Dreams and aspirations: beautiful words of which I should not speak. Flooded with disillusion, my heart aches for the reality I created in thoughts fed by wise trees and bustling life.

I am drowning in a constant wave of sadness. It grows and grows and has eaten away at any positive balance that had restored in my anti-climactic confusion.


I will drink from the water that has crystal moons quivering in its depths.
I will scramble to find my soul in the caves where bats are tranquil in their slumber.
I will continue to send my eyes to the heavens and allow a small sense of contentment even if the rain falls heavy.
I will ignore the forked tongues and create my own antidote to poison sent through my veins.

I will grow into myself and my searching will one day come to an end.
This is a warning to myself.
I will not hurt for the wicked, nor will I hope for the hopeless.
I will instead find a path that spells my own name in its twists and turns and I will come to see the light between the canopy of my dampened forest.
It was me that took your sun, the liquid gold by which you live. There are no more questions to be asked. I must confess, I liked doing it but it didn't hurt so much because you didn't kill me. I'm still here. You're not too far from confessing your own truth, are you? That your passion flowing in you is because of the freedom I gave you. The transition you made was exciting wasn't it, little one?
Oh look who feels it. I am sorry, but I'm still not dead. You; they; no one has quite penetrated that deep yet. I'm nearer to those gases yes it's true. But I have the shiny gold in my pocket. It's safe with me. I promise. You're glad really, don't tell me those words! Oh no those harsh lies you speak. The truth and I are quite happy without them. I can't be how you would like, I know you want me to touch your heart but that's not what I can do. OH the WATERFALL!
It's so salty. I've tasted your salt once before, on my fingers. That time when it wasn't honesty that provoked but when my arms were your blanket to keep you warm and dry. But then you saw my hands were dirty and you wanted to be wet again. Lo siento, yes I feel it. I am sorry.
All those looks I see in the faces in the streets can't all be because of me - I take the sun wherever I go. Our sun. It's the thing you need most to encounter. I've found out how to show you too and it can be perfect. Myself and the shiny gold are happy. You are too, I know. I'm watching you from the place of truth.


And you can tell me that you love me, I will believe it because the words spill easily from your mouth. I can see the strings connecting us from my heart to yours; they have droplets of perspiration from easy chores. I don’t know why the sky dropped them down to us, because this love seems to me so easy in the innocence of our young hearts, although it’s not quite as naïve as it should be. I wish I could know what our futures hold, because today in one moment of a daydream, I clearly saw your gently calling eyes smile at me and tell me we will be together forever. I hope this is true and I know that sometimes it’s difficult to have to feel my pain as I do, but my heart feels its blood pump strongly when you are near. When you’re right beside me I am warm and my senses smell and hear your words and being. Que me duele when you seem annoyed, I’m not put here to antagonize you; I have faith in us. There is a band of trust linked around my finger, a whole hearted chain of freedom I have in your soul.
I wish they knew.
If they could tell how much I care, I don’t think they’d continue to say those things – it hurts; it hurts when I see your pensive eyes that inside are groaning because I had on my disguise and turned you away. It was wrong not to be serious for you at that time when the lime was squeezed fresh and stung your cut. It’s now as new as the sun that arose this morning. But the moon and the sun, they are best friends like you and I. They shine for each other like we shine for ourselves in the silk of our faces. The morning was painful for us both. You do it to me sometimes, don’t you notice? Tell me if when I speak, I hiss, if I throw away the words you speak so sincerely. I didn’t want to do that today nor did I wish to start those actions yesterday. I won’t repeat it tomorrow. I’m going to realise your dreams and mine. Our love is still strong and the dent where I fit into your shoulder gets more comfortable with time.
The times I’ve spent with you left marks on my skin and I stroke the indentations to feel you. We must endure the life we carved out for ourselves in soft wood. We will create layers. There must be grief to realise the good. I feel so strongly that all I have to offer you isn’t enough. But you still love me, I know you do, even when it’s tough. And I’m sorry, truly sorry that I offended you, it’s only because I care. The sparkle of a diamond is the strand of your hair, each to me so precious just like your feelings inside. You’re the quintessence of perfection. In my eyes I see beauty in your madness and interrogation. You taught me how to do that with just a smile. You’re captivating and it serves me well that you are honest and worshiping.
I love you. With me will you hold the dreams I’m clinging to?
Oh the death of a dream that I once knew so well, the shards seem to scratch my feet when we walk. Does that happen to you? Tell me of the expectancy you held, in our romance when we knew of serendipity, when we met.
The occasion was meant to be, even if you didn’t feel it. The invasion of your voice into my ears was love and intoxication. Pour your sweet acids into me.


