I have that look. The impenetrable look of disconcern, the look of solid, well-knit defence that protects me, the look that needs to turn into a behavior, that I know will keep enemies at bay. It is also a look of patience, that absorbs all that is evil and what spells hatred. The look deceives me sometimes and judges wrongly but I am too scared to lose it for it has mostly been faithful. 

This look works in the world of civilised beings though, it doesn’t work with goons. It is a look that moves with me and is not afraid of people as whole but what isn’t good in them and it becomes a shield for the good in me. The look has become an attitude that may not be as likeable and sometimes becomes stupid, unwilling and impatient to judge correctly. I’m scared that it might hurt the good in others and it does. 


For I don’t like to sketch (or trace on Illustrator) hair as they are, I like to play, let my hand go astray with it,

For let the astray be astray, 

Let the tune find it’s own way, let it meet it’s own on it’s own,

Let me be incomplete, let me incompetent, let me be stupid,

Let me love, oh let me love, 

Let me go.

unicorn, I be

For I be this lonely unicorn,

Trotting slowly forward,

I look up,  and see nothing, 

So I look down in comfort.

I have embodied everything that is nice in the world,

Yet I feel incomplete.

I look and look for the rainbow, 

But all I find is cold thunder,

Shuddering me back into myself.

‘I’m ready for the world now!’, I shout,

But I know I’m too late.

The horn I possess is worthless now,

I leave it to fate.


Do not share,

Keep it to yourself and suffer.

No one else has the courage or strength,

It’s not wrong,

You’re wrong to say wrong,

Find purpose in the petty,

Someday someone will find what you wrote,

And cry,

And regret,

It’s over, then,

You purpose,


a therapy

Never liked the feeling, never will,

The crust on my hands, the dry, 

coat of doom,

Feels like don’t want to feel like,

Never rub!

If acquired, delay death but rid self of,

The smell,

Entrapment made of hatred and just…

NOh! Never smell the smell of depression,

The smell of your day ruined, 

Rid yourself,

Anything fluid,

No nothing.
Actually just water and cleaning,

Just water and cleaning,

Water and cleaning,




Drying up and creaming 

Smells like your favourite dream, like something you love to eat, something you’d want to eat, 

Eat somedon’t


Smell, and rub, now,

Absorb sanity




Hush the voices in my head,

Show me what can silence them,

Tell me you feel them too,

Tell me you don’t know either,

I am looking for an end, 

That’s for sure,

Don’t know what lies there though,

I don’t want to look in my cupboard,

I want to shut the door again,

I don’t want to put my hand there,

Please do it for me

Where’s yours?

​For everyone wants a piece,

a piece of the sky they can call it own,

an arrangement of stars their own,

stolen from everyone’s eyes,

we take pictures,

no one else finds themselves in,

the perfect shade of blue,

perfect size of the part after the sleeves on a shirt,

buttons on the back not front!

with a little jam, a little cream, a little spicy, something to neutralise,

absolutely plain.

no serifs, sometimes,

the print is too big for that size,

too long for my height,


I won’t complete the diary entry,

unfinished, like Phoebe,


it never was,

I want my piece of the sky too,

Like yours