I lay sleepless last night,
Trapped in a dream that
Anxiety would choke my spirit.
A light shone behind my eyelids
And was like a thorn in my chest.
A gust of wind blew away a spark
That intended to burn forever.

"I wish you the best" I heard
the better part of me say as it
drifted away.

"I wish you the best" it said
with a sincerity that had long
perished 'fore it reached the
unnerved core it aimed to console.

"I wish you the best" I heard
the departing vessels of
my starving lungs say
lusting for better days.

"I
Wish
The 
Best
For you
             in all your endeavours"

"I wish the best
   for the pounding passion
     burning in your bones."

"I wish for your wounds to heal,
I wish you shall go on
and
        be happier estranged from me."

"I wish you the best" it screamed,
the enduring part of my piety
far and away from what it used to be.

I wish you the best — as the memory you
once could have been close to becoming — 
and wish prosperity for all
the ideas of 'I' which took shape
in 'you', that they one day shall meet
in a reality resembling mine.

"I wish you the best" I heard myself say,
recalling the time and memories
I still cherish being a part of, that
which once was 'We'.

A child chained to a red
ball, lifted by a bull in a suit,
is looking towards the
blue cobra while his brother pisses on the
portrait of their mother, 
which is bigger than the
shadow of the sky.

A man loses his hat as he is thrown
into the crack of the red earth besides
the green dragon with a head like a cricket
guarding a burgundy-red outline of a
woman in chains with a lock without a
key.

Death watches it all from the dark purple sky;
not particpiating, but being omnipresent,
reminding all that
soon the flames will go out and the
small beech leaves will blow away from the tombstones
since the crosses can no longer bear the memories.

I watched my residency
burn, watched Every
last particle of glass
dissolve unto the withering
leaves of grass.

I sowed the earth with
the dust of my shattered
vanity, planted the seeds
of colour to sprout into
heaven.

The blinding light shun 
through the hedge where
my ideas carried these violet
fragments;
playing the fiddle of destiny,
playing the violin of mortality,
praying on devoted fortune
to the crops of treachery.

Estranged, stuck in our bodies
they fumbled with words searching
for that which which they had given
the name of ''soul''.
They harvested perception,
orchestrating the illusions of freedom.

Once we'll float into the white
sparkling fever dream of conscience
we'll be forced to break the chains
of impermanence.
Once we've flooded our skulls
with mindless echoes of 
imagined meanings our spirits
shall drown in the high tides
of vanity.

Now I watch my body decay, buried
deep in the tomb carrying my
earthly remnants, golden amulets that strain
around my neck, my fermenting limps
reminding me of how I can't recollect moving,
having found my mirror image
in the shadow of imprinted
messages written in the wind;
How I whispered my name in the
key of deception's harmony.

Now voices fly, piercing the seconds 
of our drained hourglass, we're 
lost in the translation of time, we're
the recollections of bones breathing
through mouthless mouths covered in
gravel, calling from beneath a realm 
without death.

I.
I've estranged myself from words.
Oral sounds weigh on my body.
I hear the ringing of the soul,
monotonous echoes of pain like 
a sadistic string comprised exclusively
of dreams of yearning.
My plan is simple — I intend
to surrender to a realm of
the inaudible.

Soft lights pierce through
the curtains. I imagine
the shadows cast are
visions: oval strokes
without edges, flatly
attached to the walls.
The floor creaks, my
body aches. Splinters
run through my spine,
through the drained
veins, running like a
bloodless stream of
fluids. Invisible to the
eye. Deafening to the
mind. I close my ears
as inward reflections 
are tattooed across my
face, I pierce my pupils shut
to see the mirror image
behind my eyelids.

I feel a soundless
blur in a sightless haze
where bobbles burst,
not in matter, not in
time, but where the
space of my body is
detached from the 
concept of perception,
existing as fragments 
of what was once an idea.

II.
Once I invited the cosmos
to a rendezvous beneath 
the silky light of black-starry
night. Then I became 
acquainted with melancholy,
started hearing a despairing
melody, the thundering sound
of my heart's beating.
Then I understood that
being alive means being
anxious. So I started 
searching for something 
to surrender to.

Once I discovered A truce 
of the spirit existing
in eternity. You stop
breathing, you stop 
suffering. At a
loss for oxygen, out
of breath, out of mind.
Thoughts start dwelling, 
embracing the monotony
of thinking. The revelation 
of silence is an'anarchy of
the psyche, that consciousness 
too is illusory.

