In Adam Chamber's
ghastly chamber
locked away
a little young maiden.

Screams and screams
once more
to top the rule.
No more.

A squealing floor;
it might be Chamber
at the door.
Waiting, forever more.

Steps now hasten,
a sudden stop!
"Stop screaming",
a voice from a fog.

She hears the keys
in the lock; a click.
Mean grunting,
while it flicks.

The door now open
and darkness follows.
On the wall
now only a shadow

is what remains
of the little young maiden.

I believe I'm alive
but I don't know

I see and I cry
but I still don't know

I feel and I lie
yet so hard to know

I try and I try
perhaps soon I'll know

I hate and I love
now I know

Nothing as lonely, as
a lonesome man traveling.
With the company of his thoughts
and some ideas.
Many problems and no solutions.
Music as his company,
the plane isn’t so boring.

Last week’s red wine,
(in the form of *****)
on his notebook,
has allied with the moistness
of his room.
So he skips a page

and writes a poem.

I have not found a better home,
I have looked for an eternity.
Every road took me somewhere,
eventually I found myself lost.

The paths I chose blossomed
and horses walked them happy.
Yet, these roads are not for everyone,
you too, may find yourself lost.

If you travel by night,
the Moon will shine the way.
If you travel by day,
the Sun can take you astray.

For these paths, the roads,
are not for everyone.
So turn back and believe me,
as I have walked this way before.

You are not supposed to be here,
this road leads to a lonely desert.
I have warned you once already,
the next won't help you at all.

You have run past your happiness,
now walking in the night,
this road of loneliness
will be the end of you.

I know, as I have walked this way before.
It is only, a highway to desolation,
which no one should go.

And now you know,
which way is home.

I start dreaming
before I've finished my sentence
I start dreaming
after I've lost my thought
I finish dreaming
before I've got to conclusion
I finish dreaming
after I've missed everything else

It’s those monochrome voices that break the joyous bubble,
bursting the rainbow shadows.
Those bleak voices that dissolve the party
and fill my heart with dissatisfaction.
It’s the same colour as my soul,
but there’s no need to spread the misery.
My heart used to be just fine – you
invited the greyhounds of horror
to my doorstep, to my soul.
And the colourblinds now stare
with their mouths open
with their mouths foaming
but they just stare
as if they can see through my hollow soul
and they just stare.
And they just stare.

You can't live
if you live alone.
You need to get
out of your hole.
This is something
you need to know.
You need someone
with who you can grow.
This is a thing I've learnt.
And nothing can live
if it don't grow.

His eyes were dark
A certain spark
Deep in his mind,
The killing kind
He hid it well.
He could not tell
Till all this came
To a beautiful end.

I am remorse
in a physical form
I am love
in all my actions
I am thunder
expressed in words
I am happiness
in my untruthfulness
I am life
in all forms
I am the movement
of a speckle
I am gravity
pulling ugly women
I am a death ray
creating worlds
I am a dragon
pierced by a sword
I am that sword
piercing a dragon
I am a ghost
of myself
I am
Nothing

I know the secret behind art.

It isn’t beauty
or love.
Beauty and love are expressive words
about art,
but they do not form art.
It is the pain and fear
of love and beauty.
The pain of having
and
the fear of losing.
And the fear comes from the knowledge
that you will have to face it
someday.
And the pain is always there,
lurking behind beauty
that is called art.

All those bad memories, sad days.
On those days or after,
you relieve yourself of the pain,
so you can face another day
made of pain.
Between the moments of relief and pain
are the days filled with fear.
And whenever you write,
you write of fear or pain,
in the seek of beauty and love
between your words of fantasy.

I know the secret behind art.

For today,
I'm not sorry,
what I think.
I'm not sorry,
what I say.
I'm not sorry,
what I feel.
Just for this one day,
I'm not sorry.

I can see trouble in your eyes
doubled by your lies.
Lost in your words
now truth doesn't hurt.

I'm not a man of belief.
I'm not your personal relief.
I know what's on your mind.
You don't have to lie.

Everything is fine
except you're not mine.
You don't have to be.
Please set me free.

