Wrinkles on my brain.
They suppress the screams
of the lucid echo, that is tagging along me.

Tap.

Smoke.

Weeping.

I woke up and found myself sleeping still.
I heard my friends' laughing drill.
I felt my sweat leaking through the sorrow.

Tap.

Smoke.

Scream.


Now, it was too late -
My dreams were far gone already.
I was behind the horizon. Tragedy.

I am a blind follower.
Asking WHY?
Begging through cry.

Can't you see my sorrow
through my pale skin,
as my mind leeks out of my see blue eyes?

I am at the crossroad
haunting my voice through deep foggy forests.

Don't be just another passenger
who misspells my agony.
Hold my hand.
Help me forgive myself.

(Hey you!)
Hold my hand.

….Hold my hand.

Yet, to be born,
Unleashed.
From unconscious freedom,
the debt of silence,
Followed by pretentious dark, nicely sliced abyss.


Yet, to be.
Reaching out my last scream of silence.
Calling for words so sad and away from me.
Barely visible, trough dim smoke of agony.



Has yet come already?..Please!
Delusions are painful,
and the abyss in coffee brings out the taste of inner fear
and yet not felt claustrophobia.