Buzzcut Boy


It's not you,

It's not me,

It's not him

It's the world that has been

sucking us back in

to the dark void it's yet to fill

devouring our rainbows and

any shade and trace of light

and everything we hold dear


It's not you

It's not me

It might be

the words of a madman that

have devoured me piece by piece

ever since

until I suffocate and dissolve

into the nothingness I feel

at 3 a.m.


And I'm sorry if you knew this only now.


It's not you

It's not him

It's the constant fear

that has built a home

out of the shanties of my heart

Pulling the strings,

the triggers

on its whim


And I'm sorry but it's already won the war, I believe


It's not you

It's not me

It's not him

It's the inevitability I cannot escape

And so in silence, I shall

roam this world and carry

the memories of us,

your buzzcut and my smile,

and the glow I basked on with

in that April afternoon.


Forget about me.

Author's Notes/Comments: 

A poem about how depression affects love.

Murder of the Sleepless Souls by the Society: Madness and the Theoretical Suicide in William Shakespeare’s Selected Tragedies


The concepts of madness and suicide have captivated and mystified generations of scholars. Shakespeare seems to be obsessed with the portrayal of insane characters and their ultimate self-killing in his tragedies. In fact, the Shakespearean tragic characters such as Othello (Othello), Lady Macbeth (Macbeth), Brutus (Julius Caesar), Ophelia (Hamlet), Timon (Timon of Athens), Cleopatra (Antony and Cleopatra), Goneril (King Lear), Mark Antony (Antony and Cleopatra), Cassius (Julius Caesar), Romeo (Romeo and Juliet), Juliet (Romeo and Juliet) and Portia (Julius Caesar) may have certain flaws in their characters but they would not have taken their own lives away unless there were strong and negative influences from the external forces in the society. In other words, they are made utterly frustrated and depressed by the people, their actions and behaviours. 


Therefore, they lose control over their minds, act irrationally (as the decision of committing suicide is not logical and it is the proof of madness) and lead themselves towards self-destruction. In this sense, they have not committed suicide; indeed, they are murdered by the instigators or social agents! It would be clearer to understand by an easy example- the so-called ‘suicide’ is similar to the way a murderer stabs and kills someone or someone who pushes another person down from the top of a building. The one we call ‘murder’ is committed by using weapons like knife, pistol etc. which we can see and touch but the murder in the guise of the ‘supposed suicide’ is committed by using weapons that we do not actually see or touch such as, spreading rumour, constantly pressurising someone psychologically, hurting someone’s self-esteem badly and the like. For instance, Iago drives Othello towards the point of insanity by spreading rumour about Desdemona. He suffers psychologically as his honour is at a stake and his self-respect is ruined. As a result, Othello murders his wife. However, after finding that Desdemona is not adulterous, Othello loses his rational mind and acts as a mad man; he stabs himself with a dagger and dies beside Desdemona’s corpse. 


Othello in Othello 


Othello, the Moor of Venice, has married Desdemona, a young lady from Venice. They have a strong bond between them since Desdemona has respected Othello’s love by eloping with him. She has deceived her father so that she can stay with Othello forever. Undoubtedly, Othello is a leader of great stature. The Venetians honour him because of his valour as a leader. However, great leader and stress are similar to the body and the shadow. He has much tension on him. But, only stress does not drive Othello towards ‘madness’. Indded, the combination of the stress, envy, and loss of honour act as catalysts in making Othello insane. Therefore, he does not hesitate to murder his wife. We see a mad Othello when he cries:


thou hast set me on the rack.

I swear ‘t is better to be much abus’d

Than but to know a little.



Author's Notes/Comments: 

More will be added later on...

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“Who is he?”

I whisper to myself

as your eyes gaze off to the distance

and treat me with the unbearable silence

I’m a little too late, I guess,

I hear your eyes scream, they confess

It is him who holds your heart

The one you’d rather hold your hand

Under the city lights

In a cold November night


But my love for you is greater than his.