Strength of your beauty
holds me in line.
Wisdom of your words
hits me from behind.

From the depths of your heart
as words to your lips.
Feelings and emotions
described as the truth.

Where no man has been
no woman has left.
It will never be seen.
It's on your right and left.

It has many symptoms
even bribery and theft.
Many hard feelings
like hate and neglect.

What ever happens
don't be sorry.
This understood
you should not worry.

Jesus was an alien
and Moses was a hippie.
I saw them once in Vegas,
where we drank wine.
Obviously.

At once I felt like an alien
and soon dressed as a hippie;
but that was Vegas,
where we drank wine.
Obviously.

I won million dollars on the slots
and bought a trip to space,
where I met Jesus, the alien
and we ate cakes in space.
Obviously.

I got back to Earth
and went to San Fransisco,
where I saw the hippie, Moses
and we slept on flower beds.
Obviously.

It was all a bit weird,
but after a while it came to me:
Jesus was an alien
and Moses was a hippie.
Obviously.

I love to look far in the distance
to discover new things in existence.
Exit my own body, my life.
Fall prey to rude world.
Gaze upon myself.
Graze my wild imagination.
Dwell into darkness, find the light
and rediscover my life.

Nobody understands silence any more.
They don't respect peace,
they get annoyed by tranquillity,
they escape their own problems,
drown their sorrows in constant babble.
There is no peace any more.
They, he, she, you, me, we.

Resting is underrated, so
they talk and they talk, about
problems of someone else's, never
solving their own inadequacies, never
respecting our will for peace.

I just want to be able to go
to the beach, the library, the café
and read and sit and think, while
I look out the window (people walking by).
They don't find beauty in silence any more.
Why don't they understand the simplest of things?

Just silence and me.
We would, and do, go well together.
Just me.
Just silence.
...
..
.

What is life
if you don't live.
All the beauty
trapped within
Should burst out
and overthrow sin.
In love and war
only love can win.
Because only love
is the true leader and king.

This is a poem.
A very, very ****** poem.
But it rhymes
and has a bunch
of words in it.
Cool, ain't it?

Okay it doesn't rhyme,
but does it really matter?
At least I've tried.
I did my best,
doesn't it count?

I need a job,
******* it.

The strongest word is the heaviest to lift
The most meaningful expression the one that gets the message through
And honesty… is the gravity.
It gives weight to words
And “I love you” is lighter than “I don’t love you anymore”
Because honesty alone hurts more people than any lie.

Love knows no place or time
no looks nor fame.
It is only a plain,
hormonal thing in your brain.
It will never be tame,
but still, love is just a name
for what in life is main.

break my heart
break it twice

i allow it
for i don't matter

so break my heart
break it again

step on it
tread on it
throw it away

for i don't matter

but only you do
to me

I can see them
Dancing in their fancy clothes
On the amputated arms and legs
That built their country

An unimaginable pain
Impossible to understand
By someone like me

The rich and prosperous
The westerners and the UN
With the help of media
Publish propaganda which we –  
Arrogant and naïve –
Believe
And think our government is honest
Purely because it’s stable
And most won’t even be able
To locate Sierra Leone
Or Rwanda
In the index of an atlas

And this stupidity of
The age of unnecessity
And overflow of emotionless objects
Slowly kills me

And one finger after another
I feel those masters of the third world
Hack and saw them off
But they’ll never get my spirit
And my heart
And these words will resound:
Down with lies and hatred
Down with money and policy
Down with exploitation and death
Now feel my love reach out to you

They make me smile
Like that dimple on your cheek
It looks like a second smile
Below those two beauty spots

You do everything twice, don’t you?

It makes me laugh
When you laugh
And snort.
It’s a cute kind of snort
Not a pig, but a piglet

You’ve always been the cute one.

And you’re embarrassed to hold
My hand in public
But you still have to
When we cross the street –
An old habit
That reminds you of something

You have such a special mind
And
I love every bit of weirdness
You
Produce.

If only you weren’t making of my overly active –
Hyper-active, ADD infested, LSD tripping –
brain.