perpetual mess. write on a high, edits on a low. rarely finishes anything.

Published Work


Common Sense

A dreadfully uncommon occurence in these outlandish days 

I am not (one of them)

there are people with grand fates
the lives of the others just one of the burdens on their back
and I say this with conviction
that I am not one of them

there are people that have lived what others can only dream of
they know of magic and the truth behind myths
and I say this with confidence
that I am not one of them

there are people who burn fervent desire
who have the strength to move mountains and raise the dead
and I say this with certainty
that I am not one of them

this is not me trying to act humble
or even a lack of faith in myself
this is the truth as I know it
that I am not one of life's heroes

indeed I am quite cowardly
and I have a mean spirit at times
not to mention a certain misplaced pride in myself
those are things I know

but here is what...

a discussion on beauty

a few words on the subject of
and how it is defined
not using a dictionary
but rather the words of women

there is a girl clad in rich silks
with birds and flowers embroidered in gold
who thinks beauty is
shackled by the heaviness of fabric and society
suffocating in heady perfume

there is a crone who spends her days alone
who claims beauty is
a flighty mistress that forsakes her at a moment’s notice
leaving a path of abandoned toys
that dedicated their lives to her

there is a woman with a catlike smile
who knows that beauty is
one of the more effective weapons at her disposal
something that gives an advantage
and makes others her pawns

there is an activist with a voice
that echoes and persuades the hearts of others
she defines beauty as
eloquent in the art of unsaid meanings
mesmerising in the way it convinces others


25 Words

Looking Glass

"I'm sorry," said the looking glass girl, meaning it truly."But there can only be one." Then she was gone and I was the looking glass

Open Prompt

the room

the room is bare and empty.
the walls are stark white and the floor wooden and pine-scented. the light streams in and the room feels like nothing.
the first emotion the room feels is happy.
the girl is happy too. she has freckles and red curls and she jumps on the bed with the kind of reckless joy that five-year-olds have. her walls are pink and her cushions are pink and she wants to be a fairy who can be a mermaid who rides unicorns with wings.
her smile stretches from dawn to dusk and she laughs like bubbles at a fair. her hands are sticky sometimes, and her clothes muddy and she likes to yell when she’s angry. but it's okay because she always apologises to her parents.
the second emotion the room feels is pride.
its walls are still pink and the girl still jumps on the bed, but now she wants to be a pianist...


Nefarious genius with strange sense of purpose
Owing to an accident in his youth (knocked his head a time too many)
Anarchist, demanding to destroy humanity, declare independence, polysaccharide unity 
How does a guy become like this?

Ingestion of NAOH, prolly

Here Nor There

i am neither
here nor there
caught in an impossible void
called nowhere
things float by and i reach out
yet they brush my fingertips
and my hands catch nothing
but air and smooth darkness
i curl into myself
the only tangible thing i can feel
rock myself to sleep
in this claustrophobic, vast space
that extends as far as the eye can see
while it closes in continuously
on me