Truth is my Compass, & Wisdom my Helm.

once you know, you cannot un-know. once you have seen, you can never un-see. once you have allowed yourself to feel, you are freed from silence; for the submergence of one's truth only births havoc within the self.


The moon and I make love,
and birth seas

We tease the wind,
to beckon suns


I will neither egress, nor acquiesce
The precondition for contrition

I will transgress this distress,
For disillusion is a healthy obtrusion

If oration is my sole act of deviation;
Silence will confound, as words expound

Spiritual Combat

died by the sword,
reborn by the lord

endowed a predilection,
for psychic insurrection

With the Consensus of the Gods

I am the salt
Of ethereal worlds
We have yet to exalt

Propelled by the benighted,
Into the luminosity of foresight;   
Transubstantiation, must be expedited


Keep near, those who embrace your existence;
Even only if in memory, for they are most transient

And forgive those who deplete you;
Although they may seem earnest, they are dishonest

Road Sleeper

get your ass out the passenger seat,
kick passivity out the driver’s seat

grab that steering wheel—and ride this vehicle;
like you know this your last fucking trip


Like soil, if the soul ain’t fertile, the crops may not be worthy of harvest.

Zisa Aziza

Psychic Clutter

Only in the aftermath,
I remember I am an empath

Bearing the injuries of energetic assault,
I am faulted for the disharmony of the gestalt

For my vessel has subtle bodies,
Enduring avertible maladies

But as a priestess, I must guard my auric field;
Without haste, I will wield my shield


Stand Down

I did not repeat,
my warning was my greet

Sleep don’t confuse me,
it bestows clarity

I fucked the shit outta death,
had that entity begging for breath

Forgive me, but I ain’t twisted;
I’s a warrior, and the daemon insisted


I fetch water
from the stars

As I bathe
in dead soil

An Endless Slumber

Baring oneself is an act of self-sacrifice
because it is required for self-remembrance

I almost got lost in the same delusion,
pinning my hopes and dreams on another institution

Psychic detox is like draining your bone marrow,
to purify your blood

Every mirror reflects an illusion
you cannot distinguish from reality

You debate if whether the mind
is a synthetic sample of consciousness

Seated in the crinkled kiss had
between ecstasy and agony,

I wonder if I could spend money
the way I do time

I am a breathing firecracker
with no sky to light up

I stand only with my ancestors,
pestering them to deliver me