Down with fever on a Saturday night,
I just wish for a glance of her soothing light.
No pleasure is perpetual.
Grief stricken, hopeless I’m,
Began a quest -
A cry for immortal bliss.

Journey is long,
Slowly showing its toll.
Ageing rapidly through the time,
Revealing her tenacious paradigm.

Where is the money,
For it can bring only agony.
Peace is temporary,
And they say war is necessary.
Why shall I agree to her words
which are equally scary.

This life, finite in its expression,
Caught up in some pseudo socialism.
Through intangible portals of death and rebirth,
How do I transcend this dualism!

For nothing interests me more,
Come blindfold me with your lore.
I was never free,
And they wish that I could flee.

You don’t get it, or do you.
Might wonder I’m in folly,
Driven by insanity.
Take a step back,
Or will you rather not.

World is filled with dejection,
Still I hope for serenity,
Coz I'm ******* by this ****** lunacy.

As she laughed at this mighty plight,
And I cried through my whole night,
Wishing for a bliss that's eternal.
But settled for a song that's so mortal.

dwelling in a bathtub full of ember
skin, transparent like a plastic raincoat
max' core is a cage, his mouth like a cave
tags are scratched into his hands

he is walking over liquid letters, since
doctors replaced his blood with milk
cats are drinking from his open wounds
max is asking the mirror:

who could i be?
who do i want to be?
what will i become?
who am i now?

his memories are windows
the head is mutating, it will explode
thoughts are gobbling thoughts
wishes **** other wishes

the young max longed to be old
the old max wants to be young
a life, hidden in a purple casket
secrets drive each of his moves

addicted to the white magic of death
self-destructive, not trustworthy
he exchanged his kids against trance
sirens are singing songs of oblivion

take him away from this journey
trapped is he in placelessness
he became the thing he dreaded
nightmares are haunting his dignity

will his actions turn into an epitaph?
a funeral, under the heaven of his skin

Mother, I feel your pain
Your grief
It's coursing through my veins
As if I must take it away;
It has become my quest
Until this body turns to dust.

Oh, Mother, I am living sores of yours,
Feeling it all
Deep in my core.
Never thought of having a choice
Until I've discovered the voice
Of my own.

Mother, your sadness soaks through my bones
The very marrow of those
Yet through time that flowed
Between then and now
I realised I am owed
To pave the roads
Of my own.

Sometimes, what we have left are regrets.
Indeed they don't come first.
But living without getting pressed
       is tantamount to a horrifying quest.

It's 6:12
I'm old guy high, clearly in an altered state,
yet
meandering
fractally indentical
taste in dramatic pre-
sent-sations
satiate my
wish is
your command, and in this state you find
the man,
ecce ****, at home with his books,
we look in on him through all
the lockedinlemmeites let
loose in wisdom's grandest scheme,

patience, yes, and prudence, along with fire,
Prometheus, thought ahead, knew ahead,
need for patience forms patience in
tiny, tiny, fizzy foamy quantum of hope,
nee solace, in the drama, using legos,

I watched  as my grandson told of his mission,
listen, when grandpa says listen.
How is this your mission?
You made me know it, so I do, that's the way it works.
He is four, who has will to ask for more?

I’ve grown numb
And accustomed to
Whatever that was deemed
Extraordinary.
Does this make me dull
If the complexity of the universe
Has become
Ordinary?
No longer a stranger or an enigma
To my inner experience?
Does this make me boring
If I no longer find joy
In discovering something
Unsurprising?
For when you
Constantly dwell and live
In the unknown
Is it really a big deal
To find something unexpected?
I mean... what did you expect anyway?

I am more interested in human interactions
In the consequences
And the causes
Of my actions
And I have internalised the outside world
And the outside wonders and
Discipline and harmony
Has become my quest and
My childish discovery.

A whatifery quest. What if you cannot lose?

my life is the role you play, or
yours the role I play and we
each must win,
or winning is nothing and I am alone.
You know the feeling,

letting go of the held on to
to let be the held in,

imagine, me a friend, in a word, a mind
like yours,
good in all its wishes to

to make
to pay, to take, to give, to be, to see,
to think
I know you know by acting out, doing,
having being
in this bubble where we all may breathe
easy
no filters needed in my realm, we winnowed
well.
All that remains is seed, the chaff has gone
to dust and ashes
for good right use
in futures unimagined as yet.

have to find the center of a long alley
ice cream cones of last year, the craving
our way to the center, people buzzing over
so hard to guess the right thing of the wrong

lights are floating through the room, ghosty
at the center of the alley, we will find salvation
smoothen a path inside the snow of the past
frozen water, ice chunks, shannon, help me

have to find the center of a long alley
get me some ***** and a cake, let's go
eat it on-the-go, the best thing now is to go
your mental breakdown was the finest

for a long time, a long time, long time