In shadows deep where moonlight wanes,
Where whispers dance in eerie strains,
There prowls a creature of the night,
With eyes aglow, a chilling sight.

Amongst the hibiscus, crimson blooms,
Their petals soaked in midnight gloom,
A vampire lurks, his thirst unbound,
In silence, stalking without a sound.

He yearns for blood, a crimson stream,
A haunting echo, a silent scream,
And in the garden, where hibiscus weep,
His hunger stirs from slumber's keep.

Yet amidst the darkness, a delicate grace,
The hibiscus blooms, a fragile embrace,
Their beauty rivals the moon's soft glow,
A stark contrast to the vampire's woe.

For in their petals, life's essence lies,
A crimson hue beneath starlit skies,
But to the vampire, they hold no cure,
Just reminders of what he must endure.

So in the night, where shadows creep,
The vampire hunts, his hunger deep,
And though the hibiscus may wilt and fade,
Their beauty lingers in the darkness, unswayed.

© fey (24/04/24)

In silence lay concealed and still,
The blue of heavens here ahead,
It held the reins of clouds, yet frail,
While petals strove a lasting thread.

Astray she turned her hand away,
Towards the pale horizon's line,
In despair the black birds sway,
Around bare branches fading shrine.

In endless gleam of sun so pale,
Averted from the longing death,
Carnations scent, so bright and hale,
She staggers back to life's last breath.

There, where light falls veilly thin,
Enveloped in the darkest night,
A whisper of peace softly spins,
A distant melody, a laugh still light.

In whispers of transience frail,
Unfolds the delicacy of a strand,
That through time carries without fail,
The warmth a set of hands prevails.

And in life's chaos, heavy dire,
A spark of hope ignites within,
Thus moments so deeply inspire,
That life’s enchantment does begin.

© fey (23/04/24)

Have you ever seen the rain?
Amidst the mossy caverns light,
No pain among the insane’s plight,
Imprinting silvery vervain,
Have you ever seen the rain?

Falling softly, washing pain,
Through whispers of the trees decay,
Under the gentle stars anew,
With pleas serene, a lasting hue.
Have you ever felt the rain?

Kissing cheeks with no disdain,
A soothing touch, a cool embrace,
In its realm no harm, no pain,
Have you ever felt the rain?

It cleanses wounds that lie within,
Bewitching souls, a gentle kin,
And as it falls, a symphony unfolds,
Of nature's orchestra, with stories untold.

Have you ever heard the rain?
Its melodic chorus, a sweet refrain?
A lullaby for restless souls,
Guiding them with peaceful notes.
Have you ever heard the rain?

It murmurs secrets to the earth,
Of rebirth, life, and unknown mirth,
And in its cadence, a sacred art,
The rhythm of life, a beating heart.

So, have you ever seen the rain?
Gracefully mundane in its reign,
For in its tears, there's wisdom deep,
That even storms lay you to sleep.

© fey (17/04/24)

My heart is dark beneath the tall pines,
no light flows through the dead of night.

The shadows cling to the flesh of bark,
in dizzying heights I count all the dead stars.

© fey (19/10/23)

I wander swiftly on the edge of moonlight,
when the sun hides its translucent shadows
and the city indulges in everyone's sight,
moving under sunken, rain-starved meadows.

My name is not yours to take.
I am myself, I am thy ghostly gaze.
And I vanish from the remnants of our occupied space,
without you knowing, without the softness of your gentle face.

© fey (09/10/23)

What does your heart do at night?
It spins silk silently above the clouded sky.
And when it levitates back to thee
the moon is curdled in every beat of me.

© fey (20/11/22)

It's a quiet autumn where
your footsteps were felt last.
A cool breeze blows through
the emptiness of a concaved ribcage nest,
where once a summer boldly raged
and now the snowless winter takes its rest.

© fey (03/09/23)

And I was gentle
on my empty meadow,
as they took away
all the kindness I had.

