My world is being *****
into
a residential park.
My great-grandfather's land
has been filled with concrete
and the roof
that my grandparents covered
has been torn down.
The swing
that the father built for the daughters
has long been rotting
with dead dogs
in the dung heap
that will soon be a parking lot.
And then there is nothing.
And nobody.

– – –
Death
is not a wound
that heals,

it is
an amputation that
remains.
– – –

Dream
F and I. in b/w.

Have we put an end
to
all

of this?


Yesterday pink today black.


Streets soaked in blood.

Sometimes
you think the only reason
you're still alive
is

because you forget.

Every night you forget
the pain
of the day.

Wake up
and
everything starts

again.

again.

and again.

Either you forget about it completely or allow yourself
not
to wake up again

There is no one here. No replies either. To random sms that are unfair.
I don't want your time. I just want to be able to breathe.
And that's easier with distraction.

Silence, actually. Or Haines. Or Hauswollf. Or silence.

But I can't breathe.

Can you remember when you lay on top of me.
Naked.
With your whole body weight. Skin on skin.
I could breathe under your weight.
You were my air.

Pathetic ****. Disgusts me. I resent myself. But I can't breathe.

And yet I'm too cowardly, or the question of why this far and no further,
when I want to cut off my air for good.
It's all there. Simply because it brings a little peace.
Control.
I can. I can. If I really can't anymore. Or want to.
It bores me.

Everything's on the right track now, isn't it?
But you're not coming to see me.

A friend said I shouldn't put it like that.
So that I wish you would visit me again.
I meant the dreams in which you were there.

You told me that we had to find your belt.
What belt?
I replied
that you were a pile of ashes. You didn't care.

But now, after three years,
**** again,
three years,
look, I live around the corner from you now.
For three long years I have avoided this area.
Took the longest detours, counted the shadows.
there were always 114.
i don't want to see your window.

And now
I live here.
In your area. The area that so often seemed unreachably far away when we wanted to see each other.
And we always wanted to see each other.

Sitting in the back seat of a car, I drive past.
And stare into your window.
drive past, sitting on the hard wooden bench in the streetcar.
And stare into your window.
In the unbearably loud subway, I pass by, twisting my head, standing on my toes, twisting my whole body.
So that I can stare into your window.
have stopped counting them. the 114 shadows.
And can't breathe.

He's outside. What should I say?
Why am I even talking to him? 40 euros.
You died for 40 euros.
That's what I say. Yeah yeah yeah... free will, not your fault, grown up... yeah yeah yeah I UNDERSTOOD.

Doesn't change my guilt.

There! Now! I remembered that you weren't just in my dreams.
And now I demand from this world that you look at my balcony.

I “want” nothing.
No needs
except rest.
And Haine…or... Hauswolff.

And now is the point where I no longer find it fair.
Not in a dream.
Sit next to me.
Put your entire weight on my naked body.
Let your sweat drip from the tip of your nose into my mouth and let me taste the salt.

Not in a ******* dream.

Come here now.

Please.

I know..
I can't come to you. You are no more.
I don't know... I still want to be.
I think so.

It's finished.

The spiritual **** disgusts me, your talk disgusts me, I disgust myself

And probably the only reason I haven't hanged myself yet is because I think, I've lasted this long.