Numb of the pain from the thousand cuts all over her skin down to her bones
Blinded by the blood stained cloth tied around her head, covering her eyes.

He then came, with a beating heart on his palmー
A remedy he thought she needed
He bled to revive the polluted ocean submerging her soul.

But as she scream for oxygen to breathe,
She unconsciously dragged him below until he drowned beneath her tears

Too late for her to realize,
He devoured the night just to give her daylight.

ーkg

my coat buttons rolled down the drain on 4th street
i watched them as they were carried away by wind and rain
the ring on my left hand got caught in between the couch cushions
i left it tangled up in the coffee-stained threads
records go on playing until silence fills the room
i don't even take the needle off

but i wish i were the buttons, the ring
i wish i could put the record away

i just want to want something

Of course you found out you love me now
Of course you want me when someone else has me

Of course you realize you want to be with me now
Of course you promise you will prove you're true and real

Of course the timing is off
Of course fate threw us another out of reach curve ball

Because, what do we have together anyway besides bad timing?

Too often do we dance and fool our youth away, too often do we attempt to love without knowing how, too often do we write letters that end up in the hearth, too often do we get agitated by the song of the simple bird, too often do we hate and forget to pity those whom we despise, too often do we cage the blue bird in our heart, too often do we lie, not to the world but to ourselves, too often we ponder, speak, and forget action behind, too often do we ignore ourselves, too often do we ignore each other.  

Too often do the authors try to paint the world with colours of big words and elegant sentences, yet as beautiful it may seem to the eye, the world they paint is far too artificial, far too unnatural, far too normal.

We do it all too often; we hate without reason, we believe without proof, we forget that hate is the work of the unloved, we live our lives as if they’re shows for everyone else, we become bitter wolves with venomous fangs and poisonous tongues, we rip at each other, with words, with thoughts, with deeds of every kind.  

Too often we forget our humanity behind.

It is Friday morning,
I feel like a robot lubricating its joints
with peanut  butter and jelly cookies,
repeating its movements over again;
jumping, running and extending into
the big robotic world with the hope of
reaching out to humans.

Driving to pick up Hilda, a soul
that needs a ride to heaven,
her husband a former mafia driver, in his homeland, lost his car and driving license,
as the virus came and switched  his brain on shootings and killings he witnessed,
in his youth days, when worrying more for money than life.

I hope for no shootings today,
Friday morning, and
The sun didn’t show up in the sky,
It can be too much even for him shining every day, not an easy job warming up
earth’s feet when striving for a happy day.

It is early Friday morning,
The dog had no time for barking,
I feel like a robot that has been overused,

Waiting in the car,
I succumb to dreaming and export myself into a passed homeland life, were on Fridays evenings I laugh and wear cherries 🍒 behind my friendly years when Apollon comes with his sweet kisses.

My client arrived, she moves like a robot too ... I drive ... we reach in heaven as we start talking and crying, ...

Hilda opens like a flower to the sunset, while she is telling her life story,
and how much pain she carries in her feet and arms, cut off at every sunrise by her mother denial, shootings hit her heart,
I pray and hope for her husband to be well,
and forgiven by Gods.

Hilda’s storey wakes me up to being a human, ... between tears and pains we find our laughs, ... After we cry, laugh and feel the pain, me and Hilda we feel like two humans on Friday morning.

Stands on the porch.
His gaze set on a lock.
He peers through the keyhole.
Nothing.
Sets off to find it.
What will open her?
What will free her?
Will he?
No.
It will.
But what is it?
He looks.
He searches.
He cannot find it.
He will not give up.
The house is crumbling.
She is crumbling.
He won’t let her fall.
Not now.
He is close.
He can feel it.

There.
He has found it.
So close yet so far.
Why?
Because she has it.
She doesn’t understand.
She will not give the key up.
She doesn’t know what will happen.
The house will crumble.
It will fall.
Not only will it break her, but it will break him too.

i stand with arms wide open, ready to welcome you home.

and there you are
running, running, running,

to the one that has no arms for you.