© fey (31/05/23)

Alone in the city of melancholy,
I feel the street sides smoldering my hazy eyelids.
At night the moons of lanterns touch me only marginally
and wing cracked moths circle the illuminated edges of the panel building's decayed balcony -
gentle; endlessly.
Infinite depths of gray beneath the stone canyon skin
of 1980's asphalt-wrinkled face of my ardently antagonized Berlin.

© fey (17/08/23)

Alone in the city of love,
the sky sleeps under the cheekbones of stars
and night lights illuminate
the sunken hope of touch-starved hearts.

© fey (09/08/23)

your sheepish smile resides
inbetween coffee stained book pages.

pearl-white row of teeth abide,
as those lips linger on the rim of forgotten faces.

© fey (14/07/23)

won my love with a joker card,
halfway through the graveyard of my heart.

© fey (12/07/23)

Today I caught a glimpse of cold,
accumulating through
a summer blazing's green-leafed hue.

In yonder search of gently swaying thunders
briscle scents of cozily wafting coffee wonders,
where rain collides and scorching light draws circles.

From where autumnal yearning lurks,
different nuances of gentle fingertips return,
directing grim muses to go berserk.

© fey (05/07/23)

The skies gleam soft, spun by cloudy filaments;
Seven vertical contrails, pearlwhite, pale;
Our time together; liquid, trickling away,
the color of alabaster, corundum, topaz -
and you have gone lost, in our broken hourglass.

© fey (25/07/22)

She wanted the chaos back;
amplifying, energy flowing
like a swarm of untamed crows.

The sky whispering, murmuring
in the language of exploding words,
brimming with lethal force.

Her name was Rain and alone she reigned,
the skies of her choice.

© fey (24/07/22)

Summer's surrealness -
a dragonfly in space,
stars aligned in perfectly circled shapes.

Craving the tingling
foreboding sense of of cold -
burning fingertips, auburn smoke.

Autumn's delight - fiery
colorfulness, adorning
the piny mountainside.

© fey (24/07/22)

The summer light does not touch me.
It shines in delicate rivers on the brightly polished stairs,
where the gelatieri stroll with sweet iced coffee,
unimagined, oblivious.

The summer light does not touch me.
It brushes the children, who - in growing flocks -
chime their laughter atop neighbor's doors with delicate knocks;
bell-bright bicycle bells ringing.

The summer light does not touch me.
Twenty-three forty-four; peripheral car brake light coming forth.
The first leaf sonorously breathes “Goodbye; I'll leave”
and at last it creeps up, a swift cold touch -
the autumnal welcoming committee for my July melancholy.

© fey (24/07/22)

I see my kins dancing and laughing in unision
but I crave the silence - the forgotten sound of reverie.
Am I a part of their worldy communion
or is my world simply a lonesome treachery?

© fey (10/07/22)

Fairytales deliver less and less
the wry lovelorn's real wretchedness.

Whereas reality never competes
with a fairytale's alluring heartbeat.

© fey (19/06/22)

tw: sh/scars

i trace the white lines outside
as they trace me from within
like unfinished brushstrokes
they end on the canvas of skin.

© fey (07/06/22)

Rays of mik-white porcelain
covered her delicate fingertips -
as she painted the vast sky
a crescent companion.

© fey (05/06/22)

On a rustic bench there laid
a single cat of dire age.
Between lushful green she gazed
longingly into the distance - as if
far away she would catch a glimpse
of home to reside in irides of an amber lynx.

© fey (05/06/22)

night has befallen your eyes agleam,
iris casting shadows on those unseen -
falling, falling deep; darling, dearest
my gaze will catch you from the darkest pits - you
crestfallen, asleep - weaping on the tower's peak.

© fey (27/05/22)

our fingertips meet gently on the rim of porcelain
and as we take a sip from liquid infinity
all the numbness abides - induced by frost and rain.

the ember glow ascending from your eyes -
no tender coffee with cream could ever achieve -
is the epitome of what makes my inner child arise.

and i adore the way your index finger moves around the surface of the storm-kissed-window,
while you utter your thanks for whatever makes this autumnal evening swirl in an indigo-colored vertigo.

and i see it too.

