I wish I could be
there and wade through the blue with
you to wind your spring.

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

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.

Craving to harvest
the dew-like moments from your
skin; my endbegin.

Losing the right to
occupy space I became
unanchored to this

flesh prison of mine.
Even my words lost in the
wind, but not to you.

Silencing the sound
of voices here, in my head
and beyond let me

exist in your state
of stillness. And let me count
the remaining time

of mine only by
the warmful beating of your
trusted, word clock-heart.

Falling into the hyacinth sky as
your mouth is filled with my name:
I am eternal.

And I've become the
victim of my own hybris.
I was ...careless and

proud when I thought you
are harmless to me. Now I
am trying to

bribe Fate itself to
give me back my wasted years;
the years I wasted on you.

I wandered from mirror after mirror
finding no home in any of them,
for my reflection can only have a being
in these eyes of yours.

Only imagined the moving,
dreamed the breathing
for I was walled up alive
beneath the body of life,
its womb was my tomb,
its stasis was my shroud,
yet, my immurement
is come to an end now, though,
for I can witness the rising
of the dark harvest moons
under your eyes.

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

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.

In the chamber of the song,
your voice set the silence afire.
So, let me be there,
sealed by your lips of the blaze
beneath the core of the flames,
standing in the mist
of the sweet breath of yours;
let me be your song.

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.

The ever-haunting
smile of yours cuts me like the
sharpest of all knives.

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.

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

Already accepted that he is the one of his kind;
he is never going to happen again, though,
he has shed and shared too much blood
for keeping himself alive -
always on the still
I am the cosmonaut of his existence;
the explorer of his oneness
for he is the macrocosm of my blooming.

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

The heart is but a
yawning wound, needs to be burned
out. See? There you go...

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

I become a real
mermaid by your side, but just
like in that danish

fairy-tale, I shed
no tear when I cry; make no
sound when my heart is

broken; smile when I
dance on razorblades of your
human love; cease to

exist by turning
to sea foam when the love of
yours toward me is no more.

In this midheaven of demigods.
beneath this semidetached shelter
of semi-manufactured souls.
apart from the half-hearted's dimidiate
the bright-half departs
for dovetailing all of our halves.

I am waiting for you to show up
like the azure ribbons of northern lights
in the end of the velveteen-blue horizon.
I can almost hear your steps
if I hold back my breath
and silence my heart.
Your steps having a caressing sound
of touching the dusty ground.
Your body is the living night -
upon your shoulders, you hold slumbering stars
for the moon is your radiating heart.
I am waiting for you to show up,
I am waiting for the rising
of my midnight sun.

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.

Trying to find my
solace in the moon of the
Fall for I lack the

lunar halo and
the velveteen, onyx shade
of yours. I wish to

be the one who at
once will make you whole, but you
are still concealing;

still hiding thyself
away behind a moonbeam
smile like a helpless

umbra does in the
sheltering embrace of the
dazzling paraselene.

Once my birth was simple:
you made me up unwillingly;
I leaped from your forehead like
Athena did from Zeus'.
You were more than just a father-figure
and back in those days
you found joy in my design.
From a glance of you
I learned the light,
from another the darkness itself.
I craved to know more
but somehow you lost the will teach me;
to finish my making real.
And now
in the embrace of
your torturing abandonment
I became my own midwife:
to learn my own creation,
to be my own design.

My neon-hearted one,
vibrating throbs shining through
the soul-soaked night. It

is an endless ride
on this forlorn, pebble-skinned
autobahn; I still

can feel you out there.
Your heartstrings are like distant,
radio waves; such

beautiful white noise
attached to the senses of
mine anchoring me

into a godspeed
velocity just to safe
and sound; here and now reach you.

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.

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?

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."

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

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.

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

Strolling around in
our dear Old Paradise Street
I nearly swooned, my
love, yet, though, rose up into
your deep blue empyrean.

We are heading toward the unknown morning,
ready to face with the heavy light of the world
only this livid silence embraces us now,
yet still, I do not fear to take one step forward
for I know there's no future forsaken
for I know I am going to happen by 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.

With arms wide open
and with a mind open wide
I would too open
my body to you; yet you
remain unopened,
thus, for you, nothing more but
my veins are left to open.

A rumor has it
there is an open season
for breaking hearts, but
I have never thought that you
are going to shatter mine.

Estranged from the familiar
you made me by unmaking me
for getting tired too soon
of fostering
like I was
an unwanted child,
yet still you are the one
who have become unparented;
an Orphan King
in a Borrowed Land,
always
halfway to a
hallway of
all ways.

Apart from playing a part
in taking me apart; you
just looked the part to depart
by parting my parts.

As I walked this earth to find you
I also found myself.
On my way to you, I understood that
this path is so long, though,
it could never unflame my heart
for my steps, toward you,
were never bootless;
beneath the act of loving you
I also learned to love myself.
Beyond the search of you, yet I never sought,
I also learned the now of my present
for in you, I am bondless
yet boundless at the time.

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.

You missed the point by
the blind point of view at the
point of no return.

Your memory is
like an expired polaroid
film - I still keep it

as though it would be
the most precious treasure of
mine, yet I am

aware of the truth:
till I walk this earth I will
never take a look at it.

Today a little
pale-veil vein was discovered
under your skin right
there, below your right
eye. I am aware that
it was a tough day
and you're so exhausted
too, but I just marveled it,
because I've never
seen it before; it
never revealed itself to
me, yet somehow, in
a strange way it made
me happy for I had no
doubt that you are real.

There is no doubt that
you have the endless power
to destroy me. The
real question is, whether you
intend to do it or not.

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.

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.

Someone broke the sun today;
it is raining flowers all over,
creating a liquid silence
by giving life to our constellation
of their falling petals.

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.