2 against 1

Come dance, I’ll trow glitter

The mirror’s bullet ’n trigger

Tell me this is you ‘n me

all in – against me

Flying kicks, trow a punch

hopes break with a crunch

your foot’s on my neck

it’s uglier this way, a nick

on the cheek you kiss

no reflections, just a hiss

I’m already fighting me

What’s it to another one?

Your tongue’s a gun

Why’d you want all the fun?

Is it two against one?

So what’s another one?

wait till you feel my weight

I’m no good in this state

the warmths of my gratitude

flowing away like blood

Are you fighting me?

I’m not the only one…

nightmares in a dirty blanket

every night, I’m sick.

every day, it gets worse.

how can I sleep, if I don’t dream?

I only have nightmares

no food left to eat,

I can’t leave, I can’t sleep.

So I make myself some tea,

while the nausea eats me.

How can it be? That I still believe?

that something waits for me…


Bitter and empty, I start shaking

wrapped into dirty blankets,

I’m only nightmares.

city in gray and white

If I had to turn the other cheek

Hit me, your palms won’t speak –

The color shifts  from white to fire

Your eyes lit, can’t stop to admire

Winter in the skyscraper woods

A dump for our white goods

I wasn’t listening – just letting go …

Some covers left to blow,

hiding from the terror blaze

Does this feeling flow both ways?

Is your heart still opened up?

Our life shown in a smitten closeup

Remember what the people said?

If you don’t fight, you’re already dead

said and done

I can’t wait for those nightmares

bad choices snicker at my scares

on the fence I’m drying my sins

guts of a scapegoat fixed with pins


Light the fuse, I sit on bombs

I’d stick to the world in your palms

I can’t stop grinding my teeth

Excuse me, let me breathe!


Don’t tie me to the back seat!

You can’t hear me praying on repeat.

When I wake up I’m afraid,

I feel cold and betrayed


Secretly hiding your good-bye letter

into the sleeves of my favorite sweater

knotted around your swaying waist

We dance – a death tango, fast paced


Somebody’s beneath my face

Somebody else took my place

Let me go, or start listening!

 you look – my heart’s blistering

Monday love song

I woke up on Monday

‘n wrote you a love song

But I’ve just remembered-

I heard you whisper goodbye;

into the heart of last night

– my pen stopped bleeding

my notes flew away

taken up with the current

not sinking to the ground

You said goodbye to your lover

your lips and words etched

on mine –  that love song –

I can’t read aloud anymore

Where to Mr. Jones?

part 1

The thin man walks up to you. “Mr Jones?” In his hands a cup filled with mealworms. “Your car is waiting. This time the driver won’t be naked. I promise.” He sips from the cup, makes a delighted sound. 
You try to fight back the overwhelming nausea. You’re gonna throw up, if he smiles!
“Come on, Mr. Jones. Don’t make that face. It´s not polite.” Thank god, you turn your head the other way. You just nod. You don’t want to look at that face, ever again. You hope he is not your driver.

There is a car waiting. A black limousine. The door opens, as you walk towards it.
“My god! You were here all along? Mr Jones! Are you alright? We worried sick! We’ve been to the Professor, Mr Jones. He told us where to look.” A man from the backseat jumps you, hugs you crushing your ribs. Even though he is smaller, he lifts you from the ground – effortlessly. He seems relieved and happy to see you. “No time to chat! You’ll be late. We already are. You know what happens if we’re late…” You shrug and nod, but have no idea. The short man releases you.

“Come now, Mr Jones. Ziggy and me, we missed you great deal! Just happy, that we found you – that you are safe and unharmed. It would have been problematic, if you were dead… You know. We do not make business with dead people. They simply don’t respect privacy!” The thin man snorts.

“Don’t worry, you’re no freak! Ziggy knows you well!” The short man says and points at his nose. So he is Ziggy, you think. He pulls you in, onto the  backseat. The thin man shoves himself in, right after you.
You pray, that the cup is empty by now, and you don´t have to see it again. The driver floors the gas pedal and the limousine accelerates with screeching tires. Ziggy and the thin man, they both look at you.

“Where to, Mr. Jones?” It´s the driver who asks you, with a neat english accent. With shock you realize, it is a full grown gorilla driving that damn limousine. The thin man smiles at you. “Told you, he won´t be naked. He has his driver´s cappy on. He won´t upset you any longer. I gave him enough cigars. Bananas of course too. He´ll behave. I swear.” He looks pleased with himself.

You just swallow hard, and admit that you have no idea what´s happening. What is it you have gotten yourself into? The gorilla looks disgusted at the thin man, rolls his eyes. You ask yourself how a gorilla manages such an annoyed look.
Your mouth dies up, as you raise your hand. “I have a question, if you don´t mind.” The thin man and Ziggy look at you expectantly. “Am I… Am I high?“

Ziggy laughs, he puts a hand on your tight. “No, Mr Jones. No, sadly not. We´d be high too. And we are not, that I can tell. No. It is much simpler than that. You are nuts. Understand? We are part of your hallucinations.” He makes a  patronizing gesture. “And you have to admit, dear Mr. Jones, if your hallucinations tell you, you are nuts. Better believe it. We have to know.”
The thin man grins. “We´ve seen some weird shit!” He nods approvingly to himself. “Weird. Shit.”


part 2 – soft spot

part 3 – don’t forget the salmon

part 4 – threats

part 5 – …and you thought you had problems 

the name of the morning star

I’m in love with the morning star

This is not only about me, my stories, or my search.

It’s about the sky and the stars, and everything behind that deep blue void. Behind that distance, the stone cold space, deprived of… meaning?


That’s not right.

It isn’t the lack of meaning.

It is me, always ending up with the question after some sense. I keep missing it. Not the space. The sky above my head lacks a subjective viewer. Which is not a deficiency.

Well, how should I explain? I’ll try to make it simple…

I’m in love with the morning star. This would be my first line, if I were to sum up my life in three sentences.

All began with a poem I once heard, very long time ago. I can’t recite it to you. Different reasons. Firstly I was very young- too young to remember correctly, second – it’s in a foreign language I cannot translate properly.

The poem was about a prince, always looking up into the starlit sky. It was always a bright star, which attracted his attention. A bright star with light, sparkling like silver or precious gems, a fire, which he thought it, was different from all the others. That light touched his heart, and he dreamed, that that star was a beautiful woman with silver hair and a face white, shining like frozen snow in moonlight. Her glowing eyes made his pulse rush. And even before he could utter a word, he woke up.

For him, this was a sign. He knew that feeling inside his chest, the heat in his cheeks. It was called love. But of all things on earth, he fell in love with a star. He was happy, he knew love. But then he knew sorrow too. Day and night, he thought about those burning eyes, the white hair, the sparkling skin of her. The entire day he didn’t leave his new room in the highest tower of the palace, dozing like a cat, barely eating or drinking, spending the nights at the window, admiring the sky.

Oh, how he was jealous of all birds and insects with their ability to fly. He wrote poems, draw what he remembered of her, painted her face – trying to capture that unique fire.

Again he dreamed of her. His star. She had a sad look on her face. This time he spoke to her, recited a few verses from his poem. She smiled at him and nodded. “I love you,” he said, hoping for an answer. Her eyes brightened. He woke up.


– part 2: Love and sacrifice are only meant for mortals