But how the realisation of my very existence
has grown like flowers, yet none beautiful.
I have somehow stopped knowing myself
long ago, yet I thought I did find me
just yesterday, but I assume I was only wrong;
For it was a pretending song.
I think of my childhood hours
proceeding to days, to years,
and how they won’t cease to haunt
deep inside of me,  screaming
from locked up and shaky towers,
far up in an unknown pointy castle
built of fragile flesh - a stupid body.
But, oh, to only have the key to these doors,
to find my breath again longing for;
to feel my heart once more throbbing for
that what I once thought was everything -
the things that now seem nothing.

I looked for you while

walking through forgotten aisles

of the ever so quiet library,

the desolate woods,

the solitary streets

where no soul ever wanders

after evening falls.

The long rides I take in

almost empty trains.

All I found was nothing,

so I tried the

oceans of unknown faces and

its silhouettes of figures

(but you weren’t there too)

and I am sure I have never seen

a gaze quite like one

still staring from somewhere

in the distance

towards these eyes.

And I wonder where and

how far it is you are hiding

and secretly

watching me discover nothingness

again, and again, and again,

or if you are but an

unreachable dream

while so my many days

have unnoticeably been.

And my soul continues to reveal its dark corners,
And my mind has sailed through furious waves;
My awareness I thought I once had I have no longer -
For I am dwelling in an unknown place.

The pointers of the clock are weary of having to run only circles.

I am exhausted of standing still and watching circles become my life.

I don’t understand
how I can’t seem to see your face
whenever I think of you;
when all I find myself doing in your presence
is discover any possible feature, spot, gaze
that lives in secret upon you,
as if I were having my last breath -
and yet you are a blurry circle all in my head.