her hand on mine
pale white cold skin, long boney fingers
“please don’t let me go”
she said as she locked her blue eyes on mine

I startled and confused asked
“Who are you?”
She smirked using her last joule of energy
“Your inspiration”

woman stare


When did this all start?
When all your energy is being sucked in
by your daily needle?

When did you become so exhausted
with life? You were a flame
a fire sign to be exact?

No one could tame your sparks
You were bubbling with fireworks
Your music was your own
in your head or all around you

The way you walked
looked like dancing, your eyes were even closed
so you could unite with your own melodies

Your night was your life
you lived for the moonlight and the
star twinkles
You lived for chilled nights
and wild thoughts

When did this all start?
Could it be that you are aging
that time is whipping you into shape
opening your eyes to that grim future
that everyone plans for
the house,
the family,
the security,
the comfort

Hold on a second
You have that now,
But what did your sparks dwindle to?

They are still there
I can see them in the golden
hues in your hair

Why aren’t you out, why are you
giving them sleeping pills to secure
your rest?

Snap out of it,
don’t ever compare
that’s the biggest sin you can commit
and the biggest guilt you can self inflict

Go, walk naked
dance with eyes closed
let your hair be messy

Go hug and kiss
you are a beautiful creature
with endless energy
with colors of possibilities

Go smoke your cigarette
with friends, laugh at your own will
let your wings open
stand on that railing
and fly to where your mind

there’s a world out there
also naked wanting to feel its skin
on yours




When was the last time you actually looked into someone’s eyes
when they were talking to you!?

When was the last time you actually saw the words connect
your vision to theirs?

Did you ever notice that it makes them fidget when
you gaze at them, with full concentration?

Did you ever notice that it makes them feel awkward?

Why can’t I look you in the eyes and tell you my story
Why do you have to monitor my face
my lips, my cheeks
my hand gestures?

Why does it bother you that I see nothing more
than your eyes?

Eyes, they amplify
eyes, they diversify
eyes, they quantify


Try it, look at them straight in the eyes
while they are conversing, don’t look weird
just listen with your eyes
and watch the connection

There’s a whole galaxy in there!


Can this be ?

Can this be
all that cocktail of events
can they merge in a beautiful
martini cup
The dense ingredients and the light
how could they possibly create such pretty hues?
They are shaken once, twice, three times to ensure
the fact that the weightless ones tangoed
with the more heavy dark ones?

I stood there
pondering at my reflection
watching as cocktail pours itself
to fill me up with intoxicating
Watching as my skin color changes
thickens and as my appearance ages

I do not have wrinkles
nor do I have creases
but as the cocktail of life
pours itself endlessly into me
I can observe the changes

I have the same eyes, the ones I used to
marvel at boys with, but now they marvel
at literature, at music, at the beauty of men
the same eyes that used to converse with passion
now they converse with logic and a bit of insanity

I see my reflection in front of me
in comparison to the old version
in my mind’s eye
I see the innocence slowly being
drowned away, slowly changing
to rationale

I see that my silhouette is slowly
being sculpted by the toxicity
of life’s cocktail

As it slowly fills me
I can feel my sobriety fading
being replaced by a different

I am not sure if they call it intoxication
because I am fully aware, I am aware

I am aware of the touches that play on my spine
I am aware of the kisses that I plant on lips
I am aware of the tears that glide down my cheeks
salting my sweet cheeks
I am aware of the naked moments that strip
all sense of bashfulness
I am aware of the smiles and laughter
and ignite the darkness of the night
I am aware of the spontaneity that pushes
me to dare myself

I am aware of that one more drink
that will push me off the edge
I am aware of this body that I have now
I am aware of what I can inflict
and how I inflict
I am aware of the person I am
I am aware that I no longer reflect
my old identity
I am aware that I surprise you
with my unexpected behavior
I am aware of the now

