haunts a shadow city
Imagine a gardener, not very good at his job, forgetting to till the soil or throwing away the humus because it smelt bad. Just the same as me, unable to pick a shirt but quick to profess my love. My life is defined by bad decisions, and I'm proud of it too. Impulsive and quick… Continue reading Why I love bad decisions?
Pressures of the past have finally broken my back Bent like a fruit laden tree I await "the surgical removal of part or whole of my intervertebral disc." I envy the centipede free of the desire to commune with God through whisky, church and hospital wards free of memory, free of history.
not that I've seen her before; I imagine she's wet, amorphous and cold; like an elusive aunt, we hear so much about, she may ultimately disappoint.
A heathen poet 