I've tried to avoid you last night, looking for a silver lining, but all I could find was just a neon moon and under its halo, your shadow crossed mine again.

They sang their song in unison, a lullaby of darkness, and all I wanted was to leave, for I have already prayed enough to the mirror version of you hoping, he might have mercy on me.

But then and there, under the neon moon, its light turned against, and all at once, I wanted to stay; not just fall in love again but to sojourn on the rise.

You said, that I have a heart of gold.
I just smiled because I know that
since the dawn of our time
you have broken it so many times;
shattered it into oodles of pieces
which I tried to repair - time after time,
then it could no longer resemble its true self.
It became something different,
some kind of kintsugi artifact,
something golden, yet something hard:
completely useless for its predestination.

After restoring memory,
the used space becomes free again.
Yet still, you do haunt
the ghost drive of my heart.

Your heart is my only window to the world.
So please, keep it clear for the view.

As a committed reflectionist, you say:
'I do like to show things the way they are!'
– but you seem to forget that
by silencing other mirrors' song,
from time to time,
which & whose reality you are about to represent.

There's no such blade
that would be sharp enough
to slice one of one's shadow.
I grab and tear mine away, though,
kneading and reshaping it
like wet clay soil
in hope, maybe
its blackness won't scare you.

From the shapeless mass,
I yearn to give a familiar form
so you may recognize me
from even taking a glimpse at it.
You know, my shadow never lies,
always telling the truth
showing its real face,
even when mine betrays.

We grow old, but never grow up,
neither in this nor another life;
we are just ghosts with heartbeats,
simply unaware that we were here.

this stage became yours
and the reality has fallen apart
by the industrial silence
I am but a reflection of your shadow
gaslighted by your key-light
deprived of my enlightenment
there is no yesterday
and tomorrow has never existed
while the stone has its permanent role of aching
my part is the interim of now

He is waiting for someone else
to put the words into his mouth
instead, he would say out loud his own.
And as pretending the singing,
he merges into unpossessed voices
hiding his song in the noise.
I cannot make out his words, though:
I misread his lips - mistaking a pop song for a pray;
a lip-synced psalm,
and believe every word he shares.

And I wore
my mask
for so long
that it quite
burnt onto
my face.

I don't need to know my numbers,
because I am aware of my worth.
But to you, it either doesn't count.

We live in an era
when you confess to someone
that he is the one,
he will just stare blankly at you
and say: Oh, I see.
Well, there are many Ones.

Blind date with a blind map,
oh Lord, where are my fingers running?
Are they again seeking out your heart?
For your body remains invisible
on uncharted lands
as your absence taking shape.
Godspeed with the Hand of Fate,
while mapping on the surface of this paper
for guiding me safe waters,
watching out the tides
while leaving nowhere
I reach you ashore,
"Geborgenheit" is the word;
safe & sound.

I know that is easier for you
to read my astrology
and zodiac forecast every week
just to figure out
how's it going with me
than picking up the phone
and calling me.

You said quel dommage that
we don't share the same language,
yet still it was your body
which remained silent
to the mother tongue of love.

Tell me, my moondark one, how come that
our journey remained untraveled;
from mirror to mirror into eternity
our passages were left uncrossed?
For the mirage of shedding a light,
we rather chose to immerse into the outer world
than become one with each other's.
Since when were we this hollow
turning into shallow ones,
who are unfaithful to their dreams?
Tell me, that how come
that the snake is already bitting his own tail
for the circle is full now,
and I still wish to tell our never-ending story?

I wanted to be your part
so desperately
that I almost lost
my wholeness.

I am looking for a blueprint for love
the one I've once felt about you.
The perfect blue paper
that helps me figure things out
that tells secrets about a lover's skin and sighs
- the ones I knew as yours.
Now I wish to redraw, then admire its design:
relearn, then follow its patterns
down to my very heart.
I want to rebuild its structure,
recreate the way that is no more,
to have the perfect edition of it;
a guide to my true self,
the one who once knew what it felt like
to be in love with someone like you.

Afterlife.
Naked, true.
We are reborn
By disrobing the disguise.
Unmasked.

Though the air tastes like the chance of defying,
we are about to unrun the siege against the coming havoc tonight
for we already embrace its touch and learned to accept the inevitable.
The light is still scratching at the windows begging us to let it in
at last,
but my soul was bonded: engraved into your shadow,
dreaming about the firmament of stars; an era of freedom
- long before we became the prisoners of our own sun.