III.
The blind man living
inside of me starts seeing
patterns,
the lines of lineage carved
into my decaying limbs,
each year appearing more 
vividly, each year being felt
more lucidly.

I give in to my most
basic instinct. I sink
into my awakening's
comatose. I pry open
my third eye with 
apparitions of memories.
I reflect to regret, to salvage 
the remnants of morality I 
still haven't stripped
to the marrow.

Soft light becomes
hard dredge draped
in bad consciousness.
Black sorrow becomes
white despair; everywhere
I look things turn inside and
out. 

IV.
I envision the sky
crumbling beneath
my body as I float
across a dark sphere
of liquid rays running
through valleys of wooden
intellects professing as
trees that give birth
to an earth that has
never been green
flowing above a 
stained sea carrying
the bones of
civilization telling me
it was nothing
but a dream.

Splinters of dust 
have resided within me;
I've dreamt, I've longed.
No molecule ever accepted me,
so I existed to forage the spirit.

Contours form around my waist,
bubbles of life, the inclinations of
time stare back at me with hope.
I've lost the stars in my gaze,
forgotten my infant memories,
now my childhood seems a maternal dream.

Olden hands transformed my body,
no longer do ghosts reside within me;
voices float in the air 'round the shades
of regret.
I gave no breath to sorrow, I let the
breeze consume me, a coil of joy flowed
through my senses, senseless as I've become.

(I glide through the winter
wind — back to the
past I once dreamt of
*
once the idea was
enough — that was then
that which only exists now)

Whispers crowd the muted trees.

Polluting despair lurks beneath
every leaf 
of the blue plain grass.

Crystal Raindrops fall
from the sky
down broken soul-bound pipes.

A sense of childhood lurks...

Felt regret lingers here
where
Desolated benches house
the spirits of passing years.

Mournful confessions reign
in the realm of fallen angels.

The voice from above gathers
tenfold the strength of man:

''Have you forgotten pain?
Reminiscence prevails. Once
reason fails; all is forgotten,
but no one can be saved.''

''Vengeance shall strike
on the third day. Evil won't
conjure you as a slave, vanity
will crawl at the feet of humanity's
veil — Nuptia proposes to a realm
no longer existing.''

Fanfares resounding;
a skeletal orchestra performs
the reckoning: necromantic
symphonies — reconditioning tones,
the very requiem for harmony's longing.

''These are the bones that recite
in your tomb, beneath stones of ash.
These are the tomes of truth,
the truce of man.
These are the remnants of divnity,
rejoice! you are being reborn;
crawl up the ladder holding you earthbound —
conquer the waves of apsortion.''

silence has the final say. the angels
yell to the Gods. no sound has ever
known its purpose.

At Desolation Peak:
I feel
freed from the joy of hope,
relieved by the shivering heat of 
reckoning;

Thus my legacy commences
without beginning or ending,
Reaching nowhere 
like a void communicating
with itself
within me without me;

I see —

My mind's a wind-torn hall
filled with empty things;

I feel —

the heat of the late night-
coffee
 
I can't smell —
or hear

vibrations' neuro-sensitive despair,
all where everywhere was worn out;

My life's the meaning that
refuses to exist 
so
Visions of hell 
and 
what's worse
fail to frighten me;

I have become the words
I could never pronounce, 
the very thing
I Suppress in speech.

I surrender to your embrace,
the heaveless kingdom
promising forgetfulness of
all sorrow
and
forgiveness for
all sins; there
our souls meet 
in guiltless nakedness.
This garden is
Our Private Eden —
four arms form an arden;
we're branches sinking
into the clemency of
repressed longings.

I caress the quivering lines
you carry in the palm of
your hand, the hourglass, the very sand
you measure fortune with.

There are visions within these memories; 
whispers brush through Black Alder leaves,
our syllogism reads from the maple peaks
the sun has neglected and 
the moon concealed.

You touch the nerve I can never tame,
the windless impulse your mouth
so tenderly blows on.

For we are the remnants of life's embrace; 
at the edge of nature our cabin’s hearth
is preserving the blaze of consciousness — spirits
may come and go, 
the flame will always find its way home.

To write — to paint pictures
with words in an endless cycle
To reside within
the worlds you’ve stolen
To live, live the poetry
you insist on imagining
To Imagine
yet never read
To live within
the words you don’t understand
To write the reality
you’ve never felt
To lose yourself in love
the love you’d never grant
To love the very fantasy
you still fear
To fear, fear living
and dying equally— so you create
To create in order to breathe
the dead air of faded memories
To cleanse the soul
of the very dust you breathe
To believe what
you’ve written
To reminisce of what
you couldn’t forget
To forget it all
in the end
To forget and
never remember again
To be the testimony
of life once lived — the imagination
To imagine — To imagine:
writing, painting, living, breathing
To write in order to have it all,
have it all written down.

