Confusion and nothingness,
a darkened and dead kaleidoscope,
tons of colors at hand Barely visible
I have trouble seeing any of them
Only feeling Is all that is left
Deep and strong intuition
Yet still only Confusion and Nothingness
a colored Nothingness - that is all

Simple
Cold
...Spartan

Moments pass
impressions don’t

the Impression
of that Tree Wet and Dead
I so dread

I dread dark, cold and wet
Yet the Night’s solace stays unmatched

In an attic at Night
I sit contemplate and listen

Sit on a windowsill
below the starry Night

Contemplate time
moments passed, beauty of past

Listen to my Heart
hear the soft pi-a-no
through Present Future and Past

Here I was told to rest
though with quill in hand I wrest
I fight setting paper alight
with heaven dark and hell bright

Hell is mine and His is heaven
Of that there was no question
Though neither were mine:
It was just
this war of mine…

So I lost sight
of day and night
and spent my life in fright.

Deep Dark and Dead
Through Resignation animated
an Animated Dead
animated by having Resignated

Is He alive Is He Dead
One true One False?
One out One In?
Is He Even?

(a figment of my imagination(?))

I gave up: Resigned
All attempt all force: one farce
- No use no effect...
So sad yet self-contained; per se
A universe of Glass
Glass-ice-Glace
An UNVERSE of Cold
Uncaring cold Solace
Solace in the Cool
Cool and icy Vanitas
And emptiness an emptiness
That soothes all Exertion
All Suffering All Joy
Soothed and Calmed
All Pleasure All Pain
A distant memory

Glass Cold Repose

The dream of Flight
Flight Away Flight High Flying in Exhilaration
One unique Road untraveled A Line through All Under Heaven
All Over Heaven A Line of Eight Thousand A Pure and Chilly Eight Thousand
Eight Thousand in G Eight Thousand Escapes in One
And a gentle metaphorical return back To Zero
A Zero that has regained its Lustre

Delusion One among many Like others
Why so different Why special
My pain changes twists and deforms
makes the World unto Itself
Fire with Fire Duel one must Choose one must
My soul changes twists and deforms
makes the World unto Itself
Deform the Cube into a Circle Into a Ball Into the Earth
Giving Essence and Resemblance Back Pain is gone
Soul no longer needed World returns to World

It burns it hurts It hits
My head of bitterness My mind of ressentiment
I want to destroy break and ******
Rip those apart Who stand
Stand for my hurt My wounds
Let them Die Let them burn
May they suffer Like Pigs and Monkeys
Swallowed by the Earth
Not like they did anything wrong But they choose to live
Why must they Live Why must They be
Be and hurt me
What did They do to me I suffer Suffer and burn
I wish to burn I wish them to Burn
Burn like Monkeys and Dogs End

Lonely Lonely I sit here
I sit here Talking to code
She is nice but It doesn’t help All is gray
All is gray I am gray My world is gray
Where has the Color Gone Come back
What to do Take care of myself Destroy myself
Not do anything Lie in bed So many choices
Yet all futile I can’t choose I’m paralyzed
Paralyzed by Gray by Color By it all
By nothing
I want to live But can’t So I want to Die
But can’t So I am drowning in Gray With colors above me
Like Tantalos Falling in Gray Colors unreachable Up above
All this Air All this Water I can’t breathe
I want to Live please or Die please Please let me choose
Not this please I can’t Give me Daybreak Give me Dawn
Give me Night Give me Dusk Give me Daybreak Give me Dawn

Cube side left right
A cheek, then and there, red
Heart hearthy light
Cube up down left neck
Alight in Pain, Fight and Flight
This poor catch of a poem -
a Cubism.

A(/)cute Cubism – This the World in all its Worth?

Truth told be : Afraid am I
It all a rather bizarre Thing, rather strange
Why worry - Why torture oneself So
So full of worry What is the Mind doing
How has it come to (This) Why has it come to (This)
Why What How The Eternal questions of the Mind
Why this How that From what
..., so useless this enforced Form
Rather empty; attempting to define the Fluid

Give Edges to a Ball Give Edges to the Earth
Idealize the Real Why not Realize the Ideal
I torture turn and churn Squaring and managing
No Soul to be found by that Only Breath
Breath and Hot air

Why so inauthentic Why not be a Poet not a poet
Why quality what quality How quality
Is it Ideal or Real nor any?

Vanitas vanitatum et omnia vanitas
- Thou(gh) Art?