There was this man. At the metro station.
He held his head up high
He looked at the sky,
Splitting it up into fractions.
He had bloodstains on his shirt.
He was sure that I wouldn’t see them.
But I saw them. And the more I looked,
The redder they got.
I didn’t know whose blood was this.
But it was fresh and red like roses,
Like a woman’s kiss on man’s lips.
There was this man. And his chaoses.
His hands were shaking. They were old,
Flawed, wrinkled. Pimples
On his forehead reminded me
That one day he was a boy
And all he had was dreams.
And bloodstains on his jeans:
He broke his knees
While trying to seize
He owned it. Now his shoulders
Bend over. His shirt is just as old as he is.
And there are bloodstains, redder then
So there he is. He sits at the metro station.
Wondering why the sky
The ******* sky
The blue-but-not-red sky
Is splitting up into fractions
And why his hands got redder.
Still be a boy with dreams of joy.
But bloodstains are all
I only realize I’m late once I notice that the woman with
Medusa’s curls isn’t at the platform.
People as units of measure.
The clock of the world.
I want to write you messages
on small pieces of paper
and put them in the corners
of the advertisements on the A train
in the hopes that you will see them
and recognize my handwriting
and think of me.
just checking in as
madness and earth are shaking,
while the sun rises in Thunder Bay, and
the trucks at the Moscow subway take speed, all
I need is a piece of earth under my feet.
we take the same train everyday
I don’t know your name nor where you come from
what a joy is to see your face once more before we part ways again
but the moment the train moves
the rumble of my heart lead the way
stead fast, the scenery of steeping in Front of emotion
track after track
winding and twisting with nothing to block the way
the express route to desire
your astonishing beauty
Is my favorite stop
love at first sight
I wish I could've told you how I felt
I wish I could've held your hands
before alighting the train
Many faces in a subway train,
Non that I know,
Non that I recognize.
The train passed by me and my eyes searched for a familiar face,
Still non that I know.
I came eye to eye with strangers,
But non of them saw me,
Non of them noticed me.
I got on the train and my eyes kept on searching while my heart kept on hoping,
Just to see your face.
As the train rocks back and forth
I can't help but stare north
At the beautiful lady sitting alone
In her regular seat. Her throne
The damsel in red.
Her eyes are outlined with black liner
Making her cool, blue eyes appear brighter
Her curly, brown hair travels down her back
An enchanting beauty that seems to attack
My gentle heart.
Her red scarf stands out the most
An expensive cloth that seems to boast
That her money is more important than your love
God, can you please send a sign from above?
That I am hers if she wants me.
My angel whispers in my ear
Cupid stabs my heart with a spear
I so desperately want to run to her
And profess my love that will stir
Until my dying day.
But it's too late
My meeting with her will have to wait
For the train has stopped, and she has left
Thank God I am blessed
With another day
On the Subway.
How is everyone doing? Thoughts?
You can’t see how my heart
Splinters into a thousand pieces
Raining down, stabbing me from the inside out
As you show her your portfolio
An easygoing smile on your face, you are glowing
As they all bathe in your sunshine
I don’t exist
Why did you ask me to come?
You won’t touch me, I’m a ghost to you
Condemned to watch you bless everyone with gold
To everyone but me
Is this my penance?
I smile, numb myself, change the subject
Look at the magnets on the fridge
I say I’m tired, I’m surprised when you ask me to stay
Is it to let you punish me even more?
On the G I start to choke on a shard lodged in my throat
The world is spinning
I think you forget how big you are
How small I feel around you.
hook a buddy up my heart
trapped in purple drops of rain
my pulse has been pacing
like a golden train
we were spacing
out for five hours
my words became your worst
your worst became my words
listen to your inner voice:
nobody is without...
Sins are committed by everybody.
Regardless of skin color, moral values, beliefs, nationality, age, gender, ****** identity, welfare-dependency, wealth.
Fühlst du mich? (Feel me?)
Do you understand that?
It is never about stereotypes but about oneself.
Still, stereotyping helps us to survive in this weird world.
Are you brave enough to distinguish?
Today is a good day.
YouTube: "Bedrock Beautiful Strange"
towards the abode in your heart
a clear...well lit
at times it's a
you've fortified your all
behind the tall
and the main gate is out of bound
windows, hard to be found
i wander around
too hopeful to return
at the secret entrance i wait for my turn
someday you will show the concern