The Darkest Existence



You don’t have to be religious to know that the devil exists, for I have met him.  He’s not a serpent, nor does he take it’s form but be warned: once he manifests within the confines of your mind, his twisted procedure to beleaguer your heart starts.

When I sat with the devil at the roundtable, I asked him flatly: ‘Aren’t you able to get what you desire via hellfire and brimstone?’ He laughed, replying: ‘You shouldn’t believe everything within that tome you own.’

At that moment, a fear I’ve never known infected my very soul. Not a searing heat, but an almighty cold spread over me. A wry smile appeared on the devils rubicund visage: ‘Envisage, if you will, a life comprised of eternal suffering beyond the descriptions of the pathetic literature you’ve been given.  That is what I intend to usher in and there isn’t a mortal being that can outmuscle me.’

My laugh caught him by surprise: ‘That, sir, does not scare me.’ Silent rage billowing behind my adversary’s eyes, he countered: ‘You dare to offend me?’ ‘I dare to defy you, yes; my guess is that challenging you is akin to offensive nature.’

‘I dare to challenge your self-imposed authority because honestly, your appetite for destruction is just like everyone else; that alone is monotonous, predictable, and cumbersome.  Go ahead and take offense but I reserve the right to remain unimpressed.’


Still, I sit across from the devil, watching him brood; his face a mural of the frustration wreaking havoc inside. Gazing into the abyss of his dilated corneas, the quiet war between us came to an abrupt end. ‘Your petulance will be your downfall,’ the devil exclaimed with unbridled malice.

Free from panic, I responded: ‘There is no pain, no suffering, no misery you can institute that would dilute my optimism. If that’s all you have to sell, then you should step inside my own private Hell.  The suffering I’ve been through already felt like an eternity, so the one you’re on about is merely pittance.’

‘Because the devil within my private Hell would annihilate you from existence.’

…and at that precise moment, not even Harry Houdini himself could vanish from plain sight faster than he; even the devil secretly knows that the hell I’ve been liberated from is everything his aspires to be.

(picture by Elton Fernandes)


[ctrl] [alt] [sanctuary]


the cascades were calling him again…


and as he checked the unread messages in his brainpan,
he stands and nervously rubs his hands,
deleting each of the vocal memos, each
idiom as piercing as the last
finally, after disconnecting, he finds himself
accepting the fact that the time is
now… he rubs the wrinkles turned crevices turned
chasms that formed on his brow, asking aloud:

“how did my heart and my mind end up in this unified state?
am I really ready for this?”

a searing, nagging sensation raced from body
cavity to cavity, immediately answering
his question.
acknowledging the internal lesson as
learned, the cascades again yearned for his
presence. he could ignore the plea no longer;
as the inherent disturbance only grew stronger,
he exhaled, pushed open the gates to redemption
and made his way to the ends of the earth;
all the while, composed… yet excited.

his delight only increased once he blessed his eyes
on the horizon… as he closed his eyes and extended
his weary arms, he started to rise off the ground…
the sweet, salty breeze softly caressing
every inch of his tattered body and soul
O, the anxiousness was excruciating! and yet,
still he rises, slowly inching away from land’s end
and towards the ocean deep
the eyes once wide shut suddenly opened…
the remainder of his journey was clear…
and as tears of joy rained from his eyes, he cried:


and plummeted from the skies.

the speed of the fall increased intently as he was
falling free… the seas extended her loving
arms, he crashed into the azure waters
with a triumphant splash…
the sea closed her benevolent limbs around him,
encouraging his decent… joyous tears transformed
into celebratory bubbles. the bubbles rose rapidly
as he continued to sink

eyes wide open slowly closed and
her voice, ethereal and melodic, filled
the cerulean void, saying:

“for a moment there, i thought you
weren’t going to jump.”

and at that moment, he felt peace
at that very moment, he felt loved

No… Like You Mean It


you and i made love underneath the moonlight
in a rain forest last night.
the memories are still as fresh as the
morning’s dew adorning each blade of grass…

that night, the light of the moon encouraged the water
and each bead of sweat to glisten,
sparkling like precious gems
mother nature’s overture was
playing at full blast with your persistent moans of
satisfaction teasing my eardrums.

with each splash and crash into each other,
that low shudder turned into a violent vibration, bringing
about a tingling sensation, originating from
the base of your spine and racing to the back of my neck
…and I would bet any amount at all that the diamond-strewn
water surrounding us isn’t the only wet thing around here
our heavy breathing breathes hope into our romantic
endeavour, while accelerated heart rates speed us to
our intended destination: ecstasy.

even if this is the last time our
bodies, hearts and minds are entwined, I
will happily revisit that night
kind of like I’m doing right now…
how can there be anything better
than creating a moment of insane, intense
“like you mean it” passion
especially when one loves the reaction more
than the action itself

you and i made excruciatingly wonderful love
last night…
all through the night… within the confines
of my mind.

do me a favour: wake me when this fantasy is
prepared to become a reality.

(photo courtesy of Broken Not Crushed)

For You


i do this for you, y’know.

i grow weary of this constant toil
these countless trips in the boiling sun
and the freezing cold
this life term you awarded me, forced to
slave my life away, with no chance of

my wings can take me anywhere
in the world, anywhere at all…
yet the further I will myself away from
you confirms how much further I’ve
yet to travel right back to the
confines of your hive.

by the hemolymph that courses
the inner machinations of my open
respiratory system,
I will make you love me.
I will be more than just one of your
faithful subjects
who’s constantly subject to your indifference.

i do this all for you.

these treacherous altitudes and latitudes
I traverse hardly impresses you.
the lilacs and daffodils I am cursed to
plunge my worthless proboscis into
couldn’t hope to generate a nectar
sweet enough to erase the bitter
nature of my existence.
I do it not to keep the machine called
planet Earth firing on all cylinders;
I do it not for my brethren and sistren
of the colony…

damn it, i do this all for you.

fill these pollen baskets with your gratitude
warm the cockles of my dorsal aorta with
your love and approval
I fight for your love with every millimetre
of my being;
with every two hundred beats of my
beat-up wings
with every drop of saliva I secrete,
it’s all for you.

i do this all for you.

