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



He entered that desired chamber of old sculptures

Ancient paintings holding mysterious stories

It gave him a rush, a natural adrenaline injection

To feast his eyes on the historical beauties

that have been preserved through time
that hold a certain connection between their creator
and the viewer
Fucking hell, what a link!

He marveled at each painting
trying to fabricate a story for each one
satisfying his own little fantasy
in his mind

He paused at each one
he looked at the voluptuous women
he squinted to see their eyes, where they were looking
“was she the artist’s lover?”
“look at how detailed her features are?”
“was it due to countless hours of love making
pondering, that the artist has beautifully portrayed it as such?”
“was she his fantasy, a lover that he never found, but would have loved to create?”

He glided on that smooth floor,
time travelling from one era to the other
from one painting to another sculpture
He has found his haven, he felt liberated
from that social strains that have killed
every sense of creativity he had left

but hey!! He has found the flame
that sparked the powder line, leading to his brain
exploding with hibernating thoughts, stories
ideas that he has never had the chance to discover, to awaken
FUCK never had the chance to even share

What a deadly thing, this society!

As he was sewing his own story of each art piece
he saw her
standing there, engulfed by Van Gough’s starry night (image 1)
She was part of it, camouflaged by the swirly brush strokes
She was the night, beautiful serene, and yet so mysterious

As she moved to the next art piece,
his vision followed her, her motion created music
BUT WAIT.. she’s changing she’s no longer dark colored
with brush strokes
Her hue is altering, her serenity is fading
Her scent even changed, he could smell the humid salty
beach, she stood in front of the “Great wave off Kanagawa(image 2)

She is now in that wave, curving with energy
dancing with the wind, crashing with gravity

He sensed her wild side, he could imagine her
waking up from that starry slumber and dancing
into nature’s most vicious yet gorgeous features
she is the sea…

After she soaked in that masterpiece
she took moved to the next with his vision attached
to her presence, he doesn’t know her
but this attraction.. that my dear friends
is a true form of art that no brush can recreate

Moving from that untamed wave
she kissed the shores of the next sculpture
Auguste Rodin’s “the kiss”  (image 3)
he felt the flaming aura
radiate from her to the statue, all the way to him

Her blue colors, morphed to the only imaginable
colors of passion in that statue, she’s wild, oh he saw it
and he saw how she has changed from that spontaneous
natural state to love, loving that statue, living the love
seeing the love and of course FEELING IT

His heart is beating, he felt that nostalgic feeling
of actually finding her, it is her
the setting was perfect, she’s a beautiful masterpiece
changing from one painting to the other
and he found himself, sewing her presence
into his own fabricated artistic fantasy

He walked towards her,
heart beating
adrenaline infused
realizing that this isn’t his fantasy
it’s reality
but as got closer
he lost her
in the chaos of Pablo Picasso’s “Guernica” (image 4)
he lost her in the dull colors
of instability
“she dove back into the turmoil within,” he thought
He went to the painting,
he wanted to find her pull her out
and place her
with him in Gustav’s Klimt’s “the kiss” (image 5)
a colorful masterpiece
where he found his lips on hers

Yet he wondered
what artful piece would she be
if she were
to be
a compilation of all the classics?

(Starry Night) 

(image 2)

the great wave

(image 3)


(image 4)


(image 5)

the flowery kiss


Don’t constrict your vision
to what you can confine within your hands,
it might hurt, it is risky, you will grow some balls
but widen that freaking frame,
your portrait will be much more colourful
you will have a story
whose series of events
are not in YOUR control

Don’t be scared
Keep it in the back of your head
the cocktail of events
will stab you, kiss you
hug you, dump you
but, think about it
why would you confine
that frame to your
so called “comfort zone”
constricted vision

Widen that frame,
involve people
involve ass holes
involve lovers
involve beauty
involve ugliness
involve strangers
involve pets
involve family


Let the events paint
your masterpiece
some blotches will be messy
some corners will have details
some parts will speak to many
others will be precise

take my word
for it



I am not sure
how to jot down
the surrounding
ideas that swim in my brain

they are not ideas per say
they seem to have a direct link
to my heart

I am truly happy
am I?
the conflict
I am alive, more alive
that I have ever been

I am in love
not with anyone, I am in love
not with anything
but this natural high has taken
me places and brightened
my dull confidence

Everyone knows after a high
comes the low, I am in limbo
I am stuck on a blank slate
with no plans ahead
nor any behind me, I made sure
I threw acid on them and burned them to ashes
those past mistakes, oh silly mistakes

I am on a tabula rasa pinned
by the beating heart and keeps me going
Yet, those beats always play solo
sometimes they long for the other
to comply with every thump
sometimes it beats so well, it enjoys
its aloneness

That slate, my canvas
what should I do with you?
Should I go wild and slap colored paint streaks on you?
Should I meticulously create my future?
Should I mix-n-match a messy creation and
then watch it burn?
Is this liberating or just confusing?

I am caught between
the two extremes of the scale
I am alone and I embrace it
I am alone and I dissecting every
layer that has covered me and hid me away
from my true being

Thick impermeable layers that I
inflicted on myself to please others
Give me the damn scalpel, I feel my inner bright rays
aching to shine, to expose themselves
As I make an incision, I felt lighter
I felt better, those dark layers
fell one by one, day by day
I am naked, I am comfortable
in my own skin
I am naked
and my heart
beats by itself