The devouring unicorn

When their swords clashed in a silvery storm, the sand beneath their bare feet shuddered. Fear. There are no two outcomes from here, only one. There is no winners and losers. The sand has already lost.

They danced around like lovers drunk on deep black ink. It flowed around them like drops of black rain and threads of hollow music. Ducking and jumping, twirling and waltzing, it all became a blurry blaze caught in the eye of the sun.

The cloudy unicorn floated lazily above them, shielding them from the burning screams of the fiery moon. There are no two outcomes here. The unicorn will feed on soul tonight. It hissed them on, tasting the angry tentacles of their souls with each clash of their swords. So close. Just a little longer before the scope down.

The sword flashed like a stealing whip out of nowhere, finding it’s soft home deep inside. There was no flash of lightening or naked nymphs. There was a silence, profound, traveling endlessly between the mountains they could not see.

The silence echoed out across the universe. Every being held its breath and bowed in reverence and awe. The deed was done the debt was paid. Now there was only chaos.

The unicorn burped as it floated lower to get drunk. There are no losers and winners here. Only a winner – as it was always meant to be. And it had no blood on its hand, just lots of it on its smile. When it spread it’s wings, it covered all the land in darkness. They both shivered, one on his feet and one on his knees, like the sun was sniffed out.

The dry sand wept blood as he crept slowly bit by bit to lie down. There are no losers and winners here. Only a devourer – as it was always meant to be. They can play their little games, speak their ages old lies, it did not care. It will always feed anyways.


Like time

I was huddled in the corner next to the bed when the spaceship swayed close to my window. Aren’t you guys stupendously late this time around? I watched lazily as the lights changed. This isn’t really as bright as I remember, or maybe it’s just darker than I remember – there’s very little I can remember anyways.

Come sit with me and read me your favorite line from that book again. Flip through and find it, I have time. I can wait as long as I’m looking at you. Just give me time, and I’ll be here looking at you. Tell me stories, you know, like that story I once told you in a delirium but never completed. Tell me the same story again, make up an ending and tell me the whole thing. You know I’ve waited for years and years to hear that ending and it’s all yours now.

It’s not unusual to be me. My hair just looks weird and my eyes have this sagging blackness around them. When I stopped time short so we may never grow old again, my body made up for it and aged at triple the speed. But I’ve still got time. At least, I hope it’s enough time to tell you the one story I actually believe. You know, that story that will change everything for you and me. And I won’t be delirious.

I love you. I love the thought of you, the presence of you. And there’s always time to love you more. As it ticks on, I’ll be fine. You know there’s nothing you can do so just relax and smile for my sake. You watch it closely like a little girl in a candy store. You watch closely and every time you see a crack, you rush to fill it up with your soul. But we both know cracks have a tendency to grow with time. You can’t fill them all all the time. You can fight but you know you’ll lose, like time.

Just keep your eyes on the spaceship. This time around, at least the sky won’t shatter to pieces again and cut my face. I’d get up and watch the spaceship too, but I’m just way, way too tired this time around. Time has painted me very differently from the last time the spaceship was outside my window.

Let’s play video games, or fly a kite, or blow bubbles or paint little dots on the walls and ceiling. Is that all right with you? Can I lean on you a bit? I’m fine but, you know, I haven’t yet made amends. We can ignore everyone else, like they never existed, as long as you have that happy look on your face.

You always wanted to play the piano. I wish you can play the piano for me today. I wish I can sit next to you and watch your fingers fly across like wild fairies. But all I can really watch is the sluggish lines made by time. It’s sticky and messy, broken even, so let’s just run barefooted straight through the grass. We won’t get anywhere, but that’s the last thing I will be thinking about.

The bright light of the spaceship outside silhouettes you, so that you may never leave the room. I’m feeling kind of broken right now, but I’m glad we broke all the rules. I’d go back and do it all over again, then break a few more, then laugh a lot more, then lie a little less, then try to make sense of the spaceship yet again. Just like time.

Fly a kite

Courtesy of poissantfamily

I just wanted to fly a kite.

I wasn’t asking for too much. I had a beautiful kite and it was in my hand. It was right there along all the dreams and hopes of a younger me. I just wanted to run across the vast emptiness, throw it high in the air and watch myself become a giant through it.

I wanted to touch all those places I couldn’t because I was so small, even though I was born to rule them. After all, there’s a reason why I never quite managed to grow up. There’s a reason why every single time I was cornered, I ran away. I had to fly the kite because I had to get a touch of that heavenly bless of leaving everything behind just for a while.

