It’s strangely busy around the deathbeds,
as well it’s my last nightshift of the year.
I try to make no noise, can you hear me?
Push my hand, if you can, move a limb.
Your breath is so slow, please keep going,
monitors flash in time with the ventilator.
I’ll control the pupils, I know it’s blinding.
No one goes with their sparkling old eyes,
we are usually fading before we are dying.

maybe the point of arriving is finding one who´s just as lost

I hope to come home soon
but there's no place to call so.
Homesick, i think of sea air
since i turned my back on her.
No return to the sailing city
I mull over a wicked what if.
I ache to spend time alone, no
wind blows in the metropolis.
The crowd belts around me,
blocks view of the lighthouse.
Set anchor in a sea of concrete,
the saving grace’s disappeared.

My mother recently took me to another doctor
she said, ‘her condition is becoming outrageous ,
she hasn’t laughed in a year, avoids any talking,
never leaves the house until the night draws in. ’

And I think the sun should rather concern her.
Burning things don’t make good companions.
Bought a ticket for a train, northbound at night,
my eyes hurt from the condolences of daylight.

Went back south in September, I surrendered,
had to promise to be good again and presentable.
Indifferent on life, did I suffer from depression?
It’s not been an illness but a philosophic decision.

One Sunday, it was quiet during breakfast time,  
somebody from town recently took their life.
Rised brows behind the newspaper’s edges,
secretly, I admire the courage and recklessness.

But I act eager and am polite with relatives,
at holiday occasions I behave and give kisses
until one proposes a toast to life being a gift.
I say nothing in exchange, I feel guilty to exist.

It all changed one day, when I found me a lover.
He sins for amusement while I sin to self punish.
I love that he’s mortal, of a perishable texture,
hope to be buried, rot with him in the graveyard.

We agree on senselessness without any pity,
he watches me fail life and thinks it’s poetic.
We can’t hurt since there’s nothing to heal from.
A physical love wich in it’s essence is platonic.

greying cilia
framing lively child's eyes
with youth not ceasing

On a soft July evening he paints a garden path,
lined with all the flowers she admires. He dabs tarnished lanterns on canvas, so she'd walk safely in gentle light. The brushstroke blows her goodbye kisses as she passes by and finally he sets amber accents into the twinkling of her eyes.

I remember afternoons with you,
we spent days lounging in the old armchair,
rays of sunlight shined through the blinds and my favourite color is still the amber of your eyes.

Do you want to go for a walk?

Shared adventures, we travel on foot. The world had so much to offer to us, let’s run for hours.
Gone wild together. Rain and storm couldn’t harm us, later we’d warm up in the armchair.

I had to grow up quickly while you remained a puppy. Couldn’t take you with me because cars freaked you out. I had left for the city and my life was too hasty to spend a thought on an armchair.

You were with mom, I knew you were save there.

Every time i visited your fur turned grayer and your bowl stayed a little fuller until the end of day. You walked comfortably, we just made it to the hill behind the house, your tail still wagging.

I wish I could turn back to the old days.
I wish i took time when you wanted to play.
I wish I never had to sit alone in this armchair.

I regret.

The past does not haunt me

as much as the present

I was and I will be

somewhere in between

enmeshed, never simple  

is time still infinite?

blind diner windows
scribbling absentmindedly
dog-eared carte du jour

we’re  average all the way
we wake up with puffy faces
sometimes we spill our coffee
on really important papers
we mix up letters on the keyboard
tripping over our own feet
way to often
it’s okay

There is no light in the yard,
but there´s been a change in the weather.
Silently, old walls strive towards the ether.
The restless souls, the wardens,
they come and they creep,
striving to rob my own kind of their sleep.
I am driven, drifting, directed astray,
by the ghouls, the gnomes,
those who vanish by day.
Until the bleak morning breaks
I am condemned to abide
in my head, the haunted house,
where the phantasm reigns.

On my way home from the christmas market, the air is heavy from the scent of sweet chestnuts. A cheerful crowd moves towards the flashing lights in the distance. I catch last glimpses of rosy faces and plush woolen hats. Out of balance from a few mugs of mulled wine, my feet slide across the sparkling ground. The street lanterns die out, taking all the warmth with them, making place for the frost to creep in. My breath rises in silver mist into the night and fades into nothingness,
just like myself.

Today I went to the public gardens

surrounded by people,
surrounded by their whisper,
surrounded by their sins.

I should have headed to the woodlands

surrounded by myself,
surrounded by my thoughts ,
surrounded by the wind.

Wisps of cloud whispered how you’d leave me midsummer night, sound summer rain still washes away the drought you left behind.

a kelp forest fire
man-made pelagic demise
the vengeful tides rise

while the cold wind keeps me walking
I am passing by
your lightless window frame with empty walls behind

the memory of you has me heavy hearted
remembering  better times
while the cold wind keeps me walking

I hope you set sails safely
and the waves guide you wisely.
Maybe I will always drift out to sea
when your name floats in the wind.

