Monthly Archives: September 2017



Nostalgia arrives
Like mighty tides
Ebb and flow
High and low
From time to time
Clime to clime
Maybe its the crazy pills
Maybe its just me
Dwelling in bubbling thoughts
Reviving, rediscovering, revolving
Hidden, yet vivid
Gruesome, and livid
Old memories
Humid, dampened
Books in the attic
Layered with dust
A muddy crust
Enveloping pages
Ages upon ages
Hued and textured by
Big black clouds
Roaring loud
That come and go
High and low
Coming again today
Distant, abate
To open a window
Let the wind blow
Gusts of emotions
Rapid motions
How I hated school
How I loved the rain
The joy, the pain
How I hated my dingy home
Existing on my own
It comes to me
But only in my dreams.


Cross Stitches


It has come to this,
I break down again
Treading on dying
Embers through pain
I silently crawl
And sob in vain
A familiar gnawing
In a throbbing vein
It never is simple
Ever since it began
So why do you whimper,
And whine with disdain?
The carousel spindle
Plays another game
And the plot thickens
While weaving my name.