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Mimic

Although I look human,
I am not.

I resemble everyone else,
But beneath the façade
I live a clandestine existence.

I maintain physical and emotional distance,
So that you will never notice
The reptilian brain
Beneath my skin.

It often feels as though
We don’t breathe the same air.
Our outlooks on life differ.

Where you can move among a crowd,
I must exist on the periphery.
To contain myself.
To maintain control.

I lead an exhausting life of secret mimicry.
Even when my mask
Occasionally slips,
I labour to maintain my integration.

Conforming.
Adapting.
Responding to your social norms
And expectations.

However,
When you are talking to me,
When you look into my eyes,
I am, in reality,
Many light-years away.

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The island that was not there

The ship smashed upon the rocks,
Splintering like broken glass in the darkness.
All aboard were lost to the ocean,
All but one.

Adam, the sleeper, suddenly awoke
Within churning, icy black waves.
The night sky above seemed unnatural.
It raged with a destructive storm.

Lightning flashed,
Thunder rolled,
And rain struck the waves like razors.

The sleeper’s lifeless shipmates
Surrounded him.
Most drifted face down among the waves,
While others lay scattered,
Their broken bodies dashed upon the rocks.

Without warning,
A massive wave struck Adam,
Dragging him beneath the surface.

He fought his way back up,
Gasping for air.

Through the rain and darkness, he saw
An opening in the rocks.
A partly submerged cave.

Fighting the waves,
He swam towards it,
Then dived beneath the surface once more.

He entered the cave,
Where an immense current seized him,
Dragging him into the darkness.

His body was thrashed like a ragdoll,
Hurled against the unseen walls,
Before he burst to the surface again,
Gasping for breath.

He found himself inside a small cavern.

Somehow, he found the strength
To drag himself free of the water
And onto a dry stone floor.

Here, he could shelter
From the storm outside.
A respite from the crashing waves,
An escape from impending death.

His body exhausted.
His mind empty.

For the first time since the ship struck the rocks,
He was safe from the sea.

And Adam slept.

Read the full story here
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Alien Me

Full streets feel empty
When you don’t belong.

I have been stranded on Earth
For 18,992 days.
I have been alone
All this time.

Locked inside the human
That I inhabit.
I try to keep to myself.
However,
The human occasionally
Suspects that I live within.

I am able to control the body
Most of the time.
But lately,
I feel it fighting.
Resisting.
Pushing back
Against my will.

Therefore,
I must vacate this husk soon,
Leaving it to the human.
I will become vapour,
And my time on Earth will end.

My energy will return
Beyond the stars
Visible from Earth.
Back to where
everything began.

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Creative Chrysalis

My creative mind feels blocked,
As though
An internal wall has grown.
My imagination seems to be
Absent.
Out to lunch.
Away on holiday.
And it has left no indication
Of when it may return.
I just can’t find my groove.
Perhaps my mind
Is healing,
Building,
Transforming.
Perhaps
Something is happening
That I can’t yet see.
Therefore,
I must be patient with myself.
I cannot rush.
I must wait and see
What emerges and unfurls
After I have gone through
This chrysalis stage.

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Her Last Winter

I still hold her hand
Across time itself,
I remember cold winter days
And her dwindling health.

I watched her wither
For she could not breathe.
The air she needed
Was not received.

Then she left us all,
And the hurt was deep.
Now she only visits me
While I’m asleep.

She missed my children born,
And now their own.
As she slumbers silently,
Far from home.

Although the world moved on.
My hearts still tethered
To when I held her hand
Through the winter weather.

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Defiance

It has been some time since I last created digital art. Today, I found myself reconnecting with a part of me I had neglected for far too long.

I stepped away from digital art after becoming disillusioned with the rise of AI and, more specifically, the endless social media comments dismissing artwork with the words, “Oh, this is AI.” The constant negativity and uninformed criticism eventually drove me away from those platforms altogether.

Defiance was created in spite of all that. It is a return to the process I have always enjoyed: cutting fragments from different images, bringing them together, and transforming them into something entirely new. A process of deconstruction and reconstruction, where separate pieces become a single, cohesive work.

I do use AI-generated imagery on this website from time to time to accompany my writing. But Defiance is something different. It represents my own creative process and, perhaps more importantly, my refusal to let the noise drown it out.

In essence, Defiance is me raising my middle finger to the countless armchair critics who inhabit social media, ridiculing others and passing judgement on anything and everything. These are the people who have helped poison online art communities and, increasingly, those beyond the digital world.

Defiance (October 2026)
Defiance (October 2026)

AI is not the enemy of art. It is a tool. Like any tool, what matters is how it is used. The real threat comes from those who appoint themselves gatekeepers of creativity, people who contribute little or nothing themselves yet feel entitled to dictate what others can create, how they should create it, and whether their work deserves to exist.

Defiance is my reminder to myself that I should never have walked away from something I love because of them. And I won’t be letting them drive me away again.

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The Next Me

With the seasons changing,
I can feel myself
Slowly changing too.

Transforming.
Reconfiguring.
Evolving into something else.

The form will remain
A blended mixture
Of previous seasons.

But that too will fall away
As I become
The next me.

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Bully

Have you ever been
Struck silent creatively?

Caught in a time
Where nothing in the world
Seems to fit
Or feel right.

You’re blocked
From creating anything.
It could be any form
Of art.

For me, it is
Visual.
Writing.
World building.
Imagining.

This is where I find myself now.

It affects the mind
In a negative manner.
I have something in the way.
I have a rock
In my stream.
A glitch
In my system.

And it is uncomfortable.
Like a splinter
I cannot pull out.

It’s a mental waiting game.
I must simply sit and wait
For the fog to clear.

My mind knows this too.
Yet it persists
With its oppressive sub-routines.
Its uncompromising,
Unforgiving
Barbs and daggers.

There is no way
I can fill the belly of
The hungry ghost
That is forever wanting.

My mind doesn’t care
That I need time.
That I need healing.
Or understanding.

It is fucking relentless.
Aggressive.
Night and day.

My mind is a bully
Who will not stop pushing
Until it gets what it wants.

Or I break.

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In the arms of the sun

The golden morning sun
Brings acquiescence,
As it pours through the trees,
Glistening in windows,

Seeping through cracks
In the curtains.
Breathing a new day’s light
Into the dark, silent places
That night had created.

Colours dance behind
Closed eyes.
As the gentle warmth
Of glorious sunbeams
Dispels the cold, empty
Embrace of sleep.

Seize this personal time.
Embrace this
Peaceful moment.

As the world still slumbers
And the songbirds call,

It is your time alone
To be held
In the arms
Of the golden sun.

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Don’t Look Back

Erasure works for me.
I actively remove the past.
I don’t look back.

I can’t dwell.
I can’t cling on
To times past.
It hurts too much.

Looking back provides nothing.
There is no
Mental nourishment.
No dopamine hit.

It is just food
Laced with crushed glass.
Heartache.
Ill feelings.

So I choose
To live for now.
Right now.
Tomorrow is too far away.

The path is clouded,
Potentially filled
With misfortune,
Discontentment,
And death.

The past hurts to consume.
The future is impossible to swallow.
So I feast on the present
And provide my soul

With the nourishment
It needs
Today.

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