(photography by Dean Newcombe – @friedeggbanjo)



they say love is a game…

if love is a game, Valentine’s Day is its cup final, its Super Bowl; it’s opening and closing ceremonies, complete with decadent costumes, elaborate dance moves and glorious song

if love is a game, the players are sat in the dugout, waiting patiently whilst staring intently at the back of the managers head, silently imploring him to one of them on the pitch… “c’mon gaffer, let me have a crack at them. I can do this!”

if love is a game, chess is its name, for many aim to protect their respective kings and queens from being taken; some are used as pawns, some as gallant as knights, some as slanted as a bishop’s movement from square-to-square

if love is a game, then the pain born from a broken heart is akin to a brutal tackle, a vicious right hook, a german suplex… one could hazard a guess and say that some of the broken hearts the broken-hearted have sustained throughout the history of love’s placid game have seen to a swift end of their careers

if love is a game, if there be any truth in the saying ‘all’s fair in love and war,’ then love is a bloodsport; love is a fight to the death, pitting each gladiator willing to allow themselves to be brought to their very knees only to bleed so profusely, the seemingly insatiable thirst may be quenched only by the adversary’s blade.

if love is a game… let’s play. for keeps

Last Hurrah


standing on the jagged edge of the horizon,
reviewing the rhinestone littered ocean, suddenly
it hits me like a bullet train, travelling non-stop to Ipswich…

i think i’m in love with you.
but not for the first time… in fact,
what started as an infatuation has evolved into
something amazingly passionate,
furiously adamant on proving one’s feelings,
revealing what we thought was cremated and scattered
over the long, long ago, arose from it’s fertile tomb,
entered reincarnation’s womb and blessed us with a finished
product… beyond refurbished,
beyond varnished,
and no longer tarnished with the image of smoldering rubble
and the stench of dead flesh piled up like garbage… no.

we’re past that. it’s in our embraces, the bright smiles on our faces,
the invisible tears of joy… yeah, they’re invisible to you,
but i swear i always feeling them welling up and overflooding…
and it happens when i’m present inside the inner
sanctum of your loving. THIS is our nirvana.
THIS is our mecca. there’s not a second that goes by
where i’m not intoxicated with the aroma of your persona
that liberated my aching spirit.

freed from this aggressive disease,
and by aggressive, i mean a cancer constantly on
the offensive and besting the immune systems tactics.
my heart is getting it’s ass kicked,
leaving my bloodstream blue and white like a Lactic…
trapped in your labyrinth…
and i couldn’t be happier.

so this it what it sounds like when God’s shooting stars…

(picture by Pat Gamwell)

Aurora Borealis


“i should’ve taken that left at Albuquerque,”
i muttered; disdain dripping off of every
character in every word uttered.

the sweltering heat and brutal humidity of this
God-forsaken desert i was marooned in
tuned into his frequencies, took whatever
it wanted and didn’t even bother to leave
Kenneth a note, advising the recent changes
made to his state of being;
all of this occurring before eventually
leaving without saying a single thing.

suddenly, there’s a full blown picture
portrayed as an elixir.
“foolish mirage,” i croaked. “you dare
to bombard my mind with cryptic instruction?!
you know nothing about me or my
the mental muddle seemed too much
for me to overcome. spectator to
my own struggle, my will began crumbling away
into the desert, inevitably blending
with the desolate landscape

my final cry reverberates
throughout the space between my arms
now one with the sand,
the southern sun gives way to a killing moon
a curious breeze gathers the sand &
ashes, swirling cyclically towards the night sky
complete with an aura that rivals the glow
of the stars.

this is a new dawn.
this is a new wind, due north.
of course…

this is my aurora borealis.

The Drifter


float’ll find me mingling with the ones and noughts, speaking
a gibberish dialect
in the same place our eyes intersect, where a somewhat forbidden
attraction manifests, between you and i
the feeling becomes all the more glorious, ignoring
other couples who pretend to be ignoring us
…our love, life in the fast lane…
acending higher than jet planes, as the moments
we share stay on full rotation on the turntables
of our minds
a sudden impact, and suddenly i’m nowhere near
bliss, or at least that’s the illusion that sends a poisonous
confusion to have me thinking i’d like to believe that…
wondering constantly which way the weeping willow will
descide to sigh
crying softly inside the incubation of my duvet, gripped
by the vices of ‘what-ifs’ and ‘i-should-haves’
and so we sing the hymn of our final confrontation:
‘i remain constant and forever headstrong on the frontlines
of a battle neither of us can win…’
so with the snap and click of the padlock installed
in my mind, i stand resolutely for what has already fallen
i pledge my allegiance to a lost cause
i shoot straight towards the dreamers’s ideal
my white flag is blowing in the wind’s caress, but not
as a signal of intent,
but as free form ashes, drifting towards
it’s new residence on the ground we tread
and bled upon…
my sword’s weilded, my shield’s useless… we
stand at opposite ends of the battleground, snarling
as if we’re two predators fighting over fresh meat…

enough is enough. engarde… in the name of what’s already dead.
engarde… in the name of what’s already gone.