Few sheep had run from the herd, vexed; for the seekers they were. Lost, confused and wandering, each in a different path; when were two thoughts alike? Wolves, they were to the pack, outlaws that reneged. And perish they shall of loneliness and despair, for the herd is all there is.

Fly away.

It can fly, yes; The caterpillar has turned into a butterfly, great! But no matter how much you try, an insect will always be an insect, not a bird and a human cannot fly. Fuck the metaphors. Metamorphosis, my ass.


“Enough is enough” said she and ripped off her wings; Walked out the door, her back now bleeding, lighted her cigarette, sipping on whiskey. “I have senses, I feel, I have a voice that speaks, I have eyes that see and a mind that thinks Oh, it’s a lost cause, this divinity, So screw you…


The cracked open lips that bleed tell you no tales of the coldness that dried them up. The dirt in my nails decorate fingers with the untidiness of life. Why do you bother yourself with how tasteless I am with the clothes I wear? Don’t they speak for themselves? The shoes don’t match, man, the…

Every morning.

Looks into the mirror; Oh! it’s you again. Walks away.


“Give me back my face!” Cried my disguise.