drifter on an upended moon river

i write my best work when i'm home, under the canopy of a familiar palm tree stretching its leaves out to me, in the gentle caress of a warm, wrinkled hand cradling my cheek. here is where my mind is ever-giving, an endless spout of glittery, multi-colour…

enough of abysses that talk back. enough of the inferno that chases you wherever you go. enough of 'love'. enough of everyday life. enough of the endless noise, the to and fro, restless pacing around. enough of you, o mere illusion. enough of you, enjoyme…

how immediate, death is. how harrowing. when we forget that its looming head is constantly peering over at us between lilac skies and lily-laced rivers, it rattles our windowpanes and tap tap taps at our doorframes in the dead of night when we're fast asl…

think not of what love 'is' or what it ought to be instead, consider this: tears shed under a black sky and a full moon a familiar street sign, intersection, traffic light coming home to people, not a place the sun rising from the same window, casting sha…

I wrote the following on December 28, 2022 you can only imagine what spurred these musings as first semester finals approach!