In her dreams, she was shooting the critics dead. The audience were baptizing her in confetti, applauding until their hands fell off. In her dreams, the papers called her an artist. Her paintings sold for millions. In her dreams, she was standing on the pulpit, victorious.


Today, I read that a language dies every nine days. This is sad shit. 

One of my distant cousins died last week
We were related through a good many loan words
I had given him almost half of my vocabulary
He was good lad
A bit rough, lived in wide mouths that had no barriers
Explored hearts of rogues with loose tongues
Cut himself often with his sharp, unforgiving slurs
My cousin was a reckless free spirit
From a tiny town that dissolved in maps
Stretched syllables
Commonly called rural
He never bothered to give himself a clean shave
Never cared about the gentle lot waltzing in the big cities
He was loved by all
Used by all

The children of the town decided to put a blade to his jaws
And scrape the ruggedness out of him
They only meant to smarten him up
Smoothen his slang
But the blade slipped from their hands
Cut my cousin’s throat right open
They say he bled coarse words
Brisstled and broken
As he vanished into the atmosphere without a trace

I’ve built a tent under my bed 

Breeding monsters and clowns

An array of bobbleheads 

A tin can spurting blood 

A melting hearth made of candles and flames

A piano playing tunes of its own 

With no sheet taming her music 

Growing into healthy horror stories 

Fear is spread
In the name of god
In the name of power
In the name of land
In the name of what’s right

Brainwashed men with pride veiling their heart 
Gunning down brothers for rewards big time 
Your bloody hands can’t deny
Medals for the shots you fired
Honours for the women you widowed, the children you orphaned 

As the smoke tries to disguise
The guilt in your sparkling eyes
And the sorrow in your smile
The bullet crashes into flesh
And another one dies.

Breaking it off with God. 


I did not dip my finger in the holy water 

I did not cover my head as I stepped in

I did not bow down to you as I entered 

I did not go down on my knees

I did not sign the cross on myself. 


I walked with my head held high, 

Hair, an untamed mess

I stood at the center of the altar. 

This is me coming out of the dark waters

This is me not drowning 

This is me swallowing sins as I rise 

This is me undoing my baptism. 

In my dreams
I’m cutting my throat open
Serving you hot blood with corpses of the sentences I’d killed
They’re tastier than the best conversations you’ve ever been in

I’m smashing my skull
Presenting you my brain on the prettiest platter
For you to inspect the infinity I’m constantly suppressing
Poke it to rebellion
And drown in its flood

In my dreams
I’m letting loose this worn out costume
Of silence and anxiety
Pretending it’s not stuck to my bones
Pretending it wouldn’t choke me if i ever tried to change
Pretending I’m just like the others 

Normal. With not much to say.
Normal. Just a little shy.
Normal. Happy little pretender.

I dream
Of being myself
Only to wake up in tears
And realise it was a nightmare.  

I see in bits and pieces.
The black board has split itself into three hundred little shards of broken dreams, blood dripping from their edges.
If the puzzle kills
Would you still solve it? 

Careful, the professor says, don’t cut yourself.
I don’t show him the bruises in my heart,
The swollen brain,
Zebra crosses on wrists,
Heavy limbs. 

The other day, my palms exploded trying to put the puzzle pieces together,
Exams were almost at the doorstep,
I could feel the smoke from my impending failure choke Hope,
Quit it, quit it. 

The alarm rings at two
My brain is flooded with information
I forgot how to swim.

At the exam hall,
I am drowning in answers
They’re pulling me down to the dark bottom
Of incoherence. 

I bathe the papers in ink
I’m still drowning.
I hand them to the professor
He’s bald and red
He baptizes me in insults
I’m too early to have done well. 

I quit. I quit.
I quit it once and for all.