dark pines stab and laugh while
bliss bleeds purple

twitch and tremble

on you fall all the waters of the world but you drowned earlier
in the train

twitch and tremble

white satin dampened by a tear
spreads over your face

twitch and tremble

sunlight is such a fine dancer but
I'm afraid it has to die tonight

twitch and tremble

the smell of rotten bodies
rules over the sky

twitch and tremble

like a dead body on a white bed
you stare into fires that rage under fever
you stare into madness that everybody calls even
you stare into yours and into mine

twitch and tremble made you dream
and in a dream you died.

Watching people drifting from one port to another
What matters is the trip say the others
But me, I wouldn't mind never coming to an end
Floating in an open sea until I start to fade
And stars above me sing to my name
For I touched them with words when they needed strength.
The oak wood softens as it never did before
It remembers my fists whenever we heard of wars
The sunlight still beams, dancing with the waves
My loved one still laughs like it's the first day we met
And the wind dries my eyes
That way I won't cry
When they come for me
And it's my time to say goodbye.

It's made of flesh -
The walls, doors and windows.
It makes my air boil with trembles.
It's made of scorned blood -
The floors, ceilings and tables.
My limbs drip slowly, making me heavy.

In the place where was the eye, now is just a hole.
In the place where you waited, now I'm left alone.
But alone is not what you're thinking of,
Alone for me means
A feast of broken bodies
All floating in white rooms with skies as ceilings
Everything's a limit
The iron too powerful
Here they come on my chest o, ****** are thee.

Roaming on northern winds
Lay and feel me
I give myself to you
Feast of me alone
Now that I have nothing more to give
At last I give to you my soul.

Sorrowful stars look down upon my shaky smile
By yawning a hello is said
Looks like another night will pass
And I'm going to dream with my eyes open wide.

Behind a hill a raging storm
But down here is quite calm
Nothing to catch in the air
No mist, no inviting stares
Just loudness of the waves.

Resonating into the kitchen where a mother sits quietly
Drinking milk from a stained glass
Trying to forget about her younger days
She knows all there is will pass.

Resonating into another sleepless mind
That cannot find the key
Therefore just dies in chains
Ghost-like and not being able to see.

Resonating into the night
Further from this lonely canal
Further from my views and hills and dew
Further from this air
That brings nothing but the truth
Which is known for brutally killing the youth.

Let chaos lead the way
And flowers of thought will bloom along the path.

What awaits for us, I’m afraid, is no longer a matter to be fixed, it’s a matter to be waited upon.
Death of communication, degrading quality of society, the increasing low of the human mind.
To let yourself care is a foul choice.
Comfort is the goal, but comfort is such an easy thing to achieve.  
To strive for something more is a mystery that needs explaining, but with time is going to be laughed at.
Leaders don’t provide security but only intensify disbelief and doubt.
With the sense of comradeship gone extinct goes courage.
One can’t change for the better when all we’re facing is change but a phony one, filled with false hope.
It’s not surprising that no one has ˝the itch˝.
What’s surprising is that we still get out of bed in the morning, ready for rescue, thinking that today may be the moment of turning.

Vibrant yellow tips the blue
Fragments of air get trapped
Under  movements of Fall
The birds are escaping and you follow thus call.

The hills and morning dew glisten
The path's marked clear
Then a pair of boots comes
And kills what you raptly found to listen.

When  morning marches end
And you're left with sunshine bathing in the train
And you listen to the beatings of the wind
You remember the gifts given from the Fall's golden hand.

Later, leaving footsteps in the snow
You remember the birds call
And you look at your heavy bones,
Sensing the coldness and its hands so dull.

"I can't fly, can I?"
You ask.
The clock strikes midnight, overpowering the call.
The answer's given - "Why bother at all?"

Dead but free is what they talk about in alleys
Of whispers they make beds
And lay with their lies
While dreams stand aside, too close to the fire
As soon as they melt, the Lord becomes a liar.

Grows steady beneath the sun
A child's need to see and run
Accompanied by the trumpets that live in the summer ease
And the cool breeze
From the high mountain trees
It's arousing
The view
And at sight of you
Golden rays start blushing
Ain't no use in fussin'
Tip-toeing around the sacred mess
I shall never want more nor less
Than this view
And the arousing sight of you.

Anorexic branches of weeping willows
Get played by the wind
A hungry man pushes milk on a trolley
Strolls by corpses for their sins skinned.
All this shines under morning rays of Melancholy.

Soft sounds of Rachmaninoff
Make nature in frames move
Holy is the feeling of freedom
Every escape of mine freedom does approve.
All this shines under morning rays of Melancholy.

Silver collars of workmen
All washed and left to dry
Empty parks and streets get haunted
As years go by.
All this shines under morning rays of Melancholy.

Hordes of suits pour in crimson rooms
Stacked with greed
From floor to roof
Indeed fast they run when they smell the truth.
All this shines under morning rays of Melancholy.

