I close my eyes to tell myself nobody’s looking, I play deaf and now, nobody’s talking. My legs hurt, been running for long; my eyes bleed when I dream of where I belonged. The lips are sealed, no truth is revealed for we believe in a lie; faces concealed. The stories I’ve known, the weakness…


She stands behind the curtain, always concealed; It takes her shape where she stands, only revealing her feet. I ask her questions, she answers me; the other times, she barely speaks. Is she naked? Is she scarred? The secrets are openly buried. Not one step forward, not one behind, she’s in the shadows, scarily quiet….


Sometimes the best thing about love Is secrecy; the bane of secret love Is that it dies so.

Precious things.

You say I’m precious. You hid me from the world, like a secret, never to be told. Do I even know? Have you ever wondered? It’s too late, I can see it now. That fallen leaf that you saved amidst those pages lies there dried up and lifeless. Precious things whither too, darling. You don’t…

The final chapter

I don’t turn pages I burn the book down We’re all lost mazes And further we drown Memories, fading images Silence, our sound Living through phases, Spirits, buried in the ground