No similes
No metaphors
No allegories
No alliteration
No irony
No paradox
No rhythm, and no rhyme
No more stanzas
No more verses
Only
truth:
I miss you.

**2 8 . 0 7 . 1 4

Step by step;
And stroke by stroke on your painting;
Throw it away
Word by word on your typewriter;
For every broken glass,
and the sound it made in your ears
Glass, so fragile
Shattering into thousands of pieces
So small and
so insignificant
For every breath you hold;
For every time you pull on your sunglasses and hope they won’t see;
For every time a branch pinches your legs when running and the little pain is a reliever;
You want more
You always want more
Breathe out;
But it doesn’t matter to anyone
You don’t matter
The pieces of you are scattered
and no one could hardly care
You’re so close to that fine line
You can’t help it
But you are almost crossing the bridge
You’d much rather fall over
But here you still
sit
writing poems
as if everything
was alright

**17.07.14

Love and those things aren’t as romantic anymore
It’s not as letters,
or Shakespeare's sonetts
sprinkled with red kisses and Chanel N5
We don’t call on the house phone anymore,
dreading that her father will pick up
And the cinema isn’t as it was
The boys weren’t on Tinder to “make omelettes ;)”
Girls didn’t complain about their life on twitter
And really, it’s not as romantic to dream and lose you
when the only simile I have is
“I have replayed your photostory as many times as the sun sets”
Love and those things

**26.07.14

You said you read Nietzsche in ninth grade
I said
"How far deep down are you now, then"
And laughed it off
I had no idea I hit the nail of
the both of us
right there.

**19.07.14

Who are they killing?
These human beings running away from themselves
and away from those we love;
and away from those who leave us;
By choice we choose to love
and hate at the same time
For no love is so great it can strangle flames;
For no human being is so great he can change the world;
But it is quite so possible to bomb away,
anyway
At great heights,
we push buttons and exterminate millions
And it wasn’t our fault,
but the machine
The machine is our great deceiver and the machine
is what we feed with black gold
Black gold, at the bottom of oceans and
mixed with
blood
on battlefields

Who do they keep killing?
For their love of people, they ****
They **** reflections of their own families and friends
The cruel game of war
We love and hate
and we love to hate
and we
hate distances
but we create so much distance as if
the machine; air planes; bombs and knives
could destroy our bodies
At the end
we dread those distances
Those distances are ways to death and ways to die
We hated those distances
in the end;
we regret the moments of breath we didn’t
share
in fear of being rejected
When we run away from each other
We hate each other
And we love to play the game of
forgiveness and pain

Open up and love people
even when they are rejecting you
Because that’s just our
nature
Because war is in our nature
Because we should see the flickers of right and wrong
Because we should stop
before we start
killing one another
like small soldiers
Falling,
and never
coming back to us
Read the last lines backwards
That could be us

**07.07.14

Friends are the best
when they stay
But friends have  
timestamps
on them.
Imprinted in fine
ink.
Their love
is like watches.
Always
ticking.
Always somewhere.
Moving, chasing.

And lovers are the best
when close to your heart.
Oh, dear.
You pull them
so
close.
You can’t even breathe.
Their strangles
are lovely,
but they always hurt once their hands
let go.
And now your heart
stops
beating.  

In life thus far, I’ve come to see
people.
People are strangers.
People are dying.
People exist.
People make love and
break each other.
Yes, just like that.
Carve it up
properly.

And I’m the best
alone.

**5.07.14

If I were to colour our world
I'm afraid
I would only cover it in
pain.

**25.06.14