chinese whispers.


to all the girls i’ve had before.


everything, all at once.

In the dark corridor of his mind,
That’s where he found her. Waiting patiently for him to see the light.

She danced in the light, was quiet in the shade;
And when she was in trouble, she didn’t even know it. So she sought out his sweet relief.

His demon was her, but she was also the light, his saviour.
He had other demons too, but they were his own to deal with in time.

He sought her too, for sweet relief.
But her relief was bitter as well.

Bittersweet, that’s what she was.
And his pain was deep,
But her relief was pure.

This all happened everywhere, all at once. Up and down through the spectrum of time.


weed fiend.

The smoke curls up out of the end of the pipe like opium, but it’s hashish in the metallic cylinder, etched with faux oriental carvings of dragons and demons.
Eyes red, and face forward the head lilts and sways to the psychadelic rock out of the bluetooth speaker.
Then, soul to soul, the hearts and minds spin together in the vortex of human experience; a windrush of race and age and gender, through the colours of sexuality and mentality and society: an ever-changing spectrum of flesh and blood and bone.
Rising up is a delicate balance of light and shadow, hung on the mantel of animal desires.
Resist stepping back and only move on with the courage and guidance from within.
The smoke can hide clarity but some things are too big for the human mind to take in all at once.
The smoke is a blessing for those in denial; a screen for those with something to hide, and a comfort for those in the depths of despair.
It disappears back inside the metal cylinder and up to the heart of the piper. There but for the grace of me goes I.