I am freezing, shivering, I am so cold.
The lights went out long before and the sun is slowly setting and nothing will ever be okay again.
Curtains? Closed.
Jul, please stop crying. Yes, our hands are embraced but as if one of us could ever give the other one halt. No, this time is not different than the other times, you are still crying, mum still shouting, dad still working, and I am still breathing. But I wish it was. Different.
We both feel the tension in our never-resting minds, all this muddled energy in our heads.
The room, yours, is not filled with enough air at all, and mum is breathing so heavily that I am worried she might get a heart attack when she‘ll continue on raging.
We‘re in a theatre, mum is the director and she loves to see us burning on the screen.
Until the very end.
-
Hey mum, I didn‘t recognise you, good that you are yourself again. I was worried you might never again turn into the less-stressed but still stressed-to-death person that you were before your fit of rage.
Jul look, now you‘ve made mum cry, what a misery she created.
Now the sun is gone, curtains are still closed but mum is with us again and you are still crying but this time it is your problem, right?

we search ourselves
in others, desperate,
to find someone who shows us
how to live a life

these lines will be filled with rage
with hatred against myself
against the disturbing thoughts and
the fragile bones of mine

i am made of shattered glass,
of mislead paths,
a bad child in a world
full of good people

my thoughts make me
a girl of hell
my actions a demon
possessing her beloved

my mother cries in agony
as her oldest
deprives herself of food and life
but deep inside she knows
this girl deserves it all

I decay in white rivers
   next to my mothers house
the old, green coat of yours
still covers all of your skin
but the wind took you from me
   and left me utterly naked
with parched veins here I lie
   above you the ground, above me the sky

lavender scented soap bubbles on my belly - hugging the weight I’m not destined to lose.
you smiled, I heard it in your warm voice.
today your daughter does a good job of holding herself together.
the pale moonlight behind closed doors tells me to stop reopening old wounds and I listen. maybe for the first time in months.
I took a bath today. the size of my legs are just the size of my legs, and the sun will rise tomorrow - even behind closed doors.

and maybe, I whisper to my body, you are not as evil as they say. maybe you are just a byproduct of something much greater.

here I am
dwelling in solitude
with the moon
by my side

I can feel it
running down my throat
reddish slivers,
last scratches of hope
through my veins the
longing flows
to be buried underneath
our mother's coat

no days fill our hearts with only love
how could it be different, in a world like ours,
where distant countries are flooded by dead bodies
or even next door, in silent hours,
where our neighbours are
stabbing themselves to death
oh, we all are named brothers and sisters erroneously!
repress, repress, good old boy,
for it is the only option left
the dust of the fallen, mixed with leaden joy
but my heart is bitterly cold!
I am vanished like used munitions
and war seems to never end

once again the sun has
drawn her curtains
but this time I‘m not sure
if she‘s gonna make it
through the night

The piano keys
are being struck
and virtuous chimes
are flying trough
listener‘s opened doors
Her tender hands touch
deepest emotions of
a whole rough world
while she‘s uniting
sophisticated souls

we seek beauty in our mortality,
in the circulation of the human blood
the agony of life lingers in our veins and
heats our frozen hearts,
and we find love in
the longing for death

Dozens slowly die in sunsets
By the moon they are dragged down
The goddess, the mentor of purity
Golden hour, vanishing sun
She‘s playing with your hair
While in sunsets dozens slowly die
She maintains your horizon flare

I think about myself in gray,
like the concrete over which
the cars drive in an
endless loop
gray like the cloudy sky
that leaves no room
for being

i should rather think of myself
in blue,
like the ink that stains my hands,
or like the depth of the ocean,
where the mermaids hide

but I cannot see the colours in me

the stars crumbled
in nightly monologues
and behind closed eyes
the moon dust
started melting
into waterfalls

i am dancing loudly
to the sounds of eternity,
sixty feet closer to the sun
sixty feet above the ground.
sun and moon are gone
but the lights are still flickering;
raindrops on the rail-
it’s water in the purest form,
mixed with the bittersweet
smell of the trees.
i am dancing quietly,
to humming car engines,
to the song of despair.
my flesh is made of burning soil
and stops my soul from emerging

‘‘hush baby,
with thy fall shall come thy rise“

Always on the run;
away from
your presence,
my absence
and all the stories
we didn’t tell each other
I‘m on the run;
away from
your glories,
my worries
and all the things
that teared us apart

I‘m done

My old eyes follow
the mystic shade
of your red waving cape
that’s vanishing into
paper towns

we are unconscious stars
drifting apart in the same direction.
It‘s a silver line
we drew between ourselves
and the scars of our past. -
we’re not lovers and not passer-by’s
only connected through trauma
stored deeply inside of us

the night you were unresponsive
my eyes stared right into the abyss
I dare not to say I saw all the ghosts
but I did
neither did you vanish that night
oh, but I did.
it‘s a silver line
between death and life.

one breath away from eternity
your world would still be spinning
and in another universe
we would save ourselves,
we would be conscious stars
with a shared past and
fully healed scars.