Shadows go around
Green dies and again is reborn
Every year with even less sound than before
Corpses still hang, God wants more

And all this shines
'Till one day it sets on fire
Burnt is the last proud buyer
Melancholy stands still, stopping to admire
Then walks away, She understands;
The world has expired.

So close to you
While I stare at the eye of the cyclops
Spreading red waves so far into space
But I'm so close to you
Can you feel me shutting your eyes?
My fingertips resting on your visions
I slip little bits of rage onto your plate
Because I'm so close to you
While we breath on the floor
And our insides dance
I close my eyes to see you better
Indeed love is blind
And I'm so close to you that I think I'm going to (c)lose my mind.

Dear mother,
things here are big and boiling.
Like fat Roman candles, that carry the scent of luscious grapes, my insides spill over the grass and air, o so brittle and cold.

Constant images and dreams, that are real and as constant repeatings of the past, cover my holes so I become a whole of one bizarre happening, a mass for everything everybody ever saw.
I become the star,
I become the shining,
I become the dark
And I see and hear and feel I am near to something more far away, but more sacred than the road that appears in your stare.

I feel the fattening of my skin, the growth of my hair and nails with which I pick the golden strings of ultimate
brightness,
intensity,
electricity.
I don't want to meet your eyes.
I don't want to meet your eyes.
They're so watery I'm afraid I'll spill and lose them somewhere in your night.

I will be.
I am is far behind.
And I was, but never truly.
Dear Mother, I saw God.
Things here are big and burning.
Mother, I dreamt of God.
He was wearing a mask.
A face of some kind.
It looked as if it truly once was mine.

The cause of my reasons has no similarity to your thoughts and suffering
Your lips don’t move my mind and focus stays primarily on the background
Your eyes don’t reach me, I lied before in that unforgivable way and unfortunately I don’t see you  
I see only with my blood, pressured with rage through my veins
And images, oh those reprobate veils under which you feed of me,
you tragically disregarded mirror, a misunderstood projection of someone who was someone, maybe myself, a long time ago.
Disoriented I thole, not knowing is getting too familiar.

The touch you give me, it’s angry, feels nothing in return
The touch becomes nothing and all falls together
Eyes, words, a hand, a soul
Begin to crumble under a table, glasses long before emptied
In hope to make you meet my eyes in the moment I should meet yours
In hope to make you touch me and in return feel the warmth
In hope to make you make me say the words you want to hear
I don’t know if you’re real but you’re more real than me  
I know that for sure.

I keep imagining obscure
little ***** tickling
your eyes

the air is dancing
wildly as your trust is dressing
in a dark place

my mother won't look
and all I need is a stare
her hands glow

disapproval is too great
to only be feared of
love, don't you know

I fear of the side I'm on
to a shaky trace,
follow milky orders

it concerns the prince
when the room
is in lack of mirrors

it concerns the sleepers
when outside gets quiet
and thinner are edges

on which I so love to
sit alone
don't you know

love, come and carry
my heart
as your own.

When all water runs down the street, gets tired of the old road and constant burning of the wheels
When it escapes your eyes, the trees and bushes will run towards you.
They will greet you
And for the first time you will hear your name.

When all bricks get smashed, a great earthquake being their savior
When all life does perish, the sun and birds will touch your skin and ears.
They will greet you
And for the first time you will breathe.

When cold gates that imprison words get broken into
When the mouth becomes the ***** and a boxcar with which all are able to burn, pieces of diamonds, little pearls, will come flying and wounding your flesh on your chest.
They will shoot you
And for the first time you will touch the void.

When air gets torn
When winds call again
When touch restores
When pathways become walked upon and not just observed from a great distance,
Then will the man be able to dance.

Trembles of the sea
Are trembles of your soft words.
Moonlight patches on the surface
Make up for your salted cheeks.
Cries from comforting depths
As abyss drowning your eyes.
Gentle brushes against the shore
Are hands wiping and whispering
- ˝No more.˝

The painful flight of birds
Is your soul dreaming
The sound of cheering
Is you saying my name
The play of violins
Is you singing and your display
In the silver mirroring game (we all play).

Hard wooden floors await your fall
But you only feel
Trembles of the sea,
Moonlight,
Depths.

They offer you the sky but you know that's just another cage
So every night you tap little bits of rage
In paper that listens
'Till one day it glistens

And again you hear
Soft brushes against the shore,
Pleasant hands wiping and whispering
- ˝No more.˝

Sadness comes rarely, only at night, afternoon or in the morning. What's troubling me is this feeling of emptiness that's been wanting to suffocate me every time I step away from others. It's lurking, always prepared, always anticipating my soft hours so it can drop some knives in the vertigo and we can all have some fun with crows and tough air and broken glass and war and war dressed as peace.
I want wings not legs, I want kisses not stares, I want someone who's not there.