For Nick Cave

I have been told that frozen hearts cannot love
I have taught that frozen hearts cannot be melted
Inside there is only a muscle
not moved by emotions
A muscle cannot not recognize love
Is tight and tense
Protecting the owner from unknown dangers
Subtly induced by affection and tenderness
It must remain untouched and hard
For all frozen hearts are damaged.

You had a bad teacher, she said
A really bad teacher
For learning you only to avoid life with steel stillness
Unknowgly condemning you to remain a prisoner
In an open and vast prison, where there is no aliveness
This sterile landscape of nothingness
Where all frozen hearts are damaged.

You had a really bad teacher, my darling,
She said
for all frozen hearts are damaged and broken
In pieces that hurt
And carry their pain inside your tight muscle

Maybe love is an illusion, my darling,
But it is the most beautiful at all.
All frozen hearts are damaged, my darling
And yours is the most frozen of all.

His dark eyes were mesmerizing
haunting me with their intensity
wondering what is behind this darkness

good or evil
beauty or destruction
knowledge or ignorance

and suddenly I hold back my restless mind
abandoning to this seductive trance
of the unknown and dangerous

this man out of nowhere could be
my saviour
or my killer

so I will love him
for those few minutes
of desperate forbidden bliss
resting into my arms.

Asking him to forgive me later
for not loving him always
as I am split and untamed
inside my own dark wilderness.

To break someone's heart is to break yourself
each and every time, with every heart
unconsciously becoming broken
in tiny bits and pieces of your former self
until you become your own stranger within
leaving behind those unacknowledged parts of yourself
forgotten as nothingness conquers all and dust seduces the wind
reigning into an empty void
that used to call your name.

I am naïve skeptic
I am a bohemian capitalist
I am a sad corporatist
I am a misogynistic feminist
I am a misanthropic misandry
I am a traditional postmodernist
and a conservative liberal
I belong to someone, but mostly to myself
I am not yours, yet I am not mine either.
I am everything and I am nothing.

I am tender and cold,
I am sour and soft.
Darker than night,
Brighter than day.
Loving and spiteful
Caring and callous.

I am a poet concealed in prose
I am a writer covered in playwright
I am here, but I am also there.
I am an old novelty
and a new discovery.
I am a bit of van Gogh’s ear.