We are strangers
Glancing at the same words
Written down
But seeing different worlds
In our poems

and as I caught myself breaking
into a million pieces, the sun began
to multiply
almost like glass, I thought unimpressed,
but let it be my heart

I am a burning, fragile spine,
a dark pinch of art,
spending all hours of the night
waiting for familiar aches,
while the embers glow dimly
in my heart

mother, do you not see
i cannot go down this road
i feel your tears but mom,
today I need to burn

i tell it to the birds,
and the snakes in the wood
not trying to weep
but they don‘t even listen
they never did

mother, how can you not see
how many deaths I died
trying to live

A poem is not for others
But for oneself
To summarise
The endless pain

I wanted to turn off my body
as if I were a light switch;
between
razor blades, books and sick people,
I stood there, unable to feel myself
and didn't understand that my behaviour should be the easiest to influence.

and with the first blossoms there came rain,
and it rained,
oh it rained endlessly long

Ich renne. Lautlos. Meine Füße berühren abwechselnd den Kies, ein paar Steinchen nehme ich kurz auf meinem Weg mit, danach bleiben sie einsam neben Anderen liegen.
In meinen Ohren ertönt der nicht endende Bass meiner Gedanken.  
   müde. müde. müde.
Es ist das Wissen um das Ankommen, das mich weiter antreibt. Ankommen, da wo der Wald den Himmel trifft. Ankommen, da wo der Regen unter mir immer noch fällt. Da, wo ich Ruhe finden werde.
Links und rechts wiegen sich die Bäume zu meinem Rhythmus im Wind. Alles pfeift mir zu. Das Rauschen des Flusses ist mein Applaus. Er gilt mir, und nur mir. Weil ich es bald geschafft habe.
Da wo das Brummen lauter wird, wird das Rauschen leiser. Die Menschheit ist wieder spürbar. Und ich laufe, laufe laut. Meine Arme strecken sich aus nach dem greifbaren Ziel.

Stillstand.

Einatmen, ausatmen, tief einatmen.
-
Meine Gedanken fallen vor mir. Und mit mir fällt das Leben.
Es kommt unten an und zerbirst in Millionen Scherben. Ich tue es ihm gleich.

Willkommen Unendlichkeit.

in shadows of
abandoned cities  
and amongst
shooting stars
captured by glaring
street lights we
found ourselves
again

my subtle heart is pounding
in a bell jar full of memoirs
as it falls from the heavy sky
- the last summer of stone

I shed like a snake,
the outgrown coats of my childhood are rotting in a corner of my closet.
I thought by now it was unethical, but you keep on wearing the fur of a tortured mink over your shoulders, and I keep on crying over the fights I caused but didn‘t win.
They smell like forgotten memories that I no longer fit in yet can‘t rid myself of.
Every New Year’s Eve I am reminded of the dreams I had (and you had, for me) three-hundred and sixty-five days ago, still moulding in the written hopes of gift cards from past birthdays.
I cannot escape, mother.
You have passed down to your child the inability of overcoming genetic failure.
Stem cells in your body are filled with hatred for the birth of your daughter and the flowers she kills along her way.
Grandmother has managed to leave behind her house, her life, her skin. And you still long for hidden hope you’ll never find in her sewing boxes, you still wear the same old sweaty leather that she had managed to burn.
We will never escape the consequences that came with the anger of our fathers. The doors may be shut now, but they weren‘t back then. Even though you replaced them, the traces of slamming, hitting and shouting remain. I am an adult, but I will always be your child, throwing tantrums and spitting poison.
Maybe they were right all along, the abused ones really does become the abuser.

Onto the battleground we‘re nailed
Provided with guns and swords /
But our mission failed
We mourn our fallen words

and we are vulnerable,
shattered, and the
hills sleep in silence
oh it is magic,
our tiny feet
in the soft grass
dancing to the beat
in this world of glass

the snow started falling faster when you left
and the gravel beneath my shoes now remains quiet
it was the worst kind of theft
and even though it has been many winters
of ugly cries and silent fights
the earth still mourns the loss of you, see,
the wind still sings sad songs in this cleft
that you created
day after day I must withstand the desire to let myself fall, like snow, from far above,
until I hit the ground, until I find you,
my love