In the Badlands - 2

These dunes, they stretch for miles eastward, the guide says
There are strange creatures prowling these sands
They will rip the skin from your bones
They will curdle the blood in your veins

That's pretty scary, isn't it, brother?
We really don't want to go to the dunes
Let's heed to the warnings of this pretty guide
Who happens to be quite intelligent too

Pray tell us, dear guide
Where we can find some monkeys to feed
For me and my brother, we are hungry
And looking for some adventure too.

What kind of monkeys, you ask?
Well, any kind would do, but we would
Prefer those that eat peanuts
Possibly those that don't hurl feces at us either

We have traveled far and wide
Hearing stories of the city of monkeys
Where they snatch peanuts from your hands
Where they dance on two tails for measly peanuts

We want to see that dance
Me and my brother
For we have traveled from far away
But I've told you that already

To the east you say?
Over those sands?
It will take many days?
We can find supplies there?

Did you hear that brother?
The city is there, eastward
Just past those dunes
Shouldn't take us long to travel them

So shall we go?

----
Fuck, here we go again. 

in the badlands - 1

these bricks have my fingerprints on them, brother
and we are back here looking for something
that we did not find when we were here last time
but the search shall continue

do you remember when we saw
a monkey in a cage here
angry and raging
it would not stop screaming
that was some day
we tried to feed the monkey
but it would only throw the peanuts
back at us, all while screaming monkey insults
isn't it great that we are not fluent in monkey?

the dust is still a mad dervish here
scraping dreams from the eyes of believers
do you see them now? faithless and lost
waiting for the sands to swallow them
you want to throw some peanuts at them?

it's hilarious, isn't it, brother?
all these lost people
looking for things
that they should not be looking for?
hilarious every time
oh, and why were we here again?
did you just throw a fucking peanut at me?
motherfucker.

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?