Your face, it takes me back
to places I don't want to go,
to past mistakes, a time
in which I didn't know
I had to brake.

Flooded by bad memories,
the thoughts are ganging up on me.
The girls keep hanging up on me,
left on read again. Yet I thought it was funny to say
"That is what she said.".

My hands and pants were over active
and my face messed up with battlefield.
My performances were overeager, antsy
and unkind words my rattling shield.

So thank god I'm no longer there
even if my life is like an unhit spare.

Living for the future
to once live without a care,
it's a complicated suture
when you might not make it there.

Who am I to judge me
if it actively makes me sad?
Why do I compare the
good ones to the bad?

Decide in cold decembers
to let go of the embers
driving passion to result
or decide to join a cult.

Money makes my big eyes burn wide.
Money has so many upsides,
we all let the downsides slide.

Wedge between the parts, divide,
or string nuanced all to one.
The second it becomes too hard,
again, we all just let it slide.

Klassiekers die ik lees raken
vaak niet aan pagina zeven.
Stoppen kan ik ook niet maken
want boeken lezen is mijn leven.

Ik lees al zeker zo'n vijf jaar
intensief hetzelfde boek.
'k Ben zelfs bezig in twee paar
en de vijfde die is zoek.

Voor kerst kreeg ik twee dikke krakers,
bij m'n verjaardag 'n kleinfijn boekie.
Wat enig, drie eeuwige kastbewakers
om te verzamelen in dat grijze hoekie.

De letters vroegen me het op te geven.
Eindscore versus de prentjes: nul tegen zeven.

Weet iemand met mijn vragen raad,
wanneer noch kaars noch bril nog baat?
Het is zoeken en het zal blijven zoeken blijven
met enkel jezelf om op te kijven.

Was ik een bal, zou ik rollen,
was ik tranen, was ik geld
of vuisten wanneer iemand over morgen
vertelt.

Overmorgen, over zorgen, over hoop.
Alles overhoop.
De één die sneed, de ander zoop.
       En anderen verzopen.
             Of weggeblazen worden.
          Erdoor weer onweer en toen het terug kon
                              weer op stap, op de lappen
             En zo jezelf oplappen.
Kon ik maar, zoals op tv, tussen de dagen zappen.

Thank you, me, for breathing,
walking, thinking before speaking,
waiting, sword-sheathing, slow
and patient answer seeking.

I forgive you, me, for mistakes,
sloppy detailing, sometimes
derailing, losing sight, crimes
in fog and misty takes.

You tried and keep trying.
You'll fail and keep failing.
You learned and learned and
attempted to say no to what returned.

I respect your features and your bugs.
From now on, me, we'll celebrate with daily hugs.

We dart and dazzle, sniff and frazzle
just never quite figure it out.
All projections broken down,
all suggestions waved goodbye.

We left money, got a glimpse of fame,
we saw succes and honey, they were never
the same.
We showed shimmer, shine and gold,
a good time yet put to shame
with nicely furnished cars unequalled to behold.

Is it less specific, more erratic, more pacific, less adriatic?
Progress, reaching goals, contentment, food, shelter, love
and friendship, sowing seeds and meeting needs? A simple conversation, perhaps, it's just what
we're used to, differing to all.

Perhaps it's someone comforting you,
before, during and after the immense fall
that is life.

It may be words, cursed or blurred,
coats for rain, only when rain occured.
It may be bark from trees or dogs
or the arrival of pizza at your door at half past four on saterday when the neigbours are away and everything is finally ******* quiet.

Maybe it's new episodes of shows,
songs supporting the cinematic universe as it grows,
might as well be birdshit on your brand new clothes.

Fun is when Bob sings with Sheldon
and the parade they held on
falls.

Fun is when things fall into place
when puzzling in space.
Fun is when you know you know you know
and you can finally let go.