We Do It In The Dark, With Smiles On Our Faces

I resonate with lovers
I feel lovers
I understand lovers, real lovers
People who’s own individual joy is not enough…
People who can’t help their urge to draw someone else in, a companion to presently, possibly ever after share and experience the happiness they already have


My Dead Crush

Money makes our heads go ’round
We lose our balance
Cheque your balance
Bank* Balance

We fall
In love
With it

Pound of flesh for a pound
We give rounds
Round and round again
Spinning heads we give
We take
Forgetting what’s at stake
If time and money are one, why do we hunger for so much only to cut it short?
We’re done!
We think
In our airy desires we sink

You were always the one
Who fell
For everything I wasn’t
Who couldn’t tell
That with your young time I was everything you needed to buy
I never had it in me
Never brave enough for a “Hi”
This is goodbye

Bad Itches Wanna Be My Bae


Most of us have given up on love
We simply don’t believe in it
At least not as something that is meant to last and stand the test of time and temptations.

We get kicks from interfering with other people’s relationships
No guilt is swallowed
A revelation complex, we feel we’re merely exposing what is meant to be a “hoe is life” for everyone.

We “steal” your bae, not because we love or want to be with them but merely just to stroke our egos; to reassure ourselves of how empty holy matrimony is
Melancholy bliss

We do not want to be loved, we just wanna be wanted by everyone.
When we come across someone who seems to only want that one person (that isn’t us), it bothers us, it shakes us and what our early scars and misadventures have lead us to believe…
Our adequacy questioned
A threat we challenge
A challenge, we seduce
That big fish we have to catch
A bad itch we have to scratch


Young, Young, Dumb & Broke

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Life credit
Life span
Get it?
Of course you can…
Can’t buy it though
Some diets do
Doctors say it’s true
Accidents prove it too… I’m younging, I’m kidding, I’m speeding, I’m childing, I’m wilding
Living fast, I’m adulting
No reverse
Old age pending
Life ending
Craving our better years
Our yesteryears
Nostalgic, We revert
We divert our attention
Our intentions
Our questions from “Why are we here?” to “How long are we here?”

Mandela Boys Have Become Mandela Men

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I know how it feels to lie
When I do, I don’t even bat an eye
I do it to fit what I’ve been made to believe is a good look…
Saddest trick in the book

There’s something very attractive about transparency
Nudity… Being bare
True to one’s situation
Carelessly embracing
No second guessing
Something we all can see
No underbelly…

If you think about it; Nothing makes our ‘flaws’ frowned upon more than us keeping them a secret.
By keeping them a secret, we are frowning upon them ourselves before anyone else can.
Penitent leaders of our own judgement…

By the way, can we agree that secrets are the root of loneliness… phoniness? No?
Us frowning on our “flaws” is us fuelling and validating them as not just flaws but problematic flaws, in turn making us problematic in our own eyes…
We start to believe it, we become it… Unworthy… Lonely…

Are we human?
a lost cause?
Never mind
Let’s keep it moving
Fast-forward… Don’t wanna talk about it
Issa scar
A scratch
In fact, skip the track
The true spirit of who we are…

Sex With An Artist


Salvator Mundi

Soft cotton bedding
Pillow talking
Minds walking
Heading further… Deeper
Footprints gently sinking, thinking, questioning… Deeper
Having heavy conversations about the furthest constellations of our souls…
“Are you a believer?…”
A believer of your own fate or the pearly gates?
Undriven?… Deliberate
Tick a box
Hell, let’s debate
Never mind, it can wait

They say we all have a gift; a talent
Yeah, we all have it
A good habit
A notion from the west
That one thing we do best
The very heart of our Earthly quest
It sets us apart from the rest
It gives us fulfilment… Yeah, ask Cassper Nyovest
Much like heaven
If we do not believe in it, we will never see the joy of it
Much like hell
You don’t have to believe in failure to experience it
The worst situation is default settings for those who lack the spirit to fight for more
Faith to the core
Believe it
Screw it
Forget it
If it’s meant to be, why should I break a sweat?

Why I Am A Dick

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via Behance


It’s quite simple
I let words get to me… Break me
They penetrate my anatomy
I lose it like Britney
Or was it Whitney? Breezy? Yeezy?
A medley
A combination maybe?
Memory agglomeration
I shave my crack
Hooked on my head
A catchy track
A song
In my mind the words play over and over again
Slowly they lick away my smile
My vibe
My spirit swallowed whole
A mouthful
Words full
Their hunger satisfied
They spit out what’s left of me
My distorted anatomy
Chewed up
Screwed up
Disgorged and alive
Words couldn’t stomach my bitter pieces
A thesis
Survival of the fittest
Last piece standing
Throbbing for my inner peace

Omunye Phez’komunye



From reveries so airy, from the toil of dropping buckets into empty wells, And growing old in drawing nothing up
-William Cowper

I’ve started
I finish what I start
A fight, a race, a piece of art
What does it make me if I don’t
A quitter? A loser? Who cares?
I start relationships left, right and centre
My intentions you know
Smash and go
No longer outplayed
Ability to love decayed
Loyalty never wanted me
But that’s okay, I’m young and free
Plenty of fish in the sea
I move with the current
The new age, the new wave
Too young to behave
Maybe old age will save
But even then… What will I have to show?

New York Eyes, Umlazi Thighs


Michael Corbin via Behance


Generally seen as a characteristic possessed by the squeezable
The thin-skinned
A mark of vulnerability
A flaw
Weak to the core
A take advantage of go ahead
Talking about it feels weird
But I’ll let it out
I’ll make a thread
fuck it; I’ll start a twar

Bred by our simplicity
Our black or white; forget the grey mentality
Our ignorance provokes defeat
Defeated by what we’re becoming
Afraid of the cunning, the grim, the seemingly untouchable, the corrupt, the poisonous, the fucked
Tail tucked between legs
We throw stones at the little light hope survives on
Unsaving the day
Helplessly exploiting away each other’s light…


Way With Words



Having a way with words is the new fake deep
Actually, gracefully conveying thoughtfulness is the new cheap
Outsold by constructive criticism that’s meant to cut deep
Blunt is the new sharp, it stabs in a way kind words could never penetrate
Our skin, our ears

Meant to mend, to stitch
A kindly delivered truth irritates
A cheesy itch
Don’t wanna hear it
Blue sky nonsense
Scratch it!

Back to the drawing board
Reattach cord