The devil knows not

I look at devil hands,

And do I get scared?

Get frightened and yell,

Or call my best friend?


Instead I wonder why,

They so crooked,.

Under moisturized..

Unkempt; is the devil so disorganized?

Now I think of our similarities,

Huge pride, ego breathing,

I smile and say how right..,

Let me take a picture,

Poetic imagination, go wild!

The devil’s given up,

I guess from all I’ve learnt,

Horror movies or from how events turn,

Is that the best way to combat evil,

a simple problem and stress givers,

Is to comically laugh at their thought,

Because nothing is actually lost,

Even if the pumping of our blood stops.

Either way,

Whether you are healthy,

Or totally drained,

There’s nothing to fear,

Death is just death,

The devil can’t do anymore,

He will be puzzled and ask what makes you so bold,

While all you can do,

Is sigh with relief..

You know it’s better to die,

Than look that wrinkled and old..



Colour pencils,

Blue, green or black,

I draw with them,

I don’t keep track,

Of all the pictures,

And whether I colour within the lines,

I just like the brightness,

Time passes by,

And sometimes I scribble,

Sometimes it’s dark,

Makes no sense,

Leaves a stain and a mark.

Does it matter?

I sometimes ponder and ask.

And when I look back,

There I know might be waiting,

A mess of colours,

Many many shades and paintings.

Well, whatever it is I am glad,

It’s not just white paper,

Unmarked and completely blank.


Just a shard of my heart,

I gave it away.

No questions asked,

Hoping doors would open,

No more windows.

Keeping time,

Without a single audible tick.

Pills, cough syrup, vodka,

scissors, blades and knots.

Thought I could die


You keep a shard of me alive.