views

the aspect of caring
falls into the regions
of nonchalance
there is only a sad grin
floating into space
as words disappear
who gives a fuck
about the views of another
when the distractions are aplenty
who the hell wants to bother
with the poison of another mind
the stress and the tension
the daily drudgery of life
do not even mention
let's just shut the fuck up
stare into the ceiling
for hours that never end
and wait for the end

-----
Ah, fuck.

scratch the surface

wait for 2 AM
for what is sleep?
but an inconvenient gap
in this cycle of familiarity
even if a full day ahead
waits already with glint in its eye
with a knife hidden in a sweaty fist
it could go either ways
it knows as well as I do
but what fun is a day
without a few scratches
or some wounds to show for it
every day the scabs open
like doors to the temple
of some ancient deity
reverently we rip them off
consumed by a fervent piety
no matter how much we scratch
how much we bleed
it's only the surface
the wounds go too deep
perhaps now
it's time to sleep

the melt

numbers and figures
thoughts and emotions
anger and frustration
right here in this melting pot
days blur into a blue nothing
dead signals obstructing conscious thought
patterns emerge only to scamper away
like scared animals into dark forests
these threads are too many to hold on to
they unravel through slippery fingers
till there is nothing left
but the smoke from the burning of something great
so breathe, breathe, breathe in
and hold.

the melt is here to stay.

the fear

if some day
a strange man knocks on my door
all dressed in black and tells me that
sir, it's all over
the curtain call is here
time to call it a day
we are going to take you away
there is a fat lady standing in the street
and that bitch is dying to sing

if some day
a minor god crawls out of its cave
appears hovering above my head
slams down on my shoulders
weighing me down
it whispers in my ears
all the times that I fucked up
and smiles while telling me
of every single fucking failure

if some day
a whale floats up from the sea
flying high in the sky
following me
like a dark cloud
and sings to me
the song of its people

if some day
the rat of fear and misdeeds
finally burrows into my head
to eat all my memories
the rhymes and untold stories
and then dares to beg for more
with bloodstained whiskers

if...

lost poems

words 

written in 

drafts

old notepads

pages yellowed 

ink faded

forgotten tattoos

on ancient skin

phantom memories

muddled

by the passage of time

these words

yours or mine?

Submerge

the wheel turns
so do we
tied to the spokes
with strands of misery
paper thin prisons
created in the mindfields
now trap all those
who once dared to dream
the future is a maniac
with a bared grin
streaked with blood and guts
of the animal called the past
the present is a lead weight
weighing us down
sinking us with all the mass
into the depths of our sin
but it's cool at the bottom
even if the pressure is immense
there is no escape from this
when the ocean is in my own mind
so breathe and breathe in deep
right before you sleep
remember
remember

Demon Box

It spins on a random axis
balanced on top of a pyramid
floating angrily in space
like the fist of a demented god

veins cover the surface
slipping and sliding in changing patterns
that make sense only to those
who are fucked in the head by chaos

Waves transmutate from the structure
spreading a fear, palpable and real
it burrows into the hearts of stars
causing necessary implosions

this here is the demon box
finally freed from its cage
and now the demons roam
maddened by an endless rage