So do the honor and list down the things

you so liked about him

Watch me burn myself with a pile of leaves

and reborn as him

Just let me be your light, your candle tonight

I can be him, your lover, if you like

I’ll cut my wrist, drain the blood my ancestors

passed on to me

Replace it with the words he whispers

when I’m not around

Let his words flow down my veins so you may speak

and tell me all the things you never say to me

Slit my throat with the screen of the phone you use

To capture his face, his smile, the perfection, your muse

Because you never even once

took a picture of me

— or maybe my image is just

too hideous for you to keep?

What strength of lens does he use, you say?

I can smash mine down if it’s not the same

Use the shards to peel off my skin I so badly hate

Blessed is he to have the kind that keeps you sane

I’ll unclench my claws I’ve spent years to build

Pull them out and mold me his hands and feet

Let the blood spritz all over the room

Let them spell: HERE LIES A HOLY FOOL,



Tell my mother I died a sweetest death

And I’ll be waiting in line in the Day of Resurrect

Pour out the gasoline all over my corpse for the final touch

Say a short Ignatian prayer before you strike the match

Watch my skin; watch my veins turn to ash, turn to dust,

as I’m enveloped and swallowed by flames

‘Cause I’m tired of fighting, I’m tired of asking,

“Who is Carl, baby? I’m James.”


From now on, call me Carl.

Author's Notes/Comments: 

A poem about wanting and loving someone so much you are willing to turn yourself into someone else.

It Sounded Like Popcorn

It Sounded Like Popcorn

By JFarrell


It sounded like popcorn

Was my first thought

A lot of popcorn

At one in the morning


Opening the bedroom door

And turning on the light

To find myself blind

As a wall of thick, black smoke engulfed me


Going to my balcony

And looking over the edge

To see bright, angry orange flames

Licking at the walls below me


Grabbed coat, 2 bottles of water

And a towel

Knocked door to door

Warning the neighbours


Went back to do the other side

But opening the door to that area

The smoke was too thick

And I retreated


Ours was not a serious fire, thankfully

And was quickly ended

I cannot even begin to comprehend the events and loss

In the West London fire


My deepest sympathies and prayers are with you

As I’m sure are the prayers of many others

And, again, I’d like to thank the emergency services

And all those who helped


Love does matter and can heal us all


Author's Notes/Comments: 

my deepest sympathies

In case of catastrophe break wall

What do say when no words can offer comfort?

What do you feel

when theres no empathy

that could possibly resonate?

What can you do when words

freeze at the edges of your lips

and dont dare come out

because it doesn't even begin 

to cover gape left open?

They might as well plunge to the depths of the abyss.

What can you do?


You hug.


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a man's living nightmare

Stormy, stormy ships quietly love a cold, lively sail. 

Carrying soldiers who arrived at the land knowing that war never prevails.
The world didn't want this battle.
Yet our ignorance sent our men into a different angle. 
Thousands of bodies fill the entire shore. 
These men fell hard, like rain onto the mainland. 
Come take quickly! Guns of the dead and boots galore! 
Might as well coat our blood on to your enemy's hand. 
War consists of destroying the enemy until they surrender
But what we never think about is how the world would be like after 
People back at home are happy that we won using our bombs
Yet they'll never know what it means to fight in the middle of a hell known as Vietnam 
Soldiers go home, after watching their friends die
They feel the warmth of their families but could never find that true peace of mind 
These men stand still as they watch the mothers of the deceased cry
And its because they're having a hard time finding tears that once left them blind
Celebrations fill the lands of the winners, 
While the enemy suffers from destruction full-scale. 
The most faithful people were turned into sinners 
because of a war that will never prevail.  

Fourteen Years Ago Today

Fourteen years ago today tragedy struck and my life has never been the same

I remember it like it was yesterday

Within seconds it was all over and I knew that it was gonna be the last time ...

For everything


Blunt force trauma to the head

On life support ... no brain activity

She's brain dead

She's taken off life support


This is not how I imagined saying goodbye

She'd just turned 3 and I'd just turned 5

I'd been forced to take on the mother-like role before it was my time

But I didn't care because as far as I was concerned, I was her mother

Through no fault of our own, we were robbed of our childhood and our innocense


He has no conscience

No remorse

He's a fuckin' sociopath


"We, the jury, find Donnell Joseph Demetrius Dutch guilty of felony murder."

