Bigotry

Lyrics…been a while since you listened to them. Been a while since you listened to a song and actually heard it, been a while since you read something that made you wanna reply… When’s the last time you woke up in the morning and felt like you were gonna rule the world? Or went to bed feeling like you did…?

When’s the last time that you looked in the mirror and didn’t look away the second after? When’s the last time you wrote something that you didn’t delete after sobering up?

When’s the last time you felt alive?

Acts I, II and III

Sunrise, booze and gorgeous eyes

Wooden planks and alibis,

Nothing else but a disguise;

“I see through you”, so you thought

Writing, weed and a lost cat

and all the roses you forgot…

Alcohol and make-belief

I was happy…..yeah, as if

Sunday rising, off to sleep

…

Monologue

Hi! Remember that dream you keep having? Yeah, the one where you’re drowning. Well I’m in it. I’m in your dream, on the water’s edge while you’re gasping for breath. Staring into your eyes from a distance while you’re struggling to keep your head above the murky water… shouting, screaming unintelligible words and muffled cries for help…oh, those cries… You have a beautiful voice you know that? Oh no, no…I’m not jumping in. I’m not trying to save you. It’s your dream and it’s your river. Your trees behind me and your sand underneath my feet. Your cigarette I’m smoking while your face disappears in the muddy water…and your thoughts I’m thinking while watching you go. It’s all you… I’m you…. and you don’t want to save yourself.  But why are you talking to yourself? You’re wasting your breath. You know you never listen.

breatHer

Woke up with terrible chest pains…left hand side, where your head should be. I always have chest pains when I wake up without you. Some would call it heartache. I don’t. I know better. Probably just a muscle cramp. After all that’s all heartache is….muscle cramps.

Hearts don’t break, they stop consecutively contracting and relaxing. Heartache is overrated.

It hurts when I breathe. Sometimes it hurts so much that the words coming out of my mouth are sucked back in and replaced with high pitch moans, like when I squeeze my cat so hard that she can’t meow properly. Now I know how that feels.

I can’t speak… so I write. At least nobody can tell me to stop writing…noone can take the words you’ve written down away from you. Writing is so much better than speaking. People can’t tell you to shut up when you’re writing. I think I’m gonna give up speaking all together and just write…

lust 3.0

The mist was shimmering a few inches above the water…  The cold wind was blowing softly against my face making me look down to shield my eyes.   As I got closer to the swirling metal rail of the overpass a wisp of your sent made my legs weak. Frozen, I look up to find you. It’s too dark and foggy to tell…but I can sense you, I can hear your erratic heartbeat and your sobbing…..I can almost taste your tears…

[some  text missing]

…my dream, your nightmare….my refuge, your torment…..a sudden smile on my face … your regrets…

You can have it back…it was never mine…and I won’t come back if that’s what you ask of me>

lust 1.0

Once white tiles on the walls and floor are now gray and molded. Fluorescent lights hanging on the ceiling…most of them out or broken….one flickering with an eerie sound in the distance. The sound of water slowly dripping in a rusted metal sink behind me reminds me of a scene from a horror film I once saw as a child. I don’t remember much of it….a man in his mid 40s sitting on a torn brown sofa, wearing a blood stained wife-beater. His face in his hands, crying. The same sound was on the background. Flashbacks of a young boy stabbing his mother with a pair of scissors in the bathroom. Quiet…..only drops of water echoing in the background….he screams…

How did I get here? What is this place? Last thing I remember is me and you drinking pinot-noir on my terrace…..ohhh…..and the apple flavored hookah. You used to love that. Every night we’d do the same thing but every night it would be diferent…more intense, more serene….

I’m wearing vertical stripe white and beige pajamas….I don’t even own something like this…..I don’t even wear pajamas…

“Turn around” ….someone whispers. I jump up. There’s noone behind me….just the old metal sink and what’s left of a corroded mirror on the wall above it. I try to look in the mirror but the lights go out. A sharp woman’s scream, almost metallic scares me into running. I can’t see anything but I keep on running. A door. Behind it a large room with four pools of water. Two of them completely dry. One is full of black water….almost tar like…looks as if it’s boiling.

I head over to the fourth…

Intentions, fire, reflexion, 23

You asked me to stay for coffee…I just asked you to stay.

My hand clenched in your hair, my tongue going up your neck and your feet around my waist. You let out a subtle moan….I smile. Your breath smells of mint and years past and your lower lip makes me forget everything. Our tongues waltzing to a 75-year-old Buddhist’s chants and our bodies like a stream of water around a boulder in its path.

Why did you stop?

“You broke your promise”…whisper…”No I didn’t” …grin.

My hand moving as a painter’s brush on your curved back, your chest, your thighs. “This feels so right” Tonight you are my canvas…but my colors fade away… A patch of dark red is all that remains. Shamefully you try to hide it….erase it…..as you do with all hurtful memories.  Worry not for it too will fade. Look at it…is it hideous or beautiful? Does it make you sick or does it make your legs weak? Is it purple now?

Neither of us stayed…

Inside-out

Words….mine, yours, mine and yours….but never ours.

Black screen of the television, dozen of shriveled up roses falling apart and the guitar in the corner…..they’re all staring back at me and I’m…..not. I’m inside my head swimming in a soup of ill conceived thoughts, alcohol and words. Smoke fills my lungs and everything goes dark. I lay down under my own weight and feel the words  dissipating…..seeping into every cell. A petal falls and hits the E string. It makes no sound.

I close my eyes.  A familiar face at the other end of my mind. What is your name? I know you…..who are you? NO…..don’t leave! Your hand, that ring, that scar…red velvet. Is that who you are? Your lips blistered from the cold and your dress torn and stained with regret. The sound of a tear going down your pale face ….. like an out of tune violin. It tastes of  wine.

I can’t feel my arms. I’m shivering. Did you come for me? Did you come back? I can’t hear you! Your words are…mine. It’s only me…..and my words.

Open your eyes. Open them up and see…nothing….just words…

RealitY….?

The plot: You get to pick her. You get to choose the method and the place. You get to decide how long it goes and the way it ends…..as long as it does.

The catch: You take her place.

YOU?!?

Cyanide

The carpet was velvet red with golden lining. It looked untouched as if nobody ever walked on it except for your still fresh footprints through the middle of it. I lift my eyes up searching… The corridor was long. The floor was brown marble with white stripes through it….I felt cold.  The thick wooden frame windows were all open and the white semi-transparent silk curtains were blowing in the soft midnight breeze and whispering to me. I couldn’t make out what. It didn’t matter. It never does.

I hear an old door open behind me. I don’t turn around.

In the pale redish moonlight I catch a glimpse of you at the end of the corridor. You’re facing the other way. I try to say your name but nothing comes out. I try shouting. I can’t hear myself. I can only hear the soft constant whisper of the curtains dancing in front of me. I try to walk but it’s not fast enough. Each step I take puts me two steps back. The corridor is getting longer. The carpet is getting deeper. The whispers become screams.

I try to run but I trip. I look up to find you. You’re still not looking back.

Your footprints are fading away…..