Primitive Malady

Madness in people remind them of the uncivilized unclipped souls they left behind in caves deep into the forests. Forests where leaves grow unruly and misbehaved.Caves where paints grow from cherry vines and ginger flowers.Souls where dreams grow as deities, and love grows as a strike against the survival of the fittest.

In Memory of My Former Neighbors

They talked very little.I was like a pervert peering through to hear them.“I read in a book somewhere what Love is,”I wanted to tell them.They  wouldn’t pay attention.“The Memories broke loose,”I told them.“Now I cant see things for what they are.They impaired my vision.They rain in my window sill.And I don’t know what season it…

Memory Hoarder

These objects, things in my room…. I see them and touch them, my friends come here, they sit on the floor, on the arched sofa with the cushion in their hands, with cha-cups everywhere… I pass nights after nights wide eyed asking for sleep to the nihilistic writers. I die sometimes here just to find…