After an eternity spent building courage;

She now took a delicate needle to the restrictive latex around her,

and crossed the threshold to a world beyond her bubble of monotony.

Leaving an explosion of fabricated memories behind her,

and welcoming a path laden with shooting stars ahead of her.


A collapse of the past,

lending to a rebirth of a future.

IMAGE: Mar-ka

Whispers in the Dark

There was something in the way your lips moved that told me to run.

A silent warning that this would meet a catatonic end.

Yet, I was tempted to stay.

To collapse into your arms, regardless of the silent warnings shared between closed lips.

I cemented myself between your gaze,

Refusing to let the tiny shattered pieces tear us apart.

Letting the unspoken words fade into the empty spaces I kept hidden.

Erasing doubt, and worry, and suspicion.

Letting the words you speak take president over the ones mumbled in dark corners.

We stood at odds, between those words.

And still, you kept your eyes locked onto mine.

I could see every speck and twinkle that spread across your eyes and onto my skin.

We were unbreakable.


We were one.

Even with those whispers slowly chipping away all our shared promises.

For a moment,

We stood, broken,

Yet strong enough to walk away from their sharp edges, and painful pokes.

A burning flame, surrounded by the wretched silence.

Alive and thriving.

IMAGE: Pexels


There, in front of her stood two doors.

Identical in their beauty,

but different in what they hid.

Each withholding a future;

A future with consequences.

Some massive, some only miniscule.

Yet, the fear was the same.


She didn’t know what her future held.

She couldn’t picture it.

She just had to choose.

It was now, in this moment.

Just her and two choices.


As her heart sped up, she took a leap.

Not forward, but backwards into the silence that was her comfort.

A place to think,

away from the noise.

The voices of those telling her which way was right.

Which way to choose.


She felt their stares,

so she moved farther into the abyss.

Turning away from having to choose,

from having to decide on the rest of her life.


Unable to pull herself out,

she waited to be rescued.

Waited for someone to remove her from this mess.

But nobody came.

She was truly alone.

IMAGE: FilmSupply

Writer’s Block

I’ve never been one to succumb to this disastrous entity for too long. Spending a max of half an hour before the ideas come swirling back, and my mad rush to the computer ends in me tripping over my own two feet, in order to quickly release all the ideas that came to me after a half an hour under water.

But this time is different.

Instead of a few feet underneath, I’m drowning in the depths of the ocean. Being pushed down further and further by my inability to come up with anything new that’s worthy of being put into a final product.

Being the person that I am, I’ve seen this as incompetence. That this shouldn’t happen to someone like me who writes practically every day. That I should be able to easily, without an issue, sit down and write something original every time. Not being able to except the fact that writers block is a reality for practically every writer on the planet, and that I am not an exception to that, was extremely idiotic of me.

Ideas have always been the easy part of writing for me. People would ask me how I come up with the ideas that I do, and I would never be able to give them a straight answer. Because I had no idea. I just did.

I like to think that the ideas are still there, waiting to be accessed, but their behind locked doors. And the key just so happens to be a thousand feet under ground. And here I am trying to dig my way to get to it. But I get stuck on big boulders of self doubt, and my shovels broken, and It’s just sooooo exhausting. So in the end, I give up. Close my laptop, throw down my shovel, and hope as hard as I can, that an earthquake reveals it to me.

I know it’s temporary, and I know it’s a hundred and ten percent normal, but it sucks. I hate every millisecond of silence that consumes me.

But for every millisecond of silence, I’m one millisecond closer to a brand new idea.

I just hope it comes quickly.



Sequences of thoughts.

strung by their lies,

holding each other afloat

in the sea of misdirection.

The formation of misguided,


and misinterpreted words

swallowing up the last bit of your humanity.

The last part that makes you, you.


They stitched their mantras,

their lies,

their lifestyle

into ever crevasse they could find.

Removing and erasing all the bits that gave you freewill

a society of perfectly manipulated machines.

Festering on the addictive lies prescribed to them.


Gearing for war,

he preps his army of un-rebellious soldiers,

who await their cue,

the blaring horn that commences the slaughter.


In a world of obedience,

the soul within fights it’s own battle to survive,

before the soulless take without regret,

and kill without emotion.


They say it takes a village.

Yet, it takes only one to convince them all.

IMAGE: Philip-027

The Rebellion

There is a moment in everyone’s life where they have to make a choice. A selfish choice, but a choice nonetheless. This decision can be easy, or it can be overwhelmingly impossible to make and even comprehend. This short piece of prose was inspired by the recent climate of our world but also by my immense love for all things space-y. Yes, the “people” that are talked about in this are technically aliens. It’s also inspired by a book that I read (Alienated by Melissa Landers), but I wanted to take it to another level. Not sure of much of the back story so it’s very empty in terms of plots besides what’s said below, but I’m intrigued by the ideas this presents and the places I could go with it. Continue reading

Betrayed by the Light

She walked along the midnight path,

laden with crooked stones,

and etched with drunken promises.


It’s under the shield of night,

where she was exposed to betrayal.

For the infuriating full moon,

dissolved the foggy cover that hid one too many secrets.


The spotlight shown too bright,

too revealing,

on the hidden cracks within her pristine demeanor.

Piercing lenses capturing the world she hid behind the midnight sky–

The world that was her second life,

now succumbing to lies and deceit,

through the eyes of her constant spotlight.


With her whole being exposed to these watchful eyes,

she crumbled, and fell.

Much like the sun did each night.

But she didn’t rise again,

she didn’t ever see the light–

her light, again.

image: pexels