in the player

becoming the game 

i melt from
everything into nothing
grasping your fingertips
as a gust of wind,
a roaring echo of the rain
reverbing into
the slow heartbeat,
a moment
becoming you.

a game one never could win 
and never could lose 

gentle collector

i have a box
full of meanings
i collect and mark
by scarring
inside of my heart

late at nights,
i paint my hands
pretending they’re not mine
so i could touch
you, them, myself
because

god cut me down to my knees
and put the shards of
a broken bone inside a box

his box of meanings
i keep trying to rob
with paint-stained
fingertips.

blue climax

veins are filled
with ink
pulsating blue
of my thoughts

i brush fingertips
on my thorax
letting ink to
seep through

till it gets so tight
and i gasp for my mind
shaking, spilling it on
a paper sheet

birdman: waiting for spring

and i get up

all mornings are woollen

while you sit with the birds

all suns are liquid

i am a caged swallow
and i lie down

all nights are linen

while you sing with the birds

all stars are raining 

as i rumble keys of the cage
between  my fingers

fallen

we sat on velvet thrones
in silk gowns
our veins lined in gold
all the luxury of hope
we had
full of life
i squeeze your arm before
a jump from an everest
down there
where my kingdom is conquered
i am sentenced to death
and you never existed

i sit on a dirt throne
all is a blur
six feet under

golden ratio – chaote

bliss or a curse
mute darkness chocking
vivid brightness blinding

all for you 

no equilibrium
my petite heartbeat
pounding or staying still

no equilibrium
quiet before the storm
hurricane destruction

bliss or a curse
it always hurts 

act 386: new year’s revolutions

if i could sleep through
winter dark aches
i would bottle my tears
so i could spill
all old myself away
in Spring
being a Renaissance
performance
i’d bloom

act 197: lover’s betrayal

i scream name
of God
Magdalena, you are distorted                                                         
while kissing Judas

i scream name
of myself
Magdalena, you weep in vibrato                                                        
ripping all wounds open

i scream name in
petite mort
Magdalena, you are forbidden                                                        
full of unconditional disillusion

predator

break my fingers 
one by one 
they carry desire 

cut out the tongues 
i speak to you
saliva mixed with blood
language of love 

peel the skin off
soaked in scars
lies told to me 

rip out my heart
put it on your crown
licking lips 
i am the sweetest prey 

confession of a Siren

cover your ears
rubbing earlobes
between your
finger
tips
–
do you hear the
waves sing?
–
I used to believe
I needed a seashell
for this
but  I never knew
my palms were full
of salty sea waters
–
it carried storms
which swallowed ships
of young captains that
never knew this land
is cursed
–
they only heard
waves sing