my heart has turned to fucking stone.
it's suffocating me.

fuck

it was just a game.
female metal shoe
and a male giant, a flesh-creature
he got bored quick
once he had fun playing
he set the shoe aside for something new,
something more stimulating.

but i, too, create my own misery.

i've been burned too hard

My complexities are my simplicity

must not sleep must warn others

i could speak;
so many reasons, feelings
i could exhale a well thought out algorithm of intricate explanations

but for the world's sake
i'll be content to sigh
to avoid your (god damn) eyes
ignore and forget
to completely dissipate and simultaneously atomize you, too.

the only dream i can remember
from the spiraling, confusing wirlwind of overslept-vacation-dreams
is of laying on top of you
stroking the kosher hair at the nape of your neck.

i wonder, if it still lays untouched?

melatonin absence

i feel so heavy all the time.
i cover my face with my hands and fall flat against the wall.

i'm heavy because i can taste my fate.
not just the inevitable end-all
but my sure, unfolding future
constrained to set paths and expectations,
unfoldings.

i will never open
never buckle down again, though i yearn to.

i make the wrong choices
and betray myself in the end
anyway.

unabashedly,
guiltless
i now set out as the predator.

go away

our most tender, intimate thoughts:
the drive home
showering
the moments before we fall asleep
staring up at the night sky
long walks.

i'll never be able to wash your dirt from my skin
it doesn't just run on the surface, it's much deeper.
you have poisoned me,
infected what lies inside me.

a beautiful trainwreck
a mistake.

condescending kiss-ass,
shared and shared and shared

you are the worst kind of person.

december

i'll miss your smile.

it's the kind that completely transforms a person's face,
that goes from beautifully fierce
somber, unchanging and eyes slowly drooping
to sunflowers blooming in ecstasy,
muscles contracting and folding skin
scrunched up but utterly heart warming and wrenching.

that changes the mood
the vibes of the room
with a wave, a sonic boom.
an invisible, unstoppable circular explosion.
it affects everyone inside, even if they can't feel it.

a breath of fresh air;
the deep, wavering inhalation
of a drowning victim on the brink of death breaking the surface.

his smile breathes life.

vocal recordings

i wanna grate you from my skin like dead skill cells;
you’re dead.
but my hollow eyes,
ne’er shedders of epithelium
are just searching for something to hold on to.

nothing feels real anymore;
a distant memory

Love is indifferent to life

spoken

the-woman-behind-me's arms, waving madly
she's pissed, completely pissed
at my inertia, trajectory.
but it's really her windshield wipers frantically swaying back and forth,
not her wavering anger,
in the torrential downpour.

you live inside me.
i've kept you here for a while, now
left you to ferment
hoping that, parasitically,
you could blossom into something beautiful with me.

but my life force cannot sustain yours,
your sinew, still attached to my phalanges
wither
and you must detach.
appearing like a fresh-cut hide,
your limbs curl up
and slowly you crumple, angular, like a sheet of weak paper
into a tight ball at the core of my body.
you manifest,
transcending my flesh
and i throw you away
wishing to rid myself of any hope of you.

but as my paws crawl inside,
what's left of you is a sticky mess
that i can't detach from.
and even as i pull desperately
with my shoulders
with my forearms, elbows and wrists
i can't remove you even from my hands.
and stuck now, are you,
to the very core of me;
stuck to my hands
with my hands stuck to you.

but this is good.