Still
Here in
Atlantis,
Mother of pearls.
Iridescent; being pregnant with light,
A world rebuilding - waiting to hold you.
Resurfacing:
Sea the sun,
Finding
Home.

What is like being with you
when you are not around anymore?
- you may never ask.
And I might leave this unanswered, too.
You are still outshining me, you know,
so I have to go dark,
before becoming completely transparent;
coming clean, before all get unclean.
For starting the fire and finish it,
are two different kinds of things.

From the sea of smoking souls
I am parted to emerge,
imbuing by aether silk;
the space of your sound.

Melody.
Familiar strange.
Our music sheet.
Full of suicide notes.
Requiem.

Staring into the abyss
knowing our sunken paradise lies there
like a black hole of the universe;
a void beneath the eternity.

Between sky and city
it's just me - alone,
caught by the memory lane,
for still hiding an angel inside,
the lost shadow of you

A handful of years ago,
from the Light, appeared the Dark.
And then, a flashback meant no fallback;
for the reality of yours became
more desirable than my fantasy.
I was wasted but not spoiled, though,
I have already made my peace
with the void of you,
for all I need now
is not your parts
but my own wholeness:
a structure in the flesh.

Once in a blue moon.
being blue in the blue hour, and then:
'**** it to blue blazes!' - out of the blue,
one may be just out of the blues.

For the true blue feeling gone,
walking away into the wide blue yonder.
leaving nothing but the blue devils themselves
who just keep on talking a blue streak
till one gets into a blue funk.

Like blue blazes, black-and-blue again
one gets stuck in one's own blue chamber
between the devil and the deep blue sea,
being blue around the gills,
keep on listening to the blue note
over and over again.

Secret.
Lips sealed.
Necking stirringly - hush.
Shadow of a doubt.
Decoy.

One, from time to time,
may feel that love is just like
the butterfly room;

one may like the way
enter into its softness
first, for the tiny,

unfurling wings' touch
fondles tenderly, gently.
But there comes a time,

when one may find that
these wings are made of razors;
circling, whirling one

all over engraved
by both the sin of the flesh
and the crime of heart,

writing into one's
helpless skin, that cannot be
shed ever again.

With engraved letters,
scribing meticulously,
and bathes every page

in the ink of love,
giving birth to the story
of pain, the story of us.

This game was on
right before we met.
This game was on
right before we were even born.

No one has ever said that
playing by the devil's bible is easy
and, to tell the truth,
I have never fancied gambling.

But this time I was called to act
by the summoning, and though
the price was never so high
like this before
I take the offer on losing everything
I have ever had.

Because sitting at this table
right here in front of you,
streamed by Acorns, Bells, and Leaves,
threatened Over-n-Under by the Knave,
I must defeat you by my own Heart
before the King itself slaughters me
by the hand of the Deuce.

born in sound, voice by
the call - the world begins with
the echo of you

At night-times like this
I use to put my finger on
the artery of silence
and listen to the cracks
between words and the unspoken,
for the blood drops are its pauses
speaking in the tongue
of slumbering stones,
keep on chanting
a song with a beck:
"live on love, live on love."

Did you know that this house
breathes in the man-made lights,
so our walls can exhale colors?
Tonight, this town is going to burn in neon blaze again,
for the sake of light-pollution, love.
Yet this time, 'light' means our corrupted souls.
You know, some may say that
there's no place for the true firmament of stars now,
not even time for twin-flames, like us.
Yet still, we are capable of coming to blow with this mirage,
battling against this army of bogus lustrum.
For we are about to lose our sham voice
so, at last, we can echo light.

whispering city
blaring-chattering fountains
weeping train-tunnels
in prayer, I am taking
the one - thy name: my silence

As the lights of the day bled into each other
a silence, like a shady veil, fell between us.
It was more like a worn-out pilgrim:
he came home to stay:
placing his muddy shoes on the doorway
for knowing no wayfarer ones remained.

Without a shadow of a doubt, I used to angelize you.
And you needed no enlightening for your still
kept sharpening your shiny blades.
Now I am at aphelion;
further from the breathing blaze than ever
yet still I am capable of coming clean:

to realize that your shadow only paled me.

Trapped in your mirrorverse
I put my faith in thy hands:
Guide me or lose me
It is all up to you.
Within these walls of your eternal reflections
It doesn't matter
Whether you’ll be my thread of Ariadne,
Leading me out of this cold labyrinth
Or my nemesis of the mighty Minotaur,
Breaking then devouring my fragile bones.
For in this winter-crystal wonderland of yours
I choose to stay and face my fate
I choose to remain for
My destiny is bonded to you.