I wanted to write a million poems that I fell in love with for fleeting seconds. I wanted to tell stories that live in the prison of my mind and bang against my skull like madmen waiting to make their escape so they may dance in the undercurrents of the flowing spring. I wanted to juggle toothbrushes in a circus and kiss a bird’s beak behind the bushes. I wanted to make critters cry at the songs I write when I am laying in the tall unkempt grass of the dying garden. I wanted to get bit by a spider because, you know, it just might work.

I just wanted to fly a kite.

It could have solved everything – everything in the world. It could have made sense of the morning insanity and made peace with the maddening nights. It would have been my way out of mediocrity and into the true greatness I’ve striven for since I started looking at the stars.

Except it wouldn’t fly. Just when the wind was picking up speed, just when I was starting to run fast enough, just as my feet started to lift off the ground, it plunged straight to the leathery ground. It quickly shattered all those dreams of duality; of being man and god, of being part of the bigger scheme of things while also drawing it.

It all started slipping through my hands and all that I was left with was the elusive rain; wetting my hair and wetting the kite. Grounding us forever in the muddy remnants of what we sought to leave.

Survival struggles here, greatness dies here, and everything in between never really existed.


It’s not the darkness that scares me. I can learn to make my peace with that just like I made peace with the light before. It’s not the thought of an endlessly stretching black pearl of an existence that scares me. I have learned to deal with stuff before, there’s nothing I couldn’t handle there.

What scares me is that moment when the light starts to flicker. It is then when I start glimpsing the lurking figures at the far sides, just barely out of my sight but slowly heaving in the dark. The light flickers again and they move ever so closely, ever just out of reach, menacing me with their sightless stares.

It is right there on the edge that my fear takes hold of me. There’s no reason to be scared, says the tiny voice that’s always besides me, but I don’t listen to it. I can’t listen to it. The truth is, the light is flickering, heaving it’s final sighs before it goes off – the start of that eternal morbid storm of teary eyes streaming with watery makeup.

And they move ever closer, with their ruby eyes and deathly tentacles, to claim their prize. It’s been light for too long after all, and I have done my share of terrible things. My dreams were never mine to keep, they were just there to remind me I’m still human.

There’s nothing proud about me when the light flickers again, almost dying out but coming blinking back for one more go. Nothing proud there at all. How long has it been since the lights were bright anyways? How long since the shapes weren’t distorted? How long till it all ceases to make sense, and starts to make sense?

The lights heave one more time, it smiles sadly at me. I tried, it says, I tried for as long as I was given.

I stand, a man, and the flickering stops.


I would take the colors and splatter them all over you, I don’t care what color lands where, I don’t care if it fits together or not. I’ll just breathe color back into your dead soul. You’d be beautiful, even if you’re a mess. You’d be alive.

You’d be less vile. I’d be less angry. We’d go on long walks again that won’t end up in us fighting and cussing. We’d be best friends again. I’d kick my shoes off and wade into the waters with my clothes fully on while you laugh, and I’d feel safe knowing you dream of me on the same nights I dream of you.

I don’t care if you’re beautiful – you’re not beautiful. You’re probably uglier than most. But who am I to care? I’m far from beautiful myself. As long as your imperfections reflect on my soul, I couldn’t care less. As long as I can tease you and you’d smile, as long as you speak fondly of me when I’m not there, I’m happy.

I’ll rub my fingers into the colors and draw my crappy doodles all over you, watch them break apart, and then redraw them again slightly better as we laugh till we cry, then cry till we laugh and lay back in the mud – shooing away the tiny insects that creep over us. As long as I got you, there’s little they can do to harm either of us.

And when it’s the flowery season, and all we get is dust in our eyes, we can just huddle closer together and cough it out. I’ll wash your hair with the colors and you’ll be as good as new. If it gets too bad, we’ll just dream the flowers back instead of the dust and color them together. Not reds and violets, let’s color them electric aqua and vibrant green – because why not, right?

With the full palette of colors in hand, let’s paint a new dawn for you and I. Let’s be friends, or lovers, or friend lovers. Let’s paint colors of hope and resilience. Let’s bash the walls and run, alive, wherever we want to go. Let’s color life, because I can’t take the darkness anymore. I can’t take not seeing or touching you anymore.

Let’s not die. Please let’s not die.

