All in the name of safety and certainty.

“For the night is dark and full of terrors”.

She walks through inner city Johannesburg, arms tightly mantled around her purse, legs briskly kicking herself forward and eyes intently dismissing and avoiding any eye contact. She knows that today could be the day that she gets robbed, raped, murdered or all of the above. She’s never in her life felt safe walking through Joburg alone.

Sporadic glitches
He enters social situations with light tremors and twitches in his muscles. His palms are so hot and sweaty that they could be rented out as saunas for insects. He’s dyssemic around people because he feels like there’s always something socially expected of him and he’s caught between proving himself and uncertainty; a no man’s land – a purgatory for wall weeds. He knows that today could be the day that he is mocked, judged, alienated, criticised and what’s left of his self esteem killed off. He’s never felt safe walking through a discussion alone.

When home is not safe
We’re all looking for some type of safety, a concrete certainty; a financial, biological or social homeostasis… To risk is to go against human nature but how else do we prosper if not by going against the reasonability of our fears. The truth is we risk just to feel safe. We work for shelter, food and financial stability. We love and give just to know that there is a safety deposit box that we can invest our hearts in,even though there is a risk that that the returns will be terrible(unrequited). It’s a fucken scarey world and there are monsters waiting to tear you from limb to limb in every corner but you’re not living if you’re not gambling against a danger. Trapeze art and tightrope tiptoeing wouldn’t be as exciting without the grave possibility of death.


Leaving doors open

I don’t know how to dig a tunnel from where we are now to back then
I don’t know how to make sorry mean what I actually want it to mean.
I don’t know how to make you stop haunting my dreams……

I’ve never been good at reading erratic compass needles,
I’ve always thought that every woman in my life was there to guide me home
Searching for a reason to be carved inside my bones
trying to find a gap in-between the conversation my heart has with my brain on a daily basis

You’ve succeeded in playing welcomed intruder
at a time I needed you most
You cost more than I budgeted for
Bending time along with the strings to my hearts orchestra

You’re an orchid flower standing in an awkward pose
against your posture and own desire
Yet, all these words are just ghosts of a haunted head,
All the thoughts that I’ve wanted dead

You can forget so well, you’re a professional repressionist
Good at pushing thoughts aside
Especially anything that interferes with pride
Kill yourself with lies and wash it down with a shot of cyanide

Miss plastic personality with a paper pulse
When did words become vaporous because they keep escaping us
You can take a day out of the week to display faith and over inflated trust
yet still……all the words keep escaping us

All I have now are epitaphs of an old relationship written in the form of insincere text messages
It would be no different if it was set in stone and cement
And this poem is a loners lament

sang out by someone who is prone to regret

You wont leave my head alone like the captain of an abandoned ghost ship
Cause I’ve tried to place ink to your pulse to make it ring again
Though I’ve never been one to trust my own penmanship
I pushed the line too far

I disconnected the pulse from what we had,
ink spilling out of a cut wrist
Bringing a permanent pause to what we were
Separating us from a life we once had

I don’t need you to guide me home
I have the stars for that
But I can see your tears in them
When they dry and I forget, I’ll know that I’m finally there.

In the closing credits -(The are no edits)

This paradigm is past its prime
An obsolete design wrongfully allowed to outlast its time
As things get deeper, they become harder to ascertain
The truth becomes white washed like withered plant life beneath the acid rain

Scars keep skin stitched together
Fighting to loosen this noose like neck tie that keeps me tethered
Doubt and disbelief are thieves that rob you of your dreams
Procrastination eludes you into thinking that trying isn’t as easy as it seems

Spine sticks out like the springs of an old tired mattress
If nothing really matters, then mother nature has to be the greatest actress
As days go by, I find love as a skill that gets harder to practice
We’re all audacious enough to believe that we’ll wake up to still find this planet crookedly spinning on its axis

Living in praise of a pantheon of ghosts
The idea of being human being written as hope in every philosophers journals and scattered notes
And every man declares ‘I Am’, while not being able to see how it contradicts the universe as a careless boast
We still wonder why out of all emotional abstraction, hate appears the most?