Sad Saturday Soliloquy

Druggies have dreams
and lovers are alone
we all are mourning
what we never had
what we never will

My veins silently carry
a slag of broken
hopes desires
the residue of highs
into the throbbing void
for a refill of forgiveness
cast into forgotten pits

That is the stuff
my friend
you and I are made of
the lies we project

The Chain

when hearts stop beating
when hearts stop beating
wonder what went wrong
wonder what went wrong
everything is still here
everything is still here
every thing will remain
every thing will remain
just joys will not
just joys will not

when hearts stop beating
you will find
all your joys are missing
since a very long time

when hearts stop beating
you will realize
the clock ate them all
every weekend and weekday

when hearts stop beating
when you live for a while
when you are unchained
when the banal is horror

you will see
you never paused
you never got out in the sun
or watched the water flow

and when your heart stops beating
and you are dead the last time
only then will the chain be broken
only then it will not matter


a man works
at the computer
in a corner
sometimes forgets
man is alone
neon’s intangible

a man looks
at the time
in the corner
sometimes forgets
it’s late for home
nobody’s waiting

a man drives
back to home
basal ganglia in-charge
sometimes forgets
radio’s not on
none to complain

a man listens
the refrigerator hums
no other sounds
sometimes forgets
his shoes are still on
the bed’s his own

a man watches
night slowly fall
tells the man
sometimes forgets
he likes it all
he’s not sad that’s all

a man lies
his heart a stone
tries to sleep
never forgets
man is alone
the end’s far

My shoes and I

do my shoes walk at night

when I sleep

making no sound
without access to the world outside
wanting to go places
am I dreaming with my shoes on
going to work for example
or just lazing around on the grass
or thinking
and thinking
of treading a different path
how fast life makes us move
towards some redemption
around these familiar corners

(I will add notes to this poem later, if anyone is interested.)

The Killer who wasn’t there

I’ll tell you a story full of love,
only so much that there can be.
Their eyes met and none blinked
their hearts fluttered when they touched.

They kissed and made love on the couch.
It was all love and lunacy.

It all goes downhill from here
like mountains of wax in the sun.

There is nothing left to see here,
love has killed two more souls.

All Alone

I look up and down
and it scares me so
I could explode tomorrow
and no one would hear me go.
We are all together
in life and eternal death
with no watchers
and no listeners.
Sentient species, like cows,
my children that roam around
feeding on freedom
trapped eternally.

I wish I had hands
so long they could reach the sun
so I could pull myself to it
and get done with all of it.

I can bear this loneliness no longer
I can go around in circles no more
I want to feel no gravity
I want to travel tangentially.

Dirty Attempts at Dirty Desires

There are, on the luscious pink lips that you so want to kiss, grooves so tiny that can be seen only when you’re very close, such proximity granted only when you are eligible to kiss those lips, that have within them similar tiny grooves invisible to the naked imagination, filled with thick and slowly moving saliva which often contains a residual of nearly everything imaginable, and thus is an alive cesspool of tiny microorganisms moving about and procreating and excreting. That’s what makes them so tasty.

Her breath, that often sparks a fire in your loins, has traveled a trachea filled with mucus assigned to collect most of the dirt that it comes into contact with, before passing into a jungle of nasal hair, swaying them inward and outward, all too often drying them up and drying the thin layer of thick mucus glued to the nose by sapping all of the moisture, which mostly would contain a colony of alive microorganisms moving about and procreating and excreting. That’s what gives you goosebumps.