Sometimes I consider that I am merely an extra

But to be extra,

Means to bring additional value


If there is no mess

There is no trace

There was no one

If there is no picture

There is no proof

There was anyone

If there is no improvement

There is no contribution

There was nothing

If there was no one

If there wasn’t anyone

If there was nothing

Was there an existence?

IS there a story to tell

If there was no one

If there wasn’t anyone

If there was nothing

If I clean up my messes

If I don’t take pictures

If I don’t contribute

Can I erase the traces

Will I have never existed

Will I be nothing

If there was no mess

I wasn’t there

If there are no pictures

I wasn’t there

If I didn’t contribute

I wasn’t there

Someone else can make a mess

Someone else can take a picture

Someone else can contribute

Someone else was there


My brain is poisoned

My brain is poisoned

Saturated with toxicity

It seeps through my ears and eyes

Pervades my vicinity

Transforms my skin

Metallic to matte

Bright to dull

It all connects

Or so I am told

What is wrong is right is wrong

I am told

What is right is wrong

So i write

To clean up the fog

and extract the pollution

with my purifier

It flows through my system

from my brain to my hands


Almost, as if knowing

There is no more ozone


There are many things

running through my mind.

So many,

Sometimes I feel paralyzed.

These things, they take me places.

Places I’ve been, and places I haven’t.

Where I want to go and where I don’t.

Existing and not.

Material and emotional.

Mental and spiritual.

And yet

I remain paralyzed.