i want to clean
up
     this
            mess
                      and  
            start
        a
new
         page
                   but
                           they
                   say
          art
is
         when
                    you
                             feel
                     the
           most
naked
           most
                     vulnerable
           most
broken
             but  
                     if
                            i
                   pick
           up
my
        my
                shards
                               then
                      i'll
           just
bleed
          with
                    ichor
                               and
                     red
           wine
hues
           that
                     reach
                                  up
                      down
          below
on
        the
                 doorsteps
                                     of
                      death
         just
                  dropping
                                        by
                             to
               say
hello.

If tears really cleanses the heart
Then yours and mine
Probably are some of the cleanest

Life is a tearjerker, you know

May the storm
Drags every inch of hell out of me
Along with the dread of this stupid loneliness
Spin it along with all of the shadows,
of the lovers that went wrong

Let this storm
Cleanse all of the remains
The pile of the endless city
even the fields of flowers and butterflies
That i built for you and wipe it all clean
So i can grow a better one for myself

This storm will end soon
And when it does
you will be as good as dead
And when it does
All that is left of your sanctuary in me
Is rubble and dust

yes,
breathing filth hurts
we've known it far too well for comfort ;
clogged hearts

/

this is not opposites attract but
polar sames —
you scrub your hands for
the sixty seventh time this week and
i scrub your footprints off the bedroom floor with
ritual sanctimony —
the house reeks of turpentine but
it's the smell of c l e a n

/

yes,
it goes just like this
the repeating loop of a washing machine ;
mirror stains

.

I did not go down today under the water
and after all it was necessary it was necessary
I did not go today to the waterfall
and in fact for a long time it was necessary for me he
needed his water sparks
needed his huge pearl
oh why why does not fate give me
does not allow to be clean and washed

07.08.18

i write you
tens of letters
which
i then break in
hundreds of pieces
i fill
thousands of pages with
your name and then
i press assertively the red button in the corner and

you dissapear
off
of the screen
of my mind
of my heart not really

and i don't know what to do
to get you out of here
i squeeze this soul out of any sentiment that could exist within
so then
i could squeeze you out as well

but **** you
you are still stubborn and you don't want to
and i try
and you won't
and in vain

i am tired
i don't want this anymore
i go to sleep at night
with hope
tomorrow i will be clean
of you
and
i wake up in the morning
and
one more bud
one more root
one more blade
is pushing through

well
is it fair?

now
tell me
what do i do?

but you are silent
more than ever
but you elongate you arms
more and more
and further and further
and you squeeze
more and more
and harder and harder

and it is
more and more
loathsome
more and more
terrible
more and more
longing

it's ****.