Take my shoelace and unravel a dream,
He said.
Such pure innocence was inconceivable
To me in those moments of mine
And then, not one but two dreams
Descended their journey into my mouth,
‘let’s run away’ , I said, ‘for the voices
are telling me it’s time’.
The second dream laughed at me with
Sympathetic eyes and told me he was the reality.
‘So I must stay and rest. For I am what I am
and here is my home’
I tied back up his laces and we
walked in content shoes.
I will wrap myself around you like cellophane, my shame of being so translucent in my desires will not stop me from draping my white canvas over your bold and bright design. We will fit together - not like a jigsaw - our edges are not so predictable. We will mould and adapt to each others whims and confront the rips in our foils, made stronger through being a layered body.
I have a terrible habit of talking when you need silence, and offering cold nothings when you need to talk. Standing opposite me, your reflection will be mirrored in my glassy eyes. My pupils will be dilated, but yours will tell a different story. They seem like the desert, in need of salt rivers. But don't worry, my waters are sufficient for us both to float, swim and drown together.
Lay yourself next to me for a while. I'd like to watch you breathe.
And as you inhale and exhale with lips kissing the air, I'll rest my palm on the flat of your stomach and feel for your pulse.
It will beat to a melody that has neither rhyme nor reason other than to emulate my own pulsing love for you.


What is the size of your thought for me? When you look into the future, do we caress the leaves on trees as we walk along a winding path, hand in hand?
Do I factor significantly in your mind's eye? When time has flown by, do we submit ourselves to the ocean's embrace?
What would you wish for if you had your way? A youthful mischief borne from the brightest of days and the coldest of snows?
If I am a weighted thought in your life, can we ascend the mountains together with ease? Laughing together when hurt by jagged rocks?

Tell me your thoughts, I will not control them. But let me in and give me your word. I allow my thoughts of you to swim freely in the river of my being. Can you open the dam, which has stopped your understanding enter your stream? I can be your future if you grow those thoughts of me.
Had I been given the chance, I would have recognized the awkwardness.
Tired; lines appear to be circles,
Shadows lose shape and billboards continue their timed rotations.
I am moving through this space, dazed and lacking structure.
I check the minutes and hours. The clock almost offends me.
Time is not mine anymore.

Silenced and damaged, I'm ready to make amends.
Almost ritualistic in nature, I repeat my actions again and again.
I've done this to myself.
Bit by bit I take small pieces of recognized faults and chew them over.
I savour the bitterness created by my routine.

By now it is late and sky is painting itself a dense grey.
The twilight moon beckons everything into silence.
Lavish solstice spies into incomplete space.
It is not the time for sun now.


Encapsulated in the weary breath are secret whispers telling you 'it's going to be ok.'
In their world, your voice is stifled. You struggle to give yourself freedom to express yourself. Someone told you to take yourself away from there and find the light in your dark. It is a suggestion and a need. In your world, the illusive spear of light breaks through a corner window and the sprinkled ideas across the hardwood floors of your mind are illuminated like forgotten specs of glitter on a pretty face. In your size 5 shoes, you take steps towards an passageway, creeping slowly and tentatively without reason. Stop and take a deep breath and spear yourself on. In this world, your delicate disposition is not futile but like a daisy chain crown bringing joy to the head upon which it sits.

The passageway is dimly lit with cold hard spiral staircases in each direction. Neither option is right or wrong. The cold stone feels pleasing to the touch, and the full round shape of the wall is inviting. You lean on it. Rest. Advance up the stairs, allowing the grey to guide you nearer to the climactic state of enlightenment.

White light that shone on the forgotten memories and ideas in your mind now shines on your face. Thoughts flood to your frontal lobe and become real and loud. They almost spill out of your mouth, you want to shout and scream. Approaching the outside at the top of this stairwell, all has become clear. Your voice has been found and you no longer have to keep your ideas to yourself. Set them free in the wind, and shout to the skies.


A rose on the elephant's head; such a fine way to conceal the web of deceit in which her thoughts have been tangled. Yes this is such a fine accessory to ensure no one would suspect her selfishness.
An eternal human inquiry manifests in the form of heart and brain. Brain controlled by heart, heart controlled by the other.
Pumped around, syrup blood flows quicker with the steps of the other. That other; often pained and rarely perfect, can only offer the parallel of what you have to give. More intensely, possibly equalled, unlawfully less.
Pursuit of sacred joy, find it not in the self but in the face of the one who smiles with sincerity. A journey for all, many paths to choose, many roads to discover. Beaten, Elated, Elevated. Broken. Pursue the story again, find your other.
I am writing myself. The slow process offers a chance to reflect on misgivings I have created out of my own virtue. Perspective; I can sense the nests that house hornets and bees. They whirl around me and I tense up, cower, close my eyes into thinly-lined slits.