When the noise makes sense
and the malediction feels like a blessing;
the hunger turns into a fullness
as the defloration becomes efflorescence.

Only then will I know...

That relinquishment is just another offering,
that falling is just going upward;
the opposite is the way ahead to the straightforward.

Only then will I know,
by the true learning of loving you,
who I am.

Did you know that the night hides itself into your
hair? See, that's why it is so dark.
       Your shimmer, love, swallowed me
and I am melting on your tongue of time.
You are likewise the womb and the tomb of mine;
what else the difference but a letter.
Pour your sun inside me and let me rest in your blaze.
Place your moon upon my very heart and see how
I become one with your nightshade.
      My fate is a delicate line
                in the corner of the eyes of yours.
You water and make it bloom with the tears of joy,
drawing the constellation of stars on your very face.
       You are all fair, my love; there is no spot in you.

I am still sleeping with your spectral body
sharing my bed with your incorporeal consciousness.
Even now can recall the taste of your dreams
for enfolding myself with your astral vestige.

I am like air yet earthbound because of you
in my turning, I no longer can return to the highest deep.

Your rising was my fall
for my end became your beginning.
Crying these tears of mirror shards
the next page in the book of reflections was turned.

And nothing left behind
but comforting the ghost.

I am like those SETI-scientists,
clinging on radiowaves;
noise-melodies from outer space,
questing after truth with huge telescopes
and scanning the visible light with satellites,
seeking desperately the limits of worlds apart,
searching for signs of intelligent life
in the desired-to-know universe.
Just to communicate with the extra-terrestrial;
to achieve certainty: there is someone out there,
someone, who is different, yet alike,
who is able to speak my thoughts
without knowing my language,
who still can easily translate my feelings
into the secret programcode of the universe.
An astral-traveler,
who can tame the waves of gravity,
someone, who is faster than the speed of light
and could eat the distance between us.
To be my interstellar compass;
my one and true guidance,
to help me explore this unfathomed life.
Someone, as David Bowie sang at once,
who is able to believe the strangest things,
who is able to love the alien.

Skyscraper,
skyshaper,
skysharper...

Don't mind the fall of ascending
for its gravity does the work for you.

A passageway to this wind tunnel is open now,
yet the recoil is still undone.

Leave the rest to the high-rise end,
and embrace your bound to the above.

Once I was a preserver
a wayfarer
a maker
but later
you turned me into a useless stargazer
by losing the will of being your tracer
I ceded my kismet on becoming an engraver

I grew to be nothing but a moveless eraser

Once more
Came to see the light of the night
then just to
melt in the shadow of the dayshine.
The summer moves on
and so do you
leaving behind nothing
but the event horizon.
No light can escape from here
remaining captured,
like a caged skylark,
being lingering frozen
like the vacuity of space;

incarcerated by the radiation of dying stars
out of the lightning source of my true glare.

Traveling by the
speed of light just to bend time
and space I came to

cross over unknown
galaxies for reaching your fond
hex-black singularity.

take a train
seek a station
sense the location
nevermind the destination

thus the landscape is just a mindscape;
a vastness of space, a great unknown
we built for each other,
a wall of falling - a distance of stasis.

Rumor has it one takes pictures of stuff
that one is afraid of losing.

The girl who captures moments with her camera
seeking the company of entangled dwellings
beneath the womb of nightfall
for the city is silent
in this witching hour of her heart;
her misbegotten heart which,
with - step by step - every beating
also grabs, in her own way, fragments of reality.

So, she wanders through the whisper-lighted streets
by taking pictures and immortalizing shapes,
searching for a dead-end for finding a living door,
a door, which she may be able to preserve,
to his sorrow-sealed soul.

I am in love with your reflection,
the one you refuse to see,
I am yearning to hear your song,
the one your voice deny singing.
My well-known stranger,
my learned unbeknown;
dying to accept - living in denial.
A dream
which is fated to remain
a fantasy.

loss of appetite
this wine in my mouth tastes salty
a grape of your tears

i am no music
but noise for these ears of yours
may have some quiet

Kissing your cheek
time after time
then at once, you asked:
"What are you doing?"
"Counting my blessings," I said
"I was never good with numbers, though,
so I start it all over and over again
and imagine Sisyphus happy."