i sit next to that vintage candelabra, that i found in the attic,
i get a pen and a blank page on which i write what i think,
when i’m done i rethink and rewrite my poetry with blood on a parchment,
but i get distracted by the church bells ringing from 2 streets away,
it gets louder and louder,
at times they sound like ******* racing cars on tracks,
then they get quieter,
they sound like sunken singers, hitting high notes from underwater,
in the meantime demons escape from the catacombs,
hidden deep beneath the chapel,
and put gargoyles to life,
and all of that - 2 streets away,
i turn off that vintage candelabra, but i keep on writing,
i listen closely to my pen’s sounds and try to imagine them louder,
want them to be louder than racing cars,
louder than a rocket blasting off,
i write so fast and it feels so loud, that i enter a different dimension,
a world where matter is made of words,
i want to stay there forever, whenever i get there,

that’s exactly how to disappear
c o m p l e t e l y
a  n  d
n   e   v   e   r
b    e
f      o     u     n     d.