is like cotton twine,
if you put a match

to string, it will
burn away,

but if dipped
in beeswax

the flame will be
slow and sure.

Dreary pictures of phosphorescent
times when you and me were together
hang from little strings attached
to the ceiling skies full of aether

The flaming red flowers I gave you
once turned all gray and aweary
During some thousand hours
in our arms we couldn’t say sorry

I watch you walk away saying
this time it’s for real darling
in the end it’s always the same
we keep on living (we keep on dying)

When you turn for the last time
expecting to see me cry
I’ll stand there piercing your eye
with tears for you to satisfy

Basil, paprika, cold Hungarian goulash,
bleu cheese and stale cinnamon
coffee cake dominate
the taste of  your
mouth and skin;

it’s not because you are
slovenly that pulls me
into you, I am alone.

I forgive you,
for all the pain you put me through,
I forgive you,
for all the selfish things you do.
I forgive you,
for loving me too much,
I forgive you,
for not loving me enough,
I forgive you,
for the dreams you conjured in my head,
I forgive you,
for nights spent alone in our bed,
I forgive you,
for the memories we’ll never make,
I forgive you,
for the part of me that you did take.

My heart o, how it aches
over and over without a single pause
to let me breathe
(Morrison;
Voice so perfect it could make and angel cry,
words destined to hit the centre of a soul)
and me less than half of nothing
living of small victories in this formidable life;
like when your eyes meet mine
or a chance of being of any help to this world
(maybe seeing and stranger smile)
...
However, it´s getting harder to oper the doors to the next day
I´m lost in the palace of my mind
Everything seems to be working
Everything´s fine
(Yet I slowly die inside)

Tonight, I pray tomorrow
an orchestra brazenly
plays, and hounds

bay in tune, the sun
melts a path in the snow,
blue morning  stars glow;

all, so I can find my
sad and lonely
way.