© fey (27/12/21)

orbs of blue in the drizzle of rain,
a flesh-numbing cold; myriad of pain;
red-hued cheeks and traces of benzocaine.

russet irides shift with the aegean's quick moves
through the black pupil, colors to exclude
and brows are squinting; just in slight disapproval.

clumsy dance of eyes in the dim afternoon light,
café au lait für Zwei, für dich und mich allein,
as we bid our longing gazes a sorrowful good night.

© fey (25/12/21)

September leaves rustled in the glades of my mind,
I saw them dancing golden since August and July.

They shone gently in the tone of your eyes - russet-chestnut and striking hazel;
I still couldn't name how they struck me like a sharp blade - cruel and fatal.

And I saw your ghost lingering
in the corn fields of this autumnal dream.
You as blue aciano, me as red poppy,
complementing our floral color scheme.

A person like you doesen't even exist
and yet I am writing this.
Summer died long ago
but we were meant for the fall with the aching of the cold wind's blow.

© fey (19/09/21)

My ghostly heart longed for this story in ways,
it made lipstick stains appear on each and every page
and as the phrases hastily crumbled away,
under my ephemeral, sunken gaze,
the sun had also vanished from its cloudy lace,
somewhere in-between saccharine caffeine stains.

"Devourer of alienated lifes", he whispers softly,
"tell me your name, so that I may sleep in peace and bid my last farewell."
A mocking smile danced around the corners of her ink-tarred mouth, veiling the disease
of the joyous moments of a fleeting life's gentle breeze.
"You might already be aware of it", she exhales,
as she barely touches the brittle hands of her one and only lover,
known as DEATH.

© fey (06/05/21)

the sun dies gently behind the hills as I
wander through the pastel cloud’s apricot-nuance
with floating eyes of vacant iridescence.

and the sky lost all of its mighty blue,
now glimmering in a nonchalantly lilac hue
one could only describe as the universe spilled passion.

darkness manifests on the canvas of atmosphere,
its golden streaks devoured by mischievous glee
and we all sigh and finally close our eyes.

so that this journey remains all that we see.

© fey (08/04/21)

drunk on melancholy, i wander aimlessly
through the solemn state of “komorebi”,
where the sun dances in between leaves,
reflecting its countless memories.

if i had to describe how lonely each step feels,
I would tip-toe around intangible infinity.
my eyes gaze at the neighborhood like
a veil carries me through each door.
and it hurts to hear the laughter inside
because none of it has company anymore.

I wonder if the girls I spent my childhood with
are still behind those walls, in united reminiscence,
or am I the only loner chasing the spirits of the past,
lingering in each pebble my feet passes by.

© fey (02/04/2021)

sometimes you wake up
without really waking up.
you cling to your blanket like
it's the only resort  in your black-tarred heart.

sometimes the bathdoor seems so far away that
you need three hours to move one foot forward
just to stop midway and feeling overwhelmed by
how the floor presses against your naked feet.

sometimes all you could manage was breathing
and maybe making some green tea in the kitchen
and that's actually all there is, a mundane accomplishment
considered normal by healthy-minded folks.

sometimes you feel nothingness gnawing and chewing
your inner self, since there is actually nothing left than
a few bits and pieces of your former, cherish self.
and you actually cry, for there is nothing to hold on to.

sometimes it feels like not living could be the only way out but
actually,
quite frankly
you will always find a way out of feeling insignificant.
because i did. as mundane as it might sound.

so you can too
find a way out.

© fey (24/03/21)

today the coffee turned cold before
my lips could touch the rim of the mug.

today the flowers in my garden withered before
i could watch the petals gently growing.

today the world feels less comfortable and
more lonely than ever before.

maybe tomorrow will be different but
yesterday i said that too.

