journey through

The bottle Cursed I was, the day I became friends with the fountain of false comfort, and the avenue of false mirth, the bottle. One shot for my pain, and one shot for my sorrow. I lost my consciousness but my problems still stayed, to mock me every time I tried to feel alive. I lost my cool, and lost my way home. Oh sunset at the bar, drowning in dream and confused talks, of a smattering of saliva from drunken women with morals so loose. I loved the bottle, for it made me alive every night, but every morning, I wake up dead. Hark, I can hear her calling from over the bottle and I wheeze back in my stupor, telling her to wait for I already was on my way. Two more for my blues and indeed I see blue when my head meets the table, and overnight I sleep, covered with the warmth of my vomit, comforted by what I loved and lost. I yell into the night, that oh my soul is willing but the flesh it weak, and when the door closes, I leave my heart behind and stagger on home to an empty house. And

All must surely die I saw a giant lion running after a tiny buck, pawed the panting animal down to the ground, devoured her in two swipes of his gleaming canines, a victor he was. I saw an elegant reindeer, his antlers made of rainbows, high to heaven and shinier than the archangel. And he stood magnificent, scanning the plains, seeking for a challenge to his pride. He bellowed into the night and cocked his ears, eager to answer to an unfortunate challenger. What vanity, to invest in grit and in wild beauty, for in the end, all must surely die. I saw the edges of the crescent moon, sharp and gleaming in the dark, waiting to stab and hoping to impale, but come morning, when the bright embers of the night died, I looked up and saw her cower amongst sterile clouds that bear nothing but bad tidings. I saw a cat, sitting still, plotting murder, and the helpless mouse tried a way out, looked and begged to be let go off, to fend for her baby vermin, but the molly looked on unbothered, for sh

What freedom? Eagles are kings, for they have fully conquered the skies, but when they die, they fall down to the ground. Sharks tower over the blue oceans with their fists of iron, but when they die, they float up on the sea. Love is freedom, we say, but a man in love is a slave to fear, the fear of having their heart broken and that of tomorrow. We say freedom is in the wind, but when it comes in too strong, does it not dismember trees and wreak havoc? Freedom is in the leaves, we say, but do they not fall off when winter whispers from the south? We call every day that freedom is that which lives in our hearts, but if freedom is in our hearts, why then do they break and we cannot stop them? Why do our hearts drag us by our necks in and out of holes, through thick and sharp, scathe us, scald us then end up broken and irreparable? We say we have in us freedom, what freedom? If we could find freedom in songs, why then do they rip us apart sometimes when we seek consolation in them? Wh

By chance If today by chance, I was given the chance to start over again, to revisit the footsteps I have walked, what folly would it be to say no? I would gladly stand up and make a list, of what I have done and what not, then I would leave, without even daring to look back, lest I get to find out that it all was a dream, and I still belong to the grave. If today by chance, karma revisited and told me, that my sins are forgiven, and that my fate has been reset, I would gladly cease to be human, and turn into an animal. I would bray in the wilderness, with beasts that own the sand. I would care less for a house, for I would dwell right in the bush and in the sand, with muskrats and the jojobas. I would go up the mountains, and pluck the hermits from their lives of loneliness and show them how to truly be alive. I would tone down on my crying and spend life laughing at anything and everything. I would climb up tall trees and ravage of their large fruits. I would feast on the hard, whit