A Madhouse

The sound of water almost uncanny,
 A plastic bag bloats and floats
 like a memory of thoughts
 piled and halved beneath,
 my sagging skin of skins.
 The room is a liquid gel
 with my thoughts arrested,
 sleek and colourful.

Water Ripples
 my thoughts bifurcate further
 With tunes of melancholy
 and cascading mystical languages.
 It's supernatural.
 To observe the stagnant darkness
 with my crisp white eyes
 A twig eating another twig.

I sit and scream
 in the slivers of time
 piercing through this vacuum body,
 I hear rumbling of sky
 detonating my body vapours
 I nourish the thoughts
 like a cotton swab
 softly, piling and weeding.
 It's almost ethereal.


Observe and Proceed

Observe and stagnate the cuts on my eyelid
or the shaking body
Pretend that love-making, a part of the moon
In the windowsill, in the corners of the ebb

Pour your heaviness on my bosom at rest
where the hummingbird knit its nest
Slice and colour your hands
Honey-suckle your moist tongue,
clocks kissing clocks
Mysterious church bells, hush.

Observe and stagnate my white blood
whisper your spring,
thunderstorms into my belly,
carve it into a sweet meadow,
something like soft and crisp,
Hanging bulbs, lotus, potion, lotion.
clean and holy.
Blend your colour, smell
and scratch my bones.
Observe and Rest now.


The Ritual.

Image result for casais vintage

Darling, my lips measure your spaces and wounds
with the thumb, I knit seismic waves on your back
Paradises stitching, lands coinciding inside
Like a wildflower, I bloom here.
Soils: A bark of memories, red and black.
I travel beneath the surfaces and measure
the cleaving knots, dome-shaped illusions.

Light strikes the stardust and I am a Mirror again
Foretelling your miseries
Holding the icicles of stories on my palms,
I have a newborn skin tonight,
with things to clean
with love as sweet medicine
with White curtains
Sun-kissed air, I am a falling bridge
Having a heart as your canvas.
Flickering. Motionless. oh, Darling.



Natalia Vodianova by Peter Lindbergh

Something is missing in the pit of my stomach. I feel the charcoal staircase rupturing, then filling in the cracks of the blank moon. Devastation. Delusion. I see my blue arms extended to the poles of molestation, a sudden resolution of black and white vintage movies. My kitchen sink evaporates somewhere. Devastation.

The monotony of this body screams till my black walls fall, a sunken truth in this concoction of empty bowls and folded curtain stretches. Elasticity. The hands are empty, crooked, decayed.

Oh yes, there is an eclipse appearing on my black braids, swinging swiftly like my lips did once to lick that butter kiss. Appearances and traits are cellophane clinging to my white forehead. The lights appear bound, seized. Stagnate.

I pray and pray to wither the molten frames and fragments. Catharsis. Purification.

The cheek tint once filled the blue sky, the blue water, with sheets of pure cotton. Fidelity loops sinking onto the carvings of my feet. Parachuting in the snow. That was then.

For now, I see the mockery of time sitting onto my sharp laps, like a reservoir or a womb, gazing as I decay and fall and shatter and shatter into ashes.




Image result for romance picture vintage

These lips entice your arms like an inebriated night

Meteors shaking, beneath the liquid earth

Inch by inch I am a white cloth,

coveting, hiding under the layers of painted gush

An arrow of light-bulbs, crisp and soft

With a piquant throbbing bowl of  salt,

the algae smooth and honey dripping,

chuckles held in the moisture of these fists

and my breasts lost, sounding like pepper.

You whisper my name again in the numb air

And I cast a spell on your desiccated tongue.

P.S To my love




Image result for sustenance art

I am a shallow bone of desires
burning in my own rivalry among galaxies.
Vinegar-faced my legs drool on my mouth,
Everything is opposite here.
When the earth rains and the sky listens,
the precise water-droplets of mercury,
churns my anxiety.
Where my war is my peace.
the hallucinations are my paradise,
poking my raisin breasts,
Osmosis of mind, osmosis of soul.
For everything is sustenance.

©My Valiant Soul


the view from underneith a tree - the sun shining through the leaves,  shadows falling while lost in thought

Aberrant words on typewriter,
Untamed lyrics floating on my coaxed eyes
Longitudinal waves coincide here, an apparatus of dust
Shaken dreams, like a mirage of ghost
Bisect and dilute your reality into my wine.
Speak rhythm.
spill your black cuts onto my yearning lips
Screech the thunders underneath,
shout and scream, kiss the scream

Words often pinch naked souls.
salt and pepper, tobacco and vapour
Twinings of butter pokes the stratospheric coherence,
Something appears blue, something still a clue.
Beneath the sound of every clap exists a hand
few are coloured while the others are lost,
Turquoise water, hazel Earth
preach me the alien tales of your body,
make me rain
make me rhyme
make me discovered.

©My Valiant Soul


One of the most beautiful photos. So simple, but the mixture of the hand and the light...just gorgeous perfection.

Rubbing my fragile hands over my soiled neck,
I felt a vibration from the crooked radio’s tune
The twirls of flaccid rays and patterns of black and white
always speak the sweet dazzling truth.
My mouth says the violent words as my eyes perch on illusion.
This world makes me sick and sick till my heart spills
collision, evaporation, disappearance.
I am a convex tube of dying lotus,
sinking on the ebb of dark air. I am dark, yet beautiful.
Palpitations of bleeding words, conjure my virgin existence.
I hear your cactus voice, deciphering and churning my own blessings
I am sick today. I am no one today for my poetry even rests today.

©My Valiant Soul