junk food

In the dark
covered in sweat, stale breath, hairy legs
squeezed and twisted by hands, arms, demands
entitlement is what dashes through my head
i could have gone
but i smiled and played my part
i let me on, him on, us on, and on, and on
and i pretended to be smart
when all my masks
had long slipped off
drained in a drink, a word, a way too much
a way of saying what?
i don´t want this, but i can´t stop
i need illusions, illusions of fusion
of being capable of not caring but always daring
and doing it all, in a mighty wave of lust, of bodily machinery,
biting, battling, licking, sticking, wet, quavery
grabbing into, under skin, sucking and fucking
repeating, repeating what we both know
the poor sick´ning show
of yet another act
meaningless, faceless, careless
and when you wake up
you will crawl back into a you
that would like to pretend that none of this was true
just like a dream-
except for leaving a slimy, sticky, wretched
scene on your skin, on your tongue
and a deeper loneliness
scratched free from the plastic glitter, the stupid admittance
that you are the milk, a sweet, swelling flesh
a junk food substitute for a mummy´s breast
so desperate for attention, so easily led
to any dam bed,
pressed into any stained, rotten cushion
dead as fish but slashed open
for beastly feasts
the expectable conclusion
have me, chew on me, suck off my taste
with your hands, your mouth, in haste, in haste
then spit me back
to where you have never known me
never shown me the hungry eyes,
the man to my feet
the man who means me
the wet and the warm and the will-less woman
whom I now despise

stupid thing

there it is
again
one of these sickening, piercing, engulfing
moments of loneliness
a bursting, thirsty puppy
my heart
a well-worn pain
around my eyes, in my neck
a burning, stitching, suffocating,
penetrating
thought that I so dread
that is all and everything, the only sky, earth, universe
reason to be, and not want to be anymore
in my head, inside, all over me,
creeping, never sleeping,
invading like an army of rainfalls, of nailfalls
having me down and open and bleeding out
all posture, power, dignity
I miss you
please, please!
- just let me forget, switch off
all images of this skin, this kindness, this warmth
a room so cruely deceptive
it has given me all these little things
that i hold on to
that may have long, long gone through
another gate, with another wave, saying goodbye
and i cannot even cry
like dust you reappear,
when the light falls in through the window
and all surfaces are covered by ashes
you left in time, in space, in the realities of my place
and there are many,
forever present, forever burning
the leftovers of when we were
only what we shared
what was it? and why did you not take it?
just take it ALL with you
leave me in peace, leave me bereaved of a feeling
i wish now i´d never had
stupid me to ever think
that i could give with my arms, my words
what i received
and somehow i always knew
that when i go
i would lose you
and when i stay i would lose you
and all those ashes now stare at me, swear at me:
"you stupid thing! we are what we were -
flakes of nothingness. what were you thinking?"
and i hear the laughter, the laughter of mockery, disgust
hailing down
on me
in me
i am pure intensity

moth

The bass is drumming on my mind
so heavily I cannot even think, or hear, or feel
just noise, vibrations, light and fog
all these posh people
this spilling, thrilling circus
a carousel spinning faster, and faster
and LOUDER
what the fuck am I doing here?
I am bandaged by two wrist bands
what do they mean?
-"Bang the nails in here!"
-"Pin me to the wall!"
I am the moth
in the glass box
that no-one will ever see
yet I am so aware,
so aware of the dark, of my own shadow
I am everywhere, nowhere
motionless, invisible
yet piercing savagely through the dark

This is not my place here
I have no face here
but where, where do I belong?
I cannot, cannot swarm with the herd,
flutter through the night,
shake off the dust, unfold
take on colour - blue, green
flicker, steam, dance, forget myself
in the spotlights
blurred, blurred, cast away and mindless
in my disguise
but that is the point: I AM this
I cannot shake it off
yet I am still sitting here
scribbling my fingers, my brains off,
ruining my ears, my skin...
Get up! Go NOW!
I can´t.
So how long, how long will I need to carry on?