Imagine a room without furniture, where there is still a lamp, on the floor, but without a cord, producing no light.

The room is dark, you can’t see it, but you can imagine it. The room hasn’t even got a window, It’s completely closed off.

Imagine yourself in the room. Imagine yourself as the light the lamp can’t produce, as the light making the room visible and therefore also real!

So what do you imagine now that you can finally see?

There’s an empty place
I keep on seeing —
Crows flock the corner in
An alley of dreams
Where leaves linger
Wind stacks the air
Clutters of visions —
Your mouth haunting
angles of the obscene
movements stuttering 
moving limbs descend
Adrift Atop Atomic
Beneath Buried Burning
Blinding awry aching...

There’s a hole
you insist filling —
Repressed desires 
suffocating with insides
you want none
Insidious inside of me
Impervious closing in
All-encompassing every
each a single thing
Still Staying Still
unmoving.

There’s a storm —
closing around corners
covering curves of winter
blowing breezing the gray
reckonings of imagination
indifferent insides of me
irrevocable bricks laying
around ashes ablaze. 

I intend to defuse a bomb in your conscience.
Every now and then I’ve caught you,
glancing at the moon, 
perhaps thinking 
                              what’s up there
and then you'd look down,
make sure you were still grounded.

I intend to launch a missile towards your inner.
Every now and then I’ve felt you breathing
in unison with my heart’s beating; 
perhaps you didn’t notice
or perhaps you didn’t dare acknowledge me.

So I intend to declare war on your very creature.
Every now and then we’ve locked eyes,
and I felt you staring with spite;
perhaps you used me as a mirror for your hate.

I’ve decided to save your soul.
Every now and then you’ve smiled to me,
perhaps you wished to make my day;
perhaps your mind conjured sunshine
and rain
               to harvest flourishing ideas.

I intend to plan your end.
Every now and then you’ve lived in vanity, 
perhaps you didn’t notice what was happening
        around you;
perhaps you never cared to be present.

I intend to transcend. 
The time’s nigh for alternate
entities to invade
                                 our existing realities.

I feel the day of change dawning; 
do you see me?
                           Do you love me? 

It is breathing down our throats,
the endless echo of memories,
fermenting dregs, digging little worms of lust;
there’s nowhere we’re heading 
nowhere we’ve ever been going.

I intend all, 
I intend to be more intent
                                           when asserting myself,
I intend for you to show me how, 
I assume you will hear me now!

She stares into space;
an empty trail follows
her lead —
nowhere places with
known secrets hidden away.

Her hand clings to him
four fingers trembling from thoughts,
endless visions of
caresses impose sleeplessness.

To wander into the night
her eyes flee the scene where 
white ivory dreams are singing.

All flowers are pretty in season,
pubescent tears make them everlasting
before Lurks of fall come swaying
into the autumn of her 
insouciance’s awakening.

She holds the world in her hands,
a squared mirror, formed from her face — 
a space wherein she fits, 
and where memories lie ahead.

By the Hearth, 
flames lit up her tears, 
reflections matured with the years, 
and bitter regret that’s turned into fear.

A vase holds her favorite flower,
her expression can’t seem to cherish it, 
her hand lingers long the ledge,
her eyes know to let go.

Birdsong, music of melancholy,
tunes only blue, 
feather’s songs blow through noon to day’s demise —
journey’s end,
but where’s the prize?

Where’s the once bestowed love, 
the betrothed lost loss
and where’s the hidden purpose,
its earnest bliss, where’s the missing of missing pieces —
where’s any of it?

And what is this?
a picture frame facing an empty page, 
one trembling hand clinging to the pen,
a search for words — one link between reality and dreams, 
the stroke of a hand on her face of non-existence.

A sister’s veil
unforgetting. Lifetime shared,
a day’s worth of longing
surpressed.

A vow in vain
uncertain. Futures remain
as visions of lost
purity.

A spring night’s dream
ghastly. Haunted by
ghosts of a family’s
legacy.

A hope is gone
heartbroken. Healing through
kisses of lust and
love.

A day’s breathing
momentarily. No one
is safe from longing’s
justice.

A time to sleep
fleeting. Evaporating dust 
invites the sisters of
loss.

A two-split soul’s journey 
interrupted. One last
instance of once perfect
connections.