Sunday wordle on an actual Sunday

No one is free I thought
the wings of truth split
into papers
cogs in the engine
shredding that to which we bear witness
turning what we knew
into something shiny and new
to fill this emptiness
Sunday morning lie-ins
our only day in which we don’t have to strive
and I thought this, this is the price
people think they have to pay
for freedom
and so I ask
What is freedom anyway?
But some elusive dream we’re free to chase?


Always on the wrong side of love
It’s been a while
Since you could take it all in

With your lipstick manufactured crimson smile
You can wipe away
The mistakes you kissed

Lipstick stains left on the ruins of us
A mistake we made
We no longer trust

And with your lipstick manufactured crimson smile
You erase
The way we loved
And with your lipstick manufactured smile
I’m the mistake
You wipe away

At the end of the night
You take your painted lips
Wrap them up in paper tulips

Forgetting the nights you let slip
The words on your tongue
That kissed

“Nothing to regret it’s just a kiss,
just a kiss”

“I was thinking of you
I promise this
I promise you this.”

No more frogs, no more prince
You said you want to rewild
Want to be free

And I told you
Freedom doesn’t exist
You’ll soon see

You’re chasing a myth



Coming of age
This war I wage
between I’ve come a long way
To, I just don’t know!

Battling this cage
Could I really be the brave?
Freedom is an illusion
I’m sure I’ve trapped myself into
Always greener on the other side
Till you step into the shite
Another day, different hues
Buy myself a pair of brand new shoes
But I still feel the fucking same
Branded into shame
Depending on what’s cool that day
Never did care for the names
Be it Nike or just plain
Just wear what fits
And I’m still just about okay
So ticks or no ticks
I guess I’m just me
What more can I say?

Can a man dare to dream

Sit and listen to
The sound of the pitter patter
That abounds
Like constant white noise
Asserting no significant attention
Just the buzz of human relations
Like the wings of a bee
Humming the language of nations
Industrious working of this socialisation
Working its way through the psyche
Of many generations
While clowns look to the clouds
With wisdom in their jest
And hearts of lions pounding in their chest
Perhaps detained
But noticing every freedom
Has it’s own cage
And seeing that maybe
As caged birds flaps their wings
Can a man surely dare to dream?