top of page


I stare at these vines

I find comfort in them

Growth without pattern

Life with routine can get so repetitive

It's nice to be reminded of unpredictability by nature

Of the nooks and crannies I will never poke my nose into

I always spent so much time staring at the walls, 

Seeing faces in the stains of the bathroom tiles

So many beautiful mysteries in the world

"The Deadly Exchange Between a Fox and a Butterfly""

Listen to the cicadas, you’re in a field. It's sunset. There's a little breeze sweeping past you and fireflies are starting to light up the meadow, almost like specks of glitter. You can feel the warmth of the sun slowly dissipating as it continues to sink past the earth. It's still hot though, and a little humid. All you can smell is the wet grass. 

I sit patiently on a rock, waiting to be engulfed in complete darkness. Nightfall here is never truly dark. In fact, you see more of the world than during the day.  The darkness comes like water, swallowing away all visible things- and then turns into a mirror. 


It clears your head of all that is external and physical, and forces you to look within. 

It comes in whispers. Dreams, desires, deepest fears, and more. I ingest each thought like a little snack. Not a tasty one, but one that I am being forced to eat. 


Lost in thought, I had disregarded how dark it had become. The meadow was silent. Not a single cricket in sound. I stayed in this silence for what felt like decades, centuries even. I am not one to sit and ponder my thoughts, so I left the rock and went onward. 


I was following no trail. No sound. No light. I was being guided by an invisible force. Being unaware of anything visual freed me. The only occasion in time where I could let my other senses take the lead. The only occasion where my eyes could retire.


I anticipated this feeling every night when the sun made its descent. 


One by one, my senses were taken away from me. I had wandered right into a trap. A very moist, toothy trap. I had become another creature’s little snack. This time a tasty one.

"Bruce in the Sky"

Bruce was born with just a head: no arms, no belly, no toes.

He was a medical mystery as far as anyone knows. 

To get around he would have to roll.

He lived most of his life covered in bruises. His lips were constantly bleeding from smacking the floor. 

It got to be too much after falling in love with a full-bodied man. 

Being everything he dreamed of, Bruce conjured a plan.

“Once I read a story of a boy who made wings out of wax and feathers. He was stupid enough to fly during the day! Obviously, the sun melted his feathers,” he thought to himself. 

 “I will fly at night…”

And the stars danced around him as Bruce fell to his death.

"Mother Nature's Sympathy"

Once I'm old, face melted and grown, my ears will remain sharp. I listen in on the little secrets whispered to me by the dust particles falling out of my nose, where my dusty brain rots. My brain who wants to escape my aging, withering body and find new life.


I’m sitting in my rocking chair, wondering where my brain will go, while my insides were slowly starting to exit my body. Through my nostrils, mouth, eye sockets, and every other pore.


 The organs that once lived to keep me alive had a different mission. My rotting corpse was no longer a habitat suited for them. 


I’m being emptied out until all that is left is a sack of skin and a pile of bones. Not a single drop of blood left. 

As I sit there, like a deflated balloon, I take my last sip of wine. Shakily holding up the glass to my pale bloodless lips, feeling the life leave my body as I swallow. 


The wine goes from my mouth to the bottom of my toes. Mother Nature offers me a handkerchief, and I deny.

bottom of page