© fey (15/03/21)

It‘s in your eyes
and how those honey-clear gazes draw small circles around the sky, whenever
a lovely smile vanishes in the dim afternoon light,
like a swarm of youthful birds with wings wide spread,
ready to conquer the earth's terra incognita,
utterly remaining unread.

© fey (10/03/21)

The auburn flicker silently danced across her half-closed eyelids. A barely noticeable smile ghosted around her lips, as her empty eyes bore into the flaming core of the candle. He watched her, mesmerized, in undefinable awe of what was going on behind that small barrier of flesh and bone above her eyebrows.

“Have you ever wanted something so insignificant to swallow the world as a whole?”, she whispered, eyes still locked on the tiny flame, caged inside the glass of the candle. He couldn’t manage to answer. The only visible response was irritation, unfolding between the tiny space of his eyebrows.

But then her smile widened, overshadowed by immeasurable melancholy.

And then he understood.

© fey (18/01/21)

The night isn't gentle anymore.
Its darkness has a vice-like grip,
shattered, unwelcome
on her fragile throat,
leading to a crimson door,
full of destructive, intrusive thoughts about
sleeping
with eyes never wanting to open
again.

The night no longer offers rest
for her shattered, melancholical, heavy head
to gently abide the terrors of
turning silver to red on her already scarred flesh,
beucase life seems to stay
just like that.

© fey (30/12/20)

She learned to forget. She lingered in her heedless silence without the reverberation of a comforting echo. She spread her resigned smile across the mouldering canopy, touched the sun-kissed treetops that lined up in the background like green fortress walls.
And she went where he had disappeared to.

The nothingness.

© fey (17/12/20)

if i point a gun at the sky
will I have a shooting star?
because I can no longer believe in a lie,
spoken by imaginary gods from afar.
so I am going to create my own wish
with weapons made by human hands.
at least I can count on them,
for they will never diminish my devious plans.

© fey (12/12/20)

i wish the world
would hold its breath
just for one day.

because i am running with time,
only that
time is always one step
ahead of me.

i wish that just for once,
our breath would synchronize
as one
and only one
exhale.

© fey (09/12/20)

i haven't watered my flowers
equally less
as that fragile beat
inside my chest.

© fey (08/12/20)

And when you're searching for that paradise of yours,
built of inscrutable mist, balanced on a spider's fragile webs,
don't forget to invite me in as well.
Because this place was not made
for both our lost souls to stand
against rusty mechanisms of a mad world's wry farewell.

© fey (02/12/20)

The November asphalt is stolen,
enraptured and torn by
cracks of a longing summer's kiss.
Oh, where did the winter's magic go?
Where is the ice-cold embrace,
the beautifully written crystal maze
of snow?

© fey (20/11/20)

where did the smoke travel to
flame dead of the wick's woe
where did you go when
chronos stopped time and
aphrodite longed to see you
as the candle's grime continues
to taint the glass from
transparent to white and black
where you onced had vanished to.

© fey (05/11/20)

her world is not laced with sugar and milk
and yet she decided to put them inside.
a flavor of alienated, saccharine silk,
her otherwise pitch-black morning coffee had died
maybe, just maybe, because of him.

his world levitates on honey-like force,
sticky sweetness reigns tender lips,
one evening, a bitter intruder enters with no remorse,
he stepped into her world with long regretful sips,
eager to be enchanted by this “triste malheur”,
maybe, just maybe, because of her.

they were two kindred coffee spirits,
one leaving a sugarcoated sphere,
the other one becoming a brave pioneer.
although neither of them liked
the other one’s caffeine-induced sight,
they still thought of each other,
either on sweet, milky mornings or disgustingly bitter nights.

