When I say, ‘I was lost’,
I mean that I believed the illusion
of there being a path
when I know all too well
that behind the veil
only the void awaits.

‘I am back on track’ means
that I am back where I started,
in an endless sea of nothingness
and an unbearable lightness of without-you.

I cannot live for my own sake,
my mere existence is a burden
on to my self
which I myself can’t carry.

I’d rather carry you and your burden,
so that standing on my shoulders,
you could reach for the stars,
for my only dream is
to make your dreams come true,
which makes me feel light as a feather.

Yet the laws of attraction demand
that I care nothing about you,
for it is not my attention that you crave;
you just want to indulge in the game
of how to get it
and then regret it
to ditch me without excuse.

But the flame of my candle
will keep burning,
until I fade away,
in the mist of memories
of ages gone by,
my only means of reaching out to you
while we are for ever apart,
and my only excuse
the love I bear you.


Memories of days gone by
Are here to haunt for ever:
The essence of a seagull’s cry
Between right now and never.

Memories of days long past
Return to stalk the shadows:
A heart is nailed to each ship’s mast
With blood in streams and meadows.

Memories of days long gone
Add fuel to these fires:
They tell a story, once upon
A time of void desires.

On the Wane

To think of you is plain and shallow:
An ocean of I do not care.
I lack the memories to share –
There is no fondness left to hallow.

The light grows dim, and not too soon,
There will be darkness all around.
And never shall I thus confound
A truth which cannot be impugned.

To think of me is plain and shallow:
An ocean of you do not care.
You lack the memories to share –
There is no fondness left to hallow.


[I wrote the following poem for this world of text. Rough coordinates: x:2; y:-3]

There is always an empty page to be filled,
And words are our means of doing so.
But what, if anything, can we do to fill
The emptiness in our hearts –
Black holes that tear
Into the very essence of our being?
Soon all shall be consumed by darkness,
Erasing memories both dear and painful –
Soon it will all mean nothing.

From the Lost Notes of the Deep Dweller’s Shipyard [Fragment #3]

I cannot recall any parting with someone upon good terms; in fact, each parting has left a taste of bitterness and repentence, and there have been moments where I used to crave nothing more than revenge, there have been times when I was convinced that the purity of my contempt must never be comprimised. Even though, however, revenge is, contrary to what people say, one of the sweetest things to have in the world, what would it matter now? All the faces and the names associated with them have faded into obscurity over the years, though still do they linger somewhere in the corners of my memory; they are no longer part of my life, though they keep haunting my dreams. I do not even know where you are right now, how you have been, whether you are even still alive. All I can say is that if you should come across this, I want to thank you for the good times we had and that I forgive you.

With this in mind, here is to us with (one of the many recorded versions of) the notorious Irish traditional:

Caged in Disgrace and Sickness

I feel lost inside my own skin, like a bird caged in disgrace and sickness. I am so sick and tired of being sick and tired of being sick and tired of it all – sick to death and beyond.
My heart revolts against the knives cutting through it, as they lie to my face, spitting and vomiting all over me, holding me down in order to force me to watch my dreams being shattered time and again. And as I scream in pain while they rip open the stitches across my wounds, I realize that each monster is a once beloved from either the distant or the near past, now coming to haunt me for the rest of my life. Thus is the price I pay for my trust, and still do I cling to the faces of the present and future, unwilling to see through the masks and look upon what lies beyond, refusing because unable to to see them for what they really are: merciless monsters and never-ending nightmares in disguise.



The air is fresh and cool tonight. Its silence fills my head, and its loneliness surrounds me. The memories of a lifetime pass by, paralleled by the inevitable insight that nothing will ever change. The faces keep passing by and are replaced by others, but the rest – relationships, events, love, hatred, trust, the final treason, pain, regret, emptiness, pointlessness – ceaselessly repeats itself in a vicious circle.
The bypassing memories suddenly come to an abrupt halt – you. I can think of nothing else, as I behold, enthralled by a slightly uneasy awe, the goddess smile playing on your velvet lips forming your well-shaped mouth which is only surpassed by the sparks emitted by your darkish eyes. For a moment, I catch my breath and my heart appears to collapse, eager to burst the suddenly too confined ribcage keeping it. I shudder, and I am at a loss for words. I feel cold, and as I look outside, the night has crept on the sky, leaving me standing with my back to the wall.


There is no hope. I am a modern Prometheus of love. The vultures pick at my heart, rip it out of my chest, and devour it eagerly. But alas, until the next day, all will have been restored in order that the torture may continue for ever, and no Hercules is to come so as to release me.

Peter Paul Rubens 032