The Devil

There was Satan behind our backs

Walking with us on the London Bridge

I didn’t know

but you probably were aware of it

judging by the level of your paranoia

For me, just slightly off, romantic darkly

Everything was perfect.

Now the love is gone,

The war is on, which was then just hanging in our verses –

I would like to have a pink house with a white porcelain in it,

You could go in,

You could go out,

no pressure,

The problem is, I don’t have a palace,

no single room of independence –

I guess, that’s fate,

What can I do

Some people loose in checkers.

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This state is deep like a well

This state is deep like a well
long like an underground tunnel

going back in time

decades, centuries

it’s not my fault

not my creation

it’s there

it’s a historical malady
nothing to do with me

I’m just a medium

in my head

decoding it

cleaning my books

the library

magical escape

it’s always a good potion

through the garden of insanity
full of roses
painted blue
it’s dark in the frozen castle

I want to be outside

in the red rose garden
in the sun with
me
a teenager

red hair
white skirt
that’s the real me
in my head

before the darkness engulfed

put everything into the grave

with a cross
on it
how deadly
I don’t want to be the black raven
I don’t want to see the pit
smell the myrrh
please, take it away from me

ELECTROCUTION

ELECTROCUTION

It all it’s over now
my sister is dead and so are you
a dead year of dead friends and lovers
I give up
what plans are for if all can burst in a short electrical blast
what love is for
for the dead and for the dead-alive
your deadness feels worse then hers sometimes
because it stings
and burns like a double electrocution
a double offence
my cursed name
the terrifying autumn is coming
without you in it
I thought I would survive all the windy glooms
but now she is dead
and you are worse than that
I feel your spitefulness and fake guilt
your phone call after she died

JIHAD in Barnet

 

You need to understand me
you are just a white whore
you, and your yoga pornography
I hear it everyday
It’s not my fault
That’s how it is
I am a man
34
I can import myself a young Asian from abroad
and teach her how to behave
at 50 or so one day                                                                                                                        when I get a job
I’m an attractive man
and you
I can have you when I feel like it
I am a man
you need to understand me
I am a man
and you are a white whore
what is love
I really don’t know
I fear you might expose me
you will ruin my name
I have already told everyone and my mother
that you are dangerously insane
like princess Diana and all the white whores
hungry for mediterranean men

On the platform to insanity

on another planet
there is only you and me
drunk of love
floating

in insanity

in the tube
there are no people besides us
only our kiss

national rail victoria

here it’s only you and me
we don’t have any plans
or shame

even the cctv cameras
don’t bring us to panic

our kisses are pure and free
on the platform
towards highbury

Midnight, too late to go home

what is love a compassion a connection of souls at the bottom of existence
why do you need any more explanations
the ability to see yourself in the other bum
without judgement
last passion insanity of the senses
despite the darkness of the park where all this is happening
in the night
in secrecy
dirty love lust
you can call it that
but for me this is life
this is a beautiful encounter
of truth
without the world and day coming into it and spoiling
our secret forbidden love
with broken heels and lost iPhones
in the trees of passion
eternal under the British sky
who cares if they judge us
it is us its ours its our love our need our compassion
the bitches with masculine harsh words
and the successful machos
who cares
why can’t we die in those leaves
but happy on this bench at midnight

Stepping down into the darkness of light

Sometimes I think :  take this gun from that wall and fire it out
out of boredom to shoot this glass
sylvia plath hedda gabler
hedda gabler sylvia plath

it is all so slow and draining
the snow is raining

i had hope for everything now it is gone
i want the words to be like leafs convoluted and wild
exotic plants

and you
a heavy being I can’t live without
but don’t know what to do with
the childhood is gone
and now
the long days going to autumn
the road in the park muddy
i am slowing down
what happened

As You slip into the climate change hole again

I am as empty as you

no talent for reality

money, mortgage, plans

mortgage sounds like morgue to me

it’s the fear of death which killed us

our spirit

but this emptiness loves you

it cares about you

no need to worry then

before it was

a grey-hate black madness

this emptiness is alive now somehow

and your voice is everything

let’s believe in it

you are the first person

who was able to

achieve anything in it

and even when I’m angry

it doesn’t mean a thing

love or climate change

love

please come back from the extinction

please

Come back into September

Came back into a deepest darkness
to hide
had a dream
with you in there
you called me strange
a lady
then you left
or we left

it was still better than now
when i wake up
it’s nothing
i keep my mind in this deepest darkness
with you
at least you are there
sometimes
can’t stand the reality
now
don’t see what i can do
nothing ever will be fine

His Hero’s journey – Poem nr. Jan.9

His hero’s journey

what a nonsense but wait –

So he actually believes that he is not just a big (vast) emptiness?

He actually sees something when he closes his eyes?

Not darkness to escape from?

Well, that’s actually refreshing (to be honest)

after those endless years of Nietzsche

and abortion gangs

(I’m really terribly sorry to say that).

 

something new –

like an addiction

like fresh grass

like summer

like horseback riding.