I'm a sink
Always greasy
Always left with crumbs
Never truly clean
You shower me with your ***** dishes and cover me in pots and pans
I'm drowning
And you keep dumping
bodies to the waterline
It rises
It'll be over the edge soon
Over the whole floor
Will stain the fragile parquet floor
Will have alarms blaring
Would you like that?
But I'm at the bottom
And you're on top
I'm only the sink, overflowing with dirt
You turn the faucet off and
leave.
2d ago
Jun 1, 2026 at 1:11 PM UTC
Towards the end of their lives, my grandparents divided themselves in half.
That was their continuation plan.
That they would remain halves together.
She, the steady hand.
He, with the clear head, stuck in a red chair.
My grandmother lost her mind when that chair was vacated.
May 21
May 21, 2026 at 4:02 PM UTC
That word has been repeated for so long that it remains our only universal law
Screamed in the battlefield;
on a silent piece of paper;
as a hushed threat;
as a tense premonition;
as a call;
as a promise;
as an end;
to a beginning and
a snake eating its own tail.
May 15
May 15, 2026 at 6:32 PM UTC
There's a faint melody
In vain
we trudge on
In vain,
knowing this story has played out a million times before. We're hoping for a chance among tragedies.
We're even bending our knees if that would us a chance.
But the gods watch us dance to the same song.
In vain.
We tell ourselves that the wooden sword in our hands may be sharp. That the manuscript isn't rehearsed. That our surroundings aren't two-sided, painted wooden surfaces.
We tell ourselves the same thing.
Sing the same songs.
May 12
May 12, 2026 at 6:38 PM UTC
So I went home
Found a big, tuquoise box in the wardrobe
I thought I would find treasures from the past
Forgotten poems to amaze me
All I found, was a selfish, young girl
- feeding the fire that was
my depression /
My personality
at the time
Mar 10, 2021
Mar 10, 2021 at 6:44 AM UTC
You look like a wolf
in sheep’s clothing
And yet, you say you
are the dragon
Yet, you make us believe
in your story
You breathe no fire
You only wanted the
castle walls
to protect you
from our glances
If you had opened up
Put away your wolf hide
All could see
how lonely you are
And how wrong our story is
---------------------------------------------------------
Anne H. Bakke | 02:09 @ 29.05.2016
Sep 16, 2018
Sep 16, 2018 at 5:35 PM UTC
Nothing
is left to find
We know it all
The explorers are dead
Nothing
is magical anymore
We already know
where
we are going
And we're not leaving
We're conciled
to this part of the Universe
which we've already
managed to
destroy
The heat has arrived, to
torch our land and it's too
late
Now
Hell
comes to us.
--------------------------
AHB | 9.08.2018.
Sep 16, 2018
Sep 16, 2018 at 4:58 PM UTC
They say lightning does not strike the same place twice.
But a man named Roy Sullivan was struck seven times.
So don't tell me the world is fair.
May 14, 2016
May 14, 2016 at 10:11 AM UTC
Maybe I like you
Possibly, I admire you
Hopefully, I won't
fall for
you.
May 14, 2016
May 14, 2016 at 9:45 AM UTC
it’s the skin disease that is my sickness
It’s the red dots
(hurtings, blemishes, scars)
and not my face I see
It’s the
d e s p e r a t i o n
on display
of my insecurities, and
so it worsens my insecurities
The hermeneutic circle;
fact is fact
So, on my face
desperation is visible
sadness in my mind;
emptiness in body;
— but explosions on my face
That is all I see
It's all
I
am.
I am a
sickness.
august 2014
Aug 21, 2014
Aug 21, 2014 at 5:10 PM UTC