© fey (30/10/20)

i am just that kind of person
leaving flowers in your mailbox
with imaginary words engraved
in each and every petal,
utterly afraid,
because our language could not fathom all the feelings
i captured outside of my tongue as
some kind of endorphine induced knee kicks
lost in my butterfly-conquered abdomen

i am just that kind of person
slow dancing in the dark like
your silhouette is right beside my
worn paper-back stories of Erich Maria Remarque
and i know how silly it sounds when i say
that even your shadow is exclusively unique
inbetween the light cracks of the late October evening sun

i am just that kind of person
that wants to capture the corners of your mouth
inside an empty jar to hang around my neck
because i want to be the only person
being able to say "I wore your smile right above my heart,
like rose on titanic with jack on the promenade deck."

i am just that kind of person
because i could not be anyone else
beside you.

© fey (26/10/20)

i loathe the nightly routine of
complex human emotions.
the insecurity induced fear of
never knowing what intimacy might feel like
because my outer layers won’t invite
any invidivual in, since sharp daggers are
what a gaze of mine would spill

I loathe the nightly routine of
crying myself to sleep when I read
all the lovey-dovey descriptions of
some couples won defeat
over loneliness and feeling utterly incomplete.

I know you know what I mean.
being the first to hide and the last to dream
of idealistic connection in a world
lost in translation.

I see you.
behind the screen.
misunderstood.
not able to cross the line of
wanting to be alone and
never wanting to be alone again.

I get the hint.
I wish I wouldn’t be so bothered about it.
listen to the piece of advice saying
“it happens when you least expect it”,
**** their optimistic mindset, really

we live in a society,
where connection might be easy
but hard to develop as something
more than a swipe to the next inviting beauty.

video may have killed the radio star
but the digital absurdity of modern society
suffocated the hopelessly romantic
and gave him a good ******* amount of
overdeveloped anxiety.

© fey (05/10/20)

one thought, quietly
sneaks through the 30 milligrams of amitriptyline
in an unmistakable and perfidious way.

and whispers, full of dark foreboding:
"I know serotonin isn't enough for you,
my darling."

© fey (29/09/20)

I don't want to bid farewell.
Neither to the glowing evening sun, lingering on my book pages with its last, warming rays of light.
Nor to the last corner where the cooling shadows didn't reach through to envelop the last trace of day.
I don't want to.

I want to capture the moment selfishly,
let it remain in my fist, closed ever so tightly.

I don't want the silent night to come,
I don't want this golden hours to end,
Don't go yet.
Stay.

© fey (22/09/20)

Inside the forest
a nostalgic alike rain
dies on a flower.

Mori no naka
natsukashii ame
hana de shinu.

© fey  (27/11/19)

i'm feeling,
i'm dreaming
exceptionally lonely today

stumbeling from phrase to phrase,
like a toddler learning to
get used to the endless space
of walking.

serotonin is a fleeting butterfly
as equally lost as the moth that died
while diasappearing in the crescent moonlight

i need a better molecule structure,
maybe a more sophisticated formula
to deminish the activity of the stupid receptors

i just want to be happy.

© fey (14/09/20)

I am a dream dancer.
My strings are taut
over the vaults of the sky so soft.
Like a quiet muse I hear
the silent night breaking in.
Like marble, strands of clouds shine brightly,
in shades of rosé and nacre here,
those anxious sounds are getting lost,
now blanching in rust  and debris near.

I am a dream dancer,
staggeringly floating in the sea of the world,
wobbling and falling on thin ropes,
spoiled in nothingness and oh so empty,
despicably holding the here in fear.

I am a dream dancer.
And I fall
As an eternal bliss truant
To the ground.

© fey (28/12/17)

i'll never forget how his radiant blue eyes
concealed such a vast, continuously expanding universe
and how his notorious laugh echoed like a toneless thunder
through my quietly admiring, sunken gaze.

the messy handwriting adorning his caffeine-kissed lips,
lovely tainting the fancy words on his fiery tongue,
as mesmerizing as the last remnants of a lunar eclipse
i was swept away easily, utterly stupid, naive and also young.

i would have loved to be absorbed by his crazy tellings,
deeply hidden underneath that soft, brownish locks of his,
containing the tempting sweetness of honey drops, indwelling
as an uncharted, seldom kind of bliss.

© fey (11/09/20)