Remember when we died?

Remember when we died?
Remember how we had no notion of being heroes back then
We just pulled up like horned giants and grabbed life by its rich fabrics
And just leaped?

Remember when we went digging in the trash and found gold?
We sprinkled it in the air and everything it touched was reborn
When we talked, we roared
When we roared, the elements stood still in awe

Remember when we finally fell to the mud
It wasn’t by the stones or bullets flying at us like the reaper’s scythe
Those only stripped away our fragile lies and exposed our golden engraved will
It was by the razors of friends, thrown like whirling nightmares,
That cut us and our dreams down to size

They said there’s no dignity in death
But we didn’t care when we spat at death,
Determined to rise as we kill death
We would fly away to become fiery birds of legend
To become rains of life, of love, of peace

Remember when we finally died
It wasn’t as glorious a as we thought it to be
We were just left there bleeding on the sidewalk
Like rabid dogs they hardly looked at us anymore

Come sip with me of the grand wines of the forgotten
For as they rub off our names from their history with spit
The stars will forever tell tales of what we did
We are not of this world, my brothers and sisters

We belong to the sky and we will never be brought down
And when the sun sets on our dreams,
Very few will remember when we died

The girl and the moon

When she stayed up late to talk to the moon, it was hardly ever about something happy. She was always grateful for that. It was the one time throughout the day when she could let down her masquerade. Whenever he came licking at her window, he never had expectations of her. He didn’t come to laugh or to have fun, he only came because she was she.

In return, she didn’t really have any expectations of him either. When it rained on her, the moon never tried to shield her. He just sat next to her till he was dripping too, and she was grateful for that. When she talked and talked he did not get bored, nor did he often reply. He just hung at her window like a spotted rabbit, an old friend who always came unannounced but always welcome.

Tonight the sky was particularly misty but the moon stopped by her window anyways. He had missed her since last night, and knew she felt the same. They sat at her bedroom window, eating cheese crackers off the windowsill. Tonight the conversation was, as usual, hardly a cheery one.

She spoke to him of the ghost that once was. He still visits her long after he’d disappeared, always coming uninvited in the worst of times. She told the moon how it felt when he passed through her, how every cell in her body tingled as she inhaled him, and how a moment later he had left, leaving her emptier than before.

She cuddled up to the moon when her tears came. He never judged her when she cried, he never even tried to rub off the tears as they slid down his smooth surface. He left them there to dig their way, leaving tracks that became part of him, reflected forever on all of Earth. He hardly talked when she did, but it was his way of trying to take away her scars, which he was most familiar with.

She talked to him throughout the night, and he only realized it was dawn when the morning birds came to chip away at the cracker crumbs they dropped on the windowsill. The moon was reluctant to leave her. It’s not because he thought he can help her, he knew he can’t. She was his favorite. She saw him like few others ever did. But he had to leave before he’d melt out in the sun, never to see her again.

By the time dawn came, she was fast asleep, cuddled up to him. She was smiling, and the moon was happy. He softly lay her in her bed as he made his way away. She’ll wake up to the birds, and she will smile. She will eat breakfast and start a whole day – and it won’t be easy – till it is night again.

Of hate and love

I hate you. I fucking hate you. I hated you every time you cut me down just when I was about to reach for my dreams. I hated you when you took all I care for, chewed it up and spat it back at me with that sickening onyx smile of yours. Every time you saw me dying in the mud, you walked on by.

All I wanted, all I did, was for you. I wanted it to work out between us. I wanted to swallow up all the deathly shades around you. I wanted to give us a fighting chance, a maddening chance. I just wanted to lay down and dream with you, then dream into you, so I can finally be part of you.

I gave you the best of me and you tossed it into the void. I spent nights helplessly thinking of all that you ripped out of me and distorted in a heartbeat. There’s very little of me I recognize when I look into the mirror now. All I see are parts of you, and they are the ugliest parts of you.

But I love you. And I really don’t know how to stop. When we walk together, when we go to all our places, when we get lost and stumble on those little trodden paths and giggle because we don’t care, I love you. I still don’t know how to be with another. I don’t even want to be with another. I want to cuddle up with you and talk to you, even when I know you’ll just bash my head against a bloody wall again and toss back your long black hair.

