I'm in love with words
because they are always there for me
when people fail me
                     I can write
when I get stressed
                     I can write
when I don't know how else to express my emotions
                    I can write

I put my heart into my words
everyone of them a tiny piece
of my mind, of my heart

I put my trust into words
words never leave me
words were never rude to me

But those were my words
Your words are different

When I put my trust in them
they failed me
When I let them in my mind and heart
they tore them apart
your words were mean
they were manipulative
they shattered me

I can no longer trust words
the way I used to

The chains have become a part of me, as I lost count of all the years. Endless minutes passed me by, hands to clumsy to catch my tears.

I can't help but know deep inside, that my soul just wastes away. Confined in this solitude, where I was forever put to stay.

Every story has a witch, whose ugly cackle can make you shake. Evil that can't easily be defeated, by true love or a wooden stake. 

Shadows watch me while I sleep, and whisper that I must stay. Hope seems to dim now, with each passing day.

A prince was supposed to rescue me, but age has now set in. Youth has faded beyond the years, the signs of time carved into skin.

Fairy tales did me in, I realized as I step closer towards the drop. Beautifully poised I finally took that leap, knowing it's the only way to make it stop.

My father used to call them
stitches in the ground.
He said they were
just like mine,
only bigger.

Big metal tacks of red-iron,
breaking through the brush
on planks of driftwood,
placed methodically
by his grandfather—
a patriarch I will never meet.

Miles of them,
pacing the landscape,
allowing direction for us to walk.
I asked how the ground
cut itself so bad.
He said it was an accident
just like mine,
only bigger.

I imagined an old man
drubbing stretches of metal
between wood and dirt;
green earth-blood stemmed
by scarred, titian hues.

My father used to call them
stitches in the ground.
He said it after I cut my arm open
so I could feel better about it.

My son is in the hospital
with new stitches.
My father is dead—
a patriarch he will never meet.
The tracks sit stolid
and indifferent;
red and brown between the
buried remnants of timber
stifling the undergrowth.

coffee tastes better in Spain

a simple hello is groundbreaking

comfort can be a warm bed or a “like” of a picture

the cold is different in the UK (you can feel it in your bones)

they will always give you a knife and fork to eat a hamburger

sometimes you need to eat at a Hard Rock in Lisbon to be reminded of home

if you eat the bread, they will charge you 1€

crying alone in a hotel room or at a Chinese restaurant in Italy is perfectly normal

never doubt the power of distance

now you can never say you didn’t try

just because you don’t speak the same language, doesn’t mean “*******” isn’t universal

sometimes sleeping next to someone who peeled your outermost layer off is the most intimate you need to be

“I’ll never see these people ever again”

have pride

ask me now what it is that I want

I have come to loathe all brown bags and black suitcases

vulnerability does not necessarily equal intimacy

remember that you pulled yourself out of the sea

your feet tread castles and cathedrals where thousands walked

art galleries are best enjoyed alone

now you understand when mom and dad don’t answer how agonizing it is

write it down if you want to forget it

acknowledge buried truths

eat paella and shnitzel and pizza and fish and chips and don’t think

go to movies at the tallest cinema

slip a little on the cobblestones

lay for hours on the beach

then

go home
be humble
remember
reminisce
teach
embrace

Glasgow – 1/8/15

Everytime, every single time they ask me "why?".
Why dive into the ocean when you know it's too deep?
Why walk the path though you find it too steep?
Why kiss the fire if you knew you'd burn?
Why did you go if you knew you'd return?
Why leave the track and find yourself lost in a circle?
Why did you help them only to feel them trample?
Why trust while you know it tends to rust?
Why do you care while no one does?
Why go to war when you know you'll surely die?

I never knew the answer.
But, there's one thing I know for sure,
This curse of mine has no cure.
I only hope that it is for the better.

I do not know
What made me feel this way.
Was it your beautiful eyes,
Showing the world's not always gray?
                                              
I can not figure out  
The point from which it began.
Was it the way we stare?      
Or the way we hold hands?

Maybe it was the little talks we've had.
The moments we get to know each other.
Or could it be the silence?
The comfort we didn't bother?

Or maybe it was something else...
Maybe it was your joyful smile  
When I noticed your new hair.
It got me still for quite a while.  

Or perhaps, it was your spirit.
The adventurous in heart,
Who sacrificed her own desires
Only to be torn apart.
  
I find it hard to discover
From all those things,
Why I long for you as a lover.
Yes, I long for you as a lover.
  
Now if I may, I would like to ask you.
Will you say "I love you, too"                
When I tell you that I love you?

"shop closed"
the sign never sat
perfectly on any hook
or nook
or cranny
you are an echo bounced
perfectly in every hook
and nook
and crook

"considered sold once broken"
consider it done
once dealt with the devil
his ornamental fairies
consider them whole before
they were bought

"trespassers will be prosecuted"
bedsheets spun out of cobwebs
sandcastles spun in of air
floorboards swallow you in
you dreamt of
anchoring yourself
to the ground

"wine house"
lustre of turbulent pirouttes
trapped within the walls
of wine glasses and
wine-stained dresses
in cadavers' masquerade

"emergency only"
they pushed you in the operating theatre
and cleaned their hands with soap
opera
amputate these phantom limbs
pain has been the only anaesthesia

"in loving memory of"
he is the protagonist
he is the antagonist
and all stories end*
(with)              
                     the former

I.
He doesn't have a
harmonious voice but he
does know what soul is

II.
She hated his song.
But, secretly in love, she
forgave him for it

Dry eyes,
cloudy skies.
A kiss on the cheek
and we say our goodbyes.
  
But I don't want to.

Lonely walk back,
along the cobbles and cracks;
Better not step in them.
Now I'm lost.

Wet shoes.
Train goes choo-choo.
Cows go moo-moo.
I don't have much left.

Think.
I think.
And I can't stop,
but I mustn't drink.

I know what happened last time.

Shut the blinds.
The sun is out.
I am in.
With you, I'm without.

The covers are not your skin.

In a daze,
every day.
Autopilot,
I guess you can say.

Time flies without your voice.

Pathetic boy.
Focus on other things,
help someone.
Make someone smile.
Have their joy.

It doesn't work