The Feast

I have not stopped eating
Since the day I knew
That I will come to see you.
I wouldn’t want you
To walk away unsatisfied.

I am marinating,
Soaking my bland truths,
In the simmering sauce
Of unceasing conversationality,
That flavor of extroversion
Which is so appealing to your guts;
Digests better, doesn’t it?

I hope the messy tangles
Of my life experiences
Don’t get stuck in your teeth;
I will bring you a toothpick,
Just in case.
A glass of cool indifference
With which you can wash down
The bitter aftertaste of my unaccomplished dreams.

Don’t worry your mind
With remorse or conscience.
You bear no responsibility, after all
That I have put you on this pedestal,
That I have offered myself up.

Feel free to make judgments.
Compare me to the fried;
All smoke and no substance,
The unwholesome, the untruthful.
I won’t blame you
For not putting me in a class apart.

Take a look from all directions.
I know, in this instagram-savvy world,
It’s just the presentation that matters.
Have no restraints, no politeness.
Your crass touch won’t dirty me,
What right does an object have to feel degraded, anyway.

Savor each bite,
As you take away chunks of my hope.
Strip away the skin of dignity,
By forcing me to smile.
Spit out my pride, raw and uncooked,
That bone of righteousness has no place in this recipe.
Dig into my flesh and salt my wounds,
Turn me into that which pleases your tongue.

Bon Appetit!




I thought there would be no more.
I thought there would be mercy
After losing my limbs, my heart, my head.
But the razor sharp teeth betray
The signs of salivating
At the mere empty shell of my broken body as well.
They have come for my soul,
Hidden helpless under the folds of my tortured skin;
I wonder if they can smell the rotten death inside.
They will peck and bite until nothing remains but bones.
Circling around me, they wait,
Watching the struggle,
To drag myself slowly
An inch every minute.
They are patient in their hunger,
Biding their time, until the end.


The world went red this morning;

Was it red yesterday as well?

And the days and weeks and months before?

Do I remember a world with all colors?


As dawn approaches,

I see the crimson of the sun

Bleeding in all directions of the sky.

Do I remember seeing a rainbow?


The creek flowing through the valley

Is the vermillion starting at the head

As it paints her, the mountain,

With the color of her master.


Red flowers adorn the branches

Like ruby rings on hands;

The shine of glamour masking

The bruises beneath the bangles.


I trace the heavy droplets

From palm to elbow to neck.

My cheeks feel hot and sticky;

I discover, at last, the source of red.


The White Lie

Can nothing be a thing,

That is heavy on the heart?

Can nothing be a knife,

That carves out a hollow in the chest?

Can nothing be dark,

Engulfing the air around, suffocating me?

It seems to have too much character for being nothing.


It approaches every night

And I am afraid of sleep.

It approaches every dawn

And I am afraid of the day,

Of going through the motions,

The endless rituals of what we call life,

As I hide behind the mask of a white lie;

“I am afraid of nothing.”



The fingers still move

Tired dead on the keyboard.


I was asked to choose

Between red-stained eyes

And anger-filled heart.


I sacrificed my hands instead

And allowed the blood

To flow from the tips of my fingers

And hoped that the pain would seep out too.


One Step Up

Photo by Gabriel Santiago

There I was,

In the very depths;

I had hit, as they say,

Rock bottom.


It took so much time

To barely regain focus,

To prop myself up

On elbows, if not feet.


Miles below the surface,

I was surrounded by darkness.

The shadows hid horrors

Of past and future.


It took so much time

To slow down my breathing

And take a look around

Assessing my life.


I chose a jagged rock,

And took one step up.

The darkness was the same

Was a step really enough?


I curled up into myself

Losing all motivation.

It took so much time

To ignite a little fire.


With the flame of hope,

I took one step up.

Step after step I put.

Perhaps it was possible to reach out.


The flame burnt brighter

And then there was nothing.

For rocks had fallen suddenly

And I was back on the floor.


A rock had settled on my chest

The flame had flickered down to nothing.

It took so much time

To accept the fall again.


With the rock implanted in my heart

But the fire reignited,

I merged pain with hope

And took one step up, towards the sun.


Stormy hope

Photo by Anders Jildén

The storm kept howling into the night

And I kept thinking of the sun.

After everything, I still hope.