When the stars drifted outside my window at night, I only wished to be more for you, to have more so I can give to you. Yes it’s senseless, yes I know you’ll take it all, rip out the skin on me and toss it to the rabid dogs as you move on. But I still wish for more to give to you. I never wanted to be with another. I would just linger on with you, wishing and waiting impatiently for that smile you rarely flash at me anymore. I can never share the dreams I shared with you with another.

Now there’s very little of me left. I’m not dead but I’m not alive either. I have given all I can and more. You know it as well as I do. And if I had more, I would given it all and scrap the last bits of, wrap it up in my hopes and dreams, and hand it to you, that you may look at me differently again. I would have hated you as I kiss you lovingly again.

Just let me roll up next to one of your walls and hug me close. If I’m to lose the last remnants of my soul, I want you to be there so that they fall into your palm. Maybe, just maybe, you will take them and make them into something worth more than they ever were. Even if you just choose to toss them and trample on those worthless pieces again, I would want them for no one but you.

And I won’t hate you.

The Keyhole

He sat in his small room with the bare walls closing in on him as his thoughts tried to escape out of his mind,  looking for a place to thrive and grow and expand.

Slowly he picked up the purple crayon and started drawing a keyhole on the floor beneath his feet. His shivering hands made it hard and the crayon fell several time before the jagged keyhole was complete. He put down his crayon on the ground, where it slowly disappeared into air.

He peeked through the keyhole, knowing very well what he would see on the other side of the world. He didn’t want to look, he had no right to look. He had lost that a long time ago. But he couldn’t help it. He needed to see. He needed to be close again. Even if he was on the other side of the world.

All he could see was a thick darkness that seemed to solidify into black pearls in his eyes. Then slowly, as his eyes adjusted and the tentacles pulled away, he could make out a silhouette at the end of the room. Her silhouette.

There were spirits dancing around her. Trying to pull her closer, trying to slip into her and become one with her. It took little effort from her to keep them at bay. She just wasn’t interested.

Bony fingers crept out of the ground, trying to pull her down and break her. They hated the way she whirled around, unbound by the primitive rules that ruled their worlds. She had set herself free from it all when she threw it all in the wind, leaving the jingling alarms behind and only hearing the serenity inside her. She floated in the bloom, unaware of anything but.

She danced on through the void she’s stuck in, never noticing the spirits or the dead fingers. She was distant, detached, and depraved of most of life. She was the void. She was eternal. She was the dreams and nightmares of a thousand different souls yet none could ever get close to her.

I called out her name through the keyhole and for a second it felt like she heard me – she almost broke out of her trance and stared at the empty air, never seeing me but almost seeing into me. It lasted for a fraction of a second,  but I could almost swear I saw the shadow of a smile before it all faded away.

The monster spoke the words and the keyhole disappeared, along with that last glimpse of a smile. So much was left unspoken, so much still lingered in the husky air. The dream still lingered undreamed, a future was left unhoped, a vision was left unseen.

It all disappeared with the keyhole.

The snow

It only snows when I’m walking alone. I’ve never shared the snow with anyone. I don’t want to either. Somehow, if I ever do, it won’t make sense anymore.

That loneliness is the only way to hold on to those thoughts, those dreams we shared. It’s the only way to grasp the elusive rays of hope we once had, all the silly stories we faked together.

I miss you.

And no it’s not getting any easier with time. I don’t share it with anyone, how can you share a nameless emotion that is as unique as each ray of sunlight falling on your face in the morning?

I miss you.

It’s in the little things they’ll never notice. Like how your coffee mug doesn’t smile anymore. The wrinkles in your favorite chair miss you, you know. The birds pecking at your window know there’s something wrong. Even the silver rain crackling on the old floorboards are lonely without you.

There’s something special about throwing the snow in the air and watching the drizzle fall to my face. It makes me feel alive, when most often I don’t anymore.

The mountain often calls out your name. I never know what I’m supposed to say. It stands resolute, watching over the debacle around and wondering where the stars go to hide. The climb will never make sense again, because the stars and distant night lights only cared for you, never for me.

And I still miss you.

It isn’t even a little bit easier. They say that time heals all wounds, but the scars never stop bleeding when the monsters are out and about. I try to paint with my blood, to tell stories of you and I, but it never cuts it. Maybe the words are lost in a song, somewhere I cannot reach or, maybe I am too scared to reach.

I shake the snow out off my hair, engrossed in the numbness on my cheeks. The little flowery crystals fall down everywhere around me, settling quietly in the emptiness. I never shared the snow with anyone, but I’ve always shared it with you.