I am writing for my own recognition. The slow breath and heavy chest moving up and down calm my panic. Words are typed quickly without a second thought, and then a pause arrives. I reflect on experiences in this moment of clarity.

I am writing for myself. I am writing to develop my perceptions of the actions I have taken and the actions I wish to do. Glancing around - frightful and fretful - but still able to find consolation in my equivocal plea. I offer it to myself and I offer it to you.


You're just a middle aged waitress
Augment and delete. Hot tarmac, dustbins behind supermarkets
Grass shavings, Indescribable blues
Sea smell sea gull see often scene full
Busstops Hilltops lowtops, no cars
Cocktails, pints, canals, tobacco. Rizla? Filters.
Rusting Poles, cracked wooden tables, a bee and uncertainty
Pain, Work, no work, Need work
London Birmingham Foreign lands
O,M,E,L,A,L,S and others.
SO together... again
Me. Solitude Sun Rain
Where's the thunder?
Water bottles, solero ice creams
Sun cream - not yet. Jump the gun
Yawn, stretch, jump, laugh, sleep
Stroke. Touch.
Cry, wink.
Photographs, streams, familiar streets.
You are a stolen peacock and I have webbed feet
We stumble together and I fall in your feathers
They're not as soft as they look
Display to me, your mystery, oh pretty peacock.
I stole you for a reason
Waddle with me?
CTRL those fingers
ALT that mindset
DEL this feeling


Hop in
Jump out
Back down
Jog on


Make way for the witch
clapping drums on her walk
through the beating forest
In the chiming bells, the chants
of voices
Fear not the unknown, it becomes familiar
Talk to her as the lake talks to the sky
Rest, live.

Que Me Matou

Que me matou
e agora aqui estou
aspergido na rua
na cidade que é sua

meu silêncio é admissível
e era inevitável
que não havia nada mais do que nada
para o coração não houve entrada

Queimado na sala, meus pensamentos
Durante três dias consecutivos
O mercúrio se para mim saber
E para o meu amor para receber

Ele me quebrou no país que eu amo
Quando as crianças escrever nomes na areia com um ramo
E a minha lápide lê as palavras bonitas
"Sonhando com os Anjos"

E lembre-se de lhes dizer que eu amo todos eles
E que eu não sou um "daqueles"

Que me matou com seus rostos violentos
E na minha lápide, as palavras bonitas
"Sonhando com os Anjos"


Take five long pieces of string. Find tiles with letters or create your own alphabet on single squares of whichever material you enjoy the texture of the most. With these tiles, you will pierce them with a hole big enough to allow the string to pass through easily through the middle.
Start creating sentences with your letters. Slide on the words and arrange and de-clutter the thoughts. Allow the process to become part of your fingers and brain and permeable knowledge. Seeping into words that are seen each day by millions, allow your emotions to move them around so that they flow with ease and tranquility.
Do this with each string. Interchange your emotion for rage, despair, longing, nostalgia, melancholy or apathy. Run your hands over the strings. You will have a paragraph. You have written it and you will appreciate it. You offer it to others and send out your message. It might be understood. It may well be seen as not quite as grand as you initially intended. But these are our words; they are our windows to our souls. We have created and we have thought.
Knock Knock
Who's there?
A rabbit with her heart bleeding on the outside
A rabbit with her heart bleeding on the outside Who?
A rabbit with her heart bleeding on the outside of the hare.
'DOUR and >> ..
_____________>> ..
COMMAND and ope.....

seven. mostly 5.
Well, we will integrate into each others privacy, she said. I am unsure of your confidence, he replied. You are erudite. Take a chance and share with me the most tender meat of your being.
<.letter here.> is for poison.
Take my felt feet out of the cement
You’re stuck to the ceiling, seeping out of walls.
O costumo danando, de falar de homem.
Betwixt the trees in twilight, one can see a solitary river. She is meagre and slight. She is trusted to run through thin exhausted bends. The bends are neither expectant nor weary, they simply accept the melancholy trickle that slopes around smooth pebbles. You can rest here between the daffodils and regard yourself in the shallow waters.