almost remembering

Inspired by “Gravity” by Danny Pool

 

Fading to a shadow, husk of the man I used to be

the swirling blackness inside me came to agree,

 

your words are the cold gust I flutter in,

struggling towards you, like a banner for sin –

 

torn by promises and pleas… Not enough, not free.

Forgotten by love, I’m oarless floating on the sea.

 

A shadow dissolves into the darkest night

if it forgets that there was warmth and light…

 

I’d breathe but the leaden black on my chest,

adds the weight of your memory to my breast.

 

Midnight’s coming, and I know I’m flawed.

Storm’s coming and I’m the lightning rod

 

The Lunatic And The Moon

*

I submerge in the silvery flood

of the dark whisper in my blood

past’s poison floats to the surface

full in shape, the moon rises too

midst the sclera of midnight blue –

“Observing, my dear! Observing

your fate and redemption…”

*
All those tiny human things

I wished to lose, not to suffer,

not to hunger, nor to feel pain.

I´d give you my love, my hate,

my body, my pain, my thoughts,

my everything, just to be free.

-Free from my humanity.

*

She quietly observes, maybe pondering.

The enormous eye rests on a rooftop,

blinks eventually. Once… Twice…

“As you wish, my love.”

Night’s cold I don’t feel anymore

Power surges through my bones

Rises like water over volcanic stones.

*
Wounds on my skin all healed,

my soul’s grim just a bad dream.

Only hunger keeps me company.

I lick my muzzle starvingly,

scratch my ear, with a paw-

„WHAT HAVE YOU DONE?!”

But my scream’s just a howl… 

*

London Dispersion Force

inspired by ‘Hold on‘ by Jacob Ibrag

*

Gray comet ice melting in green ocean water,

that’s what your eyes remind me of… salty cold.

Our time, the bright of friction heat and falling,

the mess this ‘Us’ refuses to be –

I remember, grasping, understanding, holding,

clinging – all the same to me: believing, hoping,

My love can keep both of us safe, I’m sure

becoming haven to stormy waters…

And the comet crashes. Burning, bleeding,

consuming all I have to give, and all I am

My hull  keeps you company,  memory of warmths

I have lost, I crumble…

and let you go…

I let you live, to find your own idea of… happiness

little red riding hood

*

a drowsy little witch, with eyes like the angry sea

dressed in crimson, mouth shaped like a plea

she walked down the road to the black forest

right into its darkest, to a circle of fairy rocks

*

nobody dared to look at her

nobody dared to speak to her

nobody dared to go with her

*

a drowsy little witch, with eyes like a storm

and limbs white, innocent as a lamb, newly born

once a month, she went to the full moon

the midnight flowers blossomed and bloomed

*

nobody knew she’d shed her clothes

nobody knew she’d shed her skin

nobody knew she’d clad in claws’n fur

*

At full moon, nobody goes into the black forest

not to work, not to run or stand still, not to rest

All know, a monstrous wolf hunts there

Hellish howls, ghostly lights fog up there

What’s a heart for?

inspired by “Ache” written by Jacob Ibrag

*

What’s a heart between beats?

Useless pieces of wind-up mechanics

a still lump of  faulty desire,

shaped by struggle,

tireless in its longing

molten rock spiked with shards of glass

broken words, silence of salty tears

frozen into piercing ice

and where my blood should whisper and flow

I got silence and… regret

So-

What’s a heart between beats?

Mine – a coiled snake ready to bite

– a lump of hurt, confusion and anger.

Money and Media

Money is one sinister god I used to prayed to

Me, the kid with the broken heart and  faulty hue

Struck by the currency of freedom and power,

It’s not my  conscience, but my hands I scour

That’s me, on the day I was born, with a black halo

eager to meet my  maker,  without value or credo

In the night, I dream of  ‚never enoughs‘

I dare you, try’n grab me by my scruff

My god grants, gives, takes and demands

I refused and he took me to the  bad lands

 

I’m praying to a different god now,

That’s me, giving her my cash cow –

Me, the sinister kid with the broken briefcase

Smiling, the lens sticking into my happy fat face

promises and cash spilling out, unto the masses

This is me laughing, crawling  to a party of chances

I can’t stop the itching, watch me rehearse bigotry

Media, my goddesses, free me from human dignity

poems by my weird grandma

VIOLETS

(This is a part from an ongoing project, a series of short stories)

Violets, violets in the shadows /

let’s tell truth / if you must

violets, violets beneath the gallows /

Upon my hazel stick / I trust

turn three times in the shallow grave /

turn three times in midnight’s way

 

violets, violets in the shadows /

let’s tell truth /if you must

violets, violets beneath the gallows /

the east wind is not just a gust

the white widow bird calls from the  fir tree

seen and heard only by those, who are free.