He escapes the death penalty and life in prison

He's sentenced to 40 to 50 years in prison with the possibility of parole; (over my dead body) plus an additional 17 years for negligence and he has to do half of that 40 to 50 year sentence before he's eligable for parole

He's dying in prison

I don't know if he's came to that realization yet,

But on everything I love

I will ensure that he spends the rest of his days behind bars

It's not a threat

It's a promise

R.I.P. Layla La'Chelle Randolph (Mogwai)

April 9, 1999 - May 5, 2002

"Guardian Angel"






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Tragedy Befalls

Like the relentless rain,

Tragedy befalls on me,

As if hear I the sitar’s sad sound,

As if talks to me Melpomene!


Why does misfortune,

Follow me like a ghost constantly?

When will this end?

I have no idea truly!


Like the day and the night,


There are ever misery and delight!

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Die for You

Beautiful Imagery


I will die for you. 

But please, do not rejoice –

this is not a declaration

of my loyalty to your life.

I plan to kill myself tonight, brother…

for you – please do not try

to stop me. 

I do not want to hear

of my life's value; I

do not want to hear your rage

at the thought of my

perceived uselessness.  

I know my life weighs on your soul,

and challenges your style of living.  

I know that we clash

more often than we intertwine, and

it is for that reason that I

choose to die. 

I will rid myself

from your existence,

for you.

I do not say this to implant guilt;

please do not misunderstand. 

I choose this path, brother, because

I love you.  More than words

can ever hope to describe

in a world filled with words

callously used to hide behind.


I will die for you. 

Please, hold back your tears –

this is not honorable.

I will end my own life…

for you. 

Do not worry; I love life,

and all of its splendor. 

The trees call to me

in sweet tones that allow my

mortal mind to forget time. 

I am allowed space

to unfurl my physical trappings,

to relinquish my understanding

to the Soul of the World and

refill my cup with eternal love. 

The symphony of life quells

my restlessness in

ways Western medicine seeks

to mimic, but cannot quite replicate. 

But my reverence for such beauty

is in opposition to construction

and progress.  I cannot abide

endless consumption, so I

will remove myself from this

global equation,

for you.


I will die for you. 

Do not look at me with such disdain –

this is not Shakespearean tragedy


I poison myself because

I long to die… for you. 

I am not naïve;

I already dearly miss your skin,

the current surging within

that revitalizes my soul. 

I will forever hold your love

as the pinnacle of this physical world;

the height of true majesty,

paling the purple of the mountains

from the land we came from. 

Most of all, I adore your eyes,

as they diminish my existence

with the immensity of Gaia’s power,

wrath, and benevolence… I

will miss those fiery windows most of all. 

I realize my Aquarian tendencies

leave my head cloudy with images of

utopia – images in stark contrast

to our civilization,

this reality you remain grounded to. 

I know that is why we are no longer

in each other’s arms; your absence

shaves my humanity, membrane by

membrane, so death seems

inevitable.  Why not cut

to the chase?...

for you.


I will die for you. 

I will not be a martyr – I

am not strong enough for this world. 

I imagined myself an actor

in a new age play,

a catalyst of a movement toward

enlightenment.  But I am

meek, and incapable of lasting

through to the end of this struggle. 

When hard times come,

as they always do,

I will not be here.  Someone

more capable will take my place

beside you.  Someone with

unflinching bravery and

unlimited strength to guide,

and be guided by you. 

I am sorry and I apologize;

it cannot be me.  I

am weak.

CLF 2015

Author's Notes/Comments: 

Please help me with this; I would like it to be critiqued.  I am in the process of editting it, but I am currently fatigued as a result of what this piece means to me.

Do not worry, I am not actually suicidal -- this poem means to vent the frustration constructively, to avoid such an outcome from seeming attractive to me.