My Guitar

I whack the strings of my guitar

So hard

That it may produce sound

If I beg it

Please let out music that people will like

Please make me a somebody

Please sound good

Maybe it will listen

I beat it so hard

That it’s irreparable

So, I go to town

And buy a new one



Embracing Madness

A fit of insanity

Spasms through my


It’s vigour fills me

My pupils widen

Blanketing my identity

Till I’m nothing but black

I smile so hard

My teeth fall out

My tongue dances along my gums

To the beat of my heart

Setting the rhythm

The bass of my soul


My mind sits back

And listens



The Man in the Mirror Is Not Me

It’s Sunday morning

The calender says so

For all I know

Days don’t have names anymore


I watch my legs move forward

And backwards

My feet clumsily doing what feet do

I get him to move his arms

Just to see if they’re still working

I crack his fingers

The sound is pleasant to me

But he cringes


While climbing the stairs

I pass a mirror

There’s someone else there, not me

I look behind myself

There’s no one

Aside from the many lists

Of employees of the month

How is this possible

He copies my every movement

We walk closer to eachother, hesitating

But back off suddenly

We stare at eachother for the longest time

Both of us seemingly waiting for the other to say something

I ask him if he has a name

He flaps his lips open and shut but there’s no sound

I ask him again

Still, nothing

I decide to waste no more time

I have work soon

I walk on

Without a glance back


I watch myself scan items at a till

He’s blurting out polite jibberish again

The customers soak it up like butter on a crumpet

Day in day out

The same music

The same lyrics

How does he do it?

“Another day, another dollar”

He repeats like a mantra

I tire of it

And think of her

Soft, milky white skin

That you could sink your teeth in to

Her hips, wide

My hands glued to them

Her eyes locked on mine


I’m in between her thighs

She slowly slips it in


And he’s still scanning items

What an idiot