Déjà Vu

I know

I’ve been here before
But I can’t seem to touch
The surface of what I feel

I know it’s the same difference

The same damage
In the outcome
When all is said and done.



Why whisper to the wind the secrets that
you kept?
– So it may lead its way home.

To ears of strangers at subways and streets?
– To her, a lost soul. Vagabond like her ears.

The moon and stars may intervene. The sun may rise and steal the wind.
– Then the sea will encapsulate the wind. A great wave of emotions flooding prays, that someday it will reach her saccharine-surface skin.

Traces of Better Days

The dawn drowns the bed,

Streaming through the window.

One with the velvet sheets as her lips rested

On soft pillows she lays her pretty head.


Quick,swift and melodramatic

Body like a dead man.

Signs of satisfaction

On her stomach like a Jackson Pollock masterpiece

All was left to dry.


To remember;

To leave behind