Mother, I starve myself till darkness
just so I could swallow the moon

She laughs with me,
sometimes without reason to laugh.
She withstands with me
all the days that seem rough.
She runs free with me
wherever the map will guide us.
She knows the truth
and she will speak it wisely.
She knows to survive
and stands her ground as a woman.
If she was not real
I'd make her a fantasy figure.

I wish they were happy. I wish they found peace, the both of them. I wish they had never broken up, so I wouldn't have left.

I wish she knew her worth and didn’t cope by isolating herself. I wish she forgave her parents and focused on her health.

I wish he wouldn't burst out into rage so often. I wish he had a friend to share his thoughts with instead of the bottle.

I wish they didn’t have a justification for it all. I wish they didn't blame me for all their dreams that have failed.

I wish I could be better and be happy myself.

I wish he wasn’t

so well read
knowledgeable
the modern playwright
unpredictable
yet always presentable
the golden rescue
a voice in the wild

I wish I was

cunning, nimble
that ancient lover
impetuous, misunderstood
a lush adversary

I wish we were

the classical art

Your echoing footfalls,
they broke up my soil.
My mind now is nourished,
my thoughts now are fruitful.
Where it’s shady and windy
I shall grow by myself.

people tend to complain
in the very peace and quiet
about what someone else
has accomplished in the hurry

He has been looking for a way into the distance.
Chosen as his anew home, he repapers the suburbs' pale walls using cheerful thoughts.
His steps leave dim light in the alleys and alongside all the winds and shadows he dances with chafed feet at night.
At dawn, he hungrily heads for the great crowds, seeking for some fleeting smile.

It’s winter solstice inside,  
they say there will be light
even after the darkest hours,
can’t wait for my springtime.

I grab a cup of coffee
heading for the Pergamont museum,
where I like to stand in silence
alongside the lithic statues.

Amongst those crumbling strangers
I find your spitting image in the clay
and once again I live through time
in our favourite greek café.

Don´t we adore the flawless and illusory pure,
but do we truly trust in cloudless views?

There’s a common liking of what is unscathed
but I’m weak for the dust and debris in you.

You taught me to see beauty in the broken,
healed my mind, like sandpaper and glue.

Maybe you changed me for the better,
for my restoration atelier is finally in use.

It's the stumbling in your steps,
it's the fast pulsing in your veins,
it's the rattling of your lungs when you run.

It's the arch of your nose,
it’s the bulging scar above your brow,
it's the one crooked tooth when you laugh.

It’s the sweat when you fear,
it’s the hasty stutter in your speech,
it’s the downcast look when you’re ashamed.

It’s the hour you’re born,
it’s the vague sense of a life,
it's the sun rising once again after you die.

Stone cold soldier,
where have you been?
Who did you aim at,
man made of tin,

likely a brother
of different state,
of different skin,
of different age?

Sacred soldier,
did you believe
at night you'd slumber
peaceful and free?

Hag-ridden soldier,
couldn’t  you see?
Those men you fired at
are just like me.

my head is empty
i write page after page
i paint and i paint
but i cannot find sense

I am going astray in the silence of song.
I dip into daydreams when sleep comes along.
I stray in the dark, daylight leaves me dull eyed.  
I crave your distance for I fear a last goodbye.

You cannot temper me,
I am wind on a faraway shore.

You cannot tame me,
I am a wild soul of the forest.

You cannot veil me,
I am the unabashed emotion.

You cannot capture me,
for I am a whole solar system.

Die Stadt ist kalte Masse.
In diesen Straßen lebt nichts, hier regt sich nichts, kein Herzschlag.  
Ich höre sie reden,
höre ihre Motoren aufheulen,
ihre Autotüren zuschlagen.
Lärm, fremder, ferner Lärm.

Ich will raus, will ausreißen. Ich will ins Land ziehen.

Wochen will ich laufen, nichts als die unbekannte Weite sehen.
Ich will nachts frieren und am Tag den Wind in den Haaren spüren, liebkost von der Seeluft, die mir durch die wirren Haare streicht.
Ich will die Wälder der Welt durchstreifen,
mich mit Moos unter den Füßen von der Wildnis verschlucken lassen.
Ich will mich in ihrem großen, grausamen Schlund verlieren.

My dear, please go and walk ahead.
I'm late, as always I´m too slow.
The railway never waits for me,
just like your cornered soul.
Go and take my window seat,
I might just walk back home.
On the way here I must´ve lost something,
my love for you or so.

I belong with the salt and the sea,
the moon lures me offshore tirelessly.
With the tides I am stuck in between,
where the shore and the seabed meet.

In this modern madness, rather a hell of coping through consumption, where materialism is equated to affection, words and touch are still the greatest good. Behind closed doors we’re called the impoverished lovers, but don't fool yourself into pitying us for the lack of lonesome affluence.