What am I but a soul,
Imprisoned by a shell of flesh,
With organs feasting on my fluids,
Operated solely by a wrinkled beast
At the top of the meat tower.

Have I a choice? Or am I bound
To this wrinkled beast’s desire,
Praying for the day that
The light will come calling
And the beast will die.

Please tell me, is it worth appreciating
the silence
that will eventually replace
you and your crimson breath?

Cured of my iconoclastic longing,
I am falling apart
like a house of cards
built by your whisper.

I am trying to free myself
from last year's sky, but I know
that you are still guarding
my soul.

Locked in my own shadow,
I raise a toast to a happier world.
When the last bell
falls silent, I will renounce
my freedom, I will forget
about loneliness.

An hour will be born
in me that knows neither light
nor penance.
Perhaps one morning
I will understand that victory
is not dedicated to me.

I will open my mouth,
close the window.
I am not afraid of tomorrow's
illusions, of another painless evening.

With each step I take,
I am closer to the dark light.
Each heartbeat leads me
to the finality.

Conceived without pain,
I am trying to find the lost moment.
Your naked hands roam freely
over my frail body -
hatred is what
the smallest ones desire.

Painfully cursed, today
I end this wicked journey
for something that no one knows.
I have become lost
to the world.

My condescending tears
are too ridiculous to be of any use.
Your spasmodic whisper
tries to tame the night
that consistently plays with the light,
that asks for
a scrap of its own sadness.

Intoxicated with hope,
sold at a bargain price -
I try to overcome life in myself,
to find pain that will teach me
to yearn so that everyone
will envy me.

I touch your tears - I know
they are created from purple mist.
I touch thoughts that
have forgotten what words
they belong to.

I feed my conscience carefully -
my familiar sin
belongs to someone else
today.

I cultivate this hurricane
within myself, thanks to which
I open the gate to the vestibule
of paradise.

Destroyed by the future, stripped of
the snares of the universe,
I would like to build within myself
a monument woven from mirages,
overwhelmed by doubt,
stolen from caresses.

Since yesterday
I have not believed in the past;
in the illusions
with which time competes.

Someone broke
the wing of my guardian - was it you
who waited quietly enough
to see that which doubts
repentance?

I am returning from beyond the border
of your smile. I am, although
silence complains about
the excess of existence.

I am close enough to sleep to escape
this tachycardia, this too abundant forgetfulness.
Kinship with time makes bells fall silent,
commands unite,
lies harmonize with truth.

I have fallen in love with opposites
so vast that the heavens fall
to their knees, the Earth festers like
a fresh wound.

I bow pitifully at the sight
of your borrowed answers, I delight in
the infinity of sold questions.

Unprepared, yielding to your naked heart,
I collide with the wall
I built to hide my life from myself.
There's a bit of remorse and madness
lurking in your undressed tears;
I pay with sadness for
the right to longing.

Too humble to resurrect fear, I struggle
with your past, with complaints about
your too mundane future.

I am looking for measured, priceless
illusions
that woke up in your embrace
the day before yesterday.
I need empty meanings to outline
the laws of fate,
the sparkle of useless pedestals.

I close tomorrow's dream wide open -
I open the window
to find an escape route.
In love to limits of the universe,
deceptive like a drop of pain -
I cling to your tenderness, so insignificant
that sky lies at my feet,
I lose the plastic cross somewhere
along the way.

I spread fear, I explain myself to God
with my firstborn words. I am sadness
that no one here is waiting for.

Simplicity and illusion
are replicated in me -
I will saturate the dry soil of your lips
with tears. I remember all time fiercely -
a cry outlines
trajectories of wrong orders.

It is just a pair of mismatched hands.
It is a plea for future that I cannot
reconcile myself with.

I walked from the nearby wall
to the slammed door,
trying to find a twitch of humanity.

I wandered from the cul-de-sac
to the sleepy window, searching for
a sliver of mercy that would teach me
to daydream and believe in
the presence of time.

Despite another teardrop,
I am getting closer to the world.
Every thought causes me to sink into
balance and hypocrisy.

I am not ready to find
more interesting stigmas
on the body of future - I am not strong
enough to believe in
the existence of fertile hope.

Torn like the suffering sky,
like the placated Earth,
I sway to the rhythm of silent gravity,
I struggle with the reality that stole you
from me, that allowed me to dream.

I do not want the shapeless night
to strip me of your breath,
to appropriate vastness
for which I constantly seek solitude,
I look around for tears
to mitigate my insatiable smile.

I arrange my thoughts
in alphabetical order. I look carefully
at words, as if they were your sigh.

When life gives rain,
The clouds they form.
The sun it hides
Through bangs of storm.

The ground is wet,
As your steps are small.
But what will happen
If you let yourself fall?

Oh yes it hurts,
You feel it for days.
But your wounds they heal
As the pain it fades.

And remember the rain?  
That once poured high.
Now look outside

At the sun in the sky.