I am aware that I am in control
and I am independent
I am aware that I earned it

That cocktail is slowly eroding my naivety
My body is changing, curving with every
swirl that drink makes
My reputation is forming
My being is slowly being
set in stone, it just needs a bit more
one more round of that cocktail
let’s discover this self
that I still am

woman back


You had that skin
it thickened with time
it was soft at birth
spurring jealousy
among the elderly

It was pale and naive
Attracting them with such ease
it was aching to be touched
it was luring them with no stop
ever abrupt

It had goosebumps
from a smile and warmth
from hugs, it was traced with nerves
that ignited from the slightest touch

It carried you through tanned summers
and cold winters, it protected you
from acid rain and coated your heart
with a thin layer of nerves, naive nerves .. again

The clock ticked
You were still being elevated
through the strata of life
thorns piercing your skin
experiences clawing at it
love sadistically enjoying it
and your skin, it slowly adapting
the way nature intended it to

slowly morphing from its birth state
slowly aging beautifully
forming creases of stories
slowly thickening
slowly filtering the real
from the fairytales

You realize your slowly shedding
that phase of innocence, purity
your skin is slowly
morphing, beautifying
the scratching claws
are literally removing pieces of your flesh
uncovering the glow within
that you so stupidly hid
for fear of social acceptation

You’re reaching the surface
scratched, tattooed,
pierced, scarred, and sometimes
even pulled down

You’re floating
exposing the most beautiful
parts of you
You’re floating to the surface
with naked

float 2


Her notes are everywhere
pencils and faded lead on paper
She even has used erasers 
scattered in places where you 
can detect are her “use zones”

She has that yellow notepad
with scratches on notes, 
parenthesis on clauses 
written with such depth
you can tell she was serious when she wrote them

That bic pen cap
Oh poor thing, chewed on 
it almost seemed like she was sculpting
her thoughts, as she bit it
thinking, igniting her neurons
into starting some electrical chain reaction

Her papers had circular coffee stains
she must be clumsy, but that did not stop her
from using that stain as a boundary for an idea
a creative limit, to enclose that floating thought

Oh headphones! That must be her secret to
her enjoyable seclusion
Her collection must be vast
since her headphones are big enough
to make sure she heard every note,
every decibel, every strum, every beat
every drop

Look! Her doodles wander from one page
to another, from one notepad to the other
signifying that none stop flow of random
little things in her head
Small pencils that have been used till the end
sit in a small bowl, to the corner of her
She keeps them, they signify a journey of doodles
they have utilized, they have been carried around with her
She wants them there, she collects them, like how people
collect pennies!
Each pencil had his share of writing!

Look there!
Pages and pages of clustered lines of writing
She actually hand writes!
It’s been a while, since I have seen anyone
or any paper that isn’t typed! You can see where she lay
her hand as she continued to fill the empty lines,
that lingered for be penciled upon similar to
how a tattoo junkie aches to be inked!

She barely kept any white space between the lines
She likes it messy it seems, juicy and weighty
filled with on going run-on sentences
and only she can probably know where
to insert the right punctuation, the moments to breathe
and the moments to smile.

Cigarette pack! It lays next to the phone
I am jealous of those death sticks that touch her
lips, she must be one wordy person

She probably takes a break
when she’s had enough of her rowdy thoughts
running in circles, rectangles, triangles
basically in any sporadic direction in her head
until they make her drowsy, dizzy with overthought
not the bad kind, but the kind that needs nicotine fix

So much un-wasted paper
so many blunt pencils,
random post its with fragments
sometimes with cursive and sometimes not

I wonder, do you think
she’s written so much
that she has stenciled herself
to the person she is today?

Has she drawn her thick eye brows
colored her eyes a darker hue
outlined her silhouette with charcoal?
Has she thickened her rib cage and
slowly brushed over those feminine
naïve feelings that have cost her
almost everything?

As I saw the progression of possessions
in her zone, I noticed,
more broken pencils
darker intensified notes
paper depths.
I bet it wasn’t always like this

She must have
started with shy blurry lines
that left mystery for discovery
Secrecy, beauty, rowdy, blurry
and slow
woman pencil