Mornington Crescent II & III

Triangular shaped heart
center of what?
a pigeon hole for a lucky race
no-one sees just what i face
when i look up at you
red bricks, black bold letters
i know, i know that nothing matters
nothing but you
this moment
no lies, no truths, no long lost youth
you have never seen flowers
but you know the walks, the talks of man
daily chattering
kisses
where encounters start, end
departure
oh no!
let me hide inside you
feed the worm
lingering beneath you
vibrations, speed, tunnels,
darkness and a flood
of unknown faces, legs, voices
and above all that
is you
always, forever
towering above a cross, a bent in the road
paving ways
for the happy, the lonely, the memorable, the lost
parades
of a life time
Camden Town
that´s where they lead
plastic furs, brushed, painted youths
swarming in-out clashing and laughing
in the streets, the clubs, the drumming pubs
can i lie down?
sink into the pavement
the earth, the tunnel
that carries me away
in dirty waters
in endless arrays of filthy utensils
washed off the side walks, the asphalt
by the rain
pouring down
from a thick grey blanket
of massy clouds
i float in silence
white, stained, dead
among
cigarette ends, broken glass, plastic cups,
bags, wrappings, papers, flyers, spit, chewing gum,
somethings, no things,
reminders of the lives passing by
at day, at night
and leaving behind
a river of that which embroiders my grave
keeps me company
when i have ripped off the slave
from my existence
fed it to the pigeons
and loved the grey heart, the red wall,
the infamous hall
of magnetic moments
for one last time
for one last time
at peace
at liberty
a dream, just a dream
but my witness is she
a tube station
and my heart pounds so loudly, lively
heavy but free
from threats of devastation, distortion, abortion
Mornington Crescent
to you I return
your tale is mine to tell
till the end
a lullaby
a melody
soft, light, pleasant

------------------------------------------------------------------
A man is swearing at the pigeons -and whatever and whoever else-
and feeding them at the same time
the birds don´t care
they want to be fed
and he? what does he want?
does he have a message?
something to uncover the poisonous deeds and lies
that we -as mankind- are fed on, are feeding ourselves on?
are we anymore aware, anymore caring, anymore smart and enlighted than those birds?
are we any better?
they inhabit the no-places, the no-spaces
the leaks
in the matrix
of wealth, fame, haste
where all thinking, dreaming, resting, wrestling
with pains of the heart, the soul, the divine and poetry
is waste
i´d rather be flushed into a leak,
watch the pigeons,
play hide-and-seek with words, selves, and how they divert, unite
than to give in to the machinery
of wannabe genuine realities
of surpressed suffering, greed
and sacrifice of ideals, of longings
of never knowing, never showing
how all of this feels
the sun in my neck
Mornington Crescent
my shelter
my rest
a cradle of pigeons
picking, tip-toeing
fighting for bread
grey, persistent, resisting
more enviable than
wars, monuments, minds
of steel, of lead

into the white

oh the maiden spring time
in how many words has it been spun
over the centuries
by poets here and there
and embellished by a million more verses
about arcadian images of nature
mirroring the emotional landscapes of man

all tears dry away in the sun
all tired eyes and shrinking skins
are blended out, fall into the white
hidden by light that spotlights a merrier scene
- first roots, first blossoms, first bird screams
penetrating the vivid dreams, the slurry state of early morning sleep

ice still glistening on shadowy surfaces
on burning cheeks staring into the bare, bleak deadland
in there, inside her
in there where winters still reign
and cut through the clothes, the skin, the body
that freezes and waits for its shell to crack
and let the sun in
to melt away, to white the within
cast it into oblivion, spotlight the maiden
hidden in the shades of winter
let here bloom, let here unfold

above, beyond the doom
erected and always reflected
in a castle of steel
heavy and solid
and well overfeeding her
with treats wrapped like sweets
irresistable, poisonous,
eating away at her blood,
at her mind, at her heart
and leaving her with the mute birds
that cannot fly

until she shrieks and bites
through the steel, the ice, the eternal winters
she bleeds and reeks of foul old spite
but she can´t die
she can´t die
not now, not yet
the spring has spun her a dress
the first, the last dress to wear
to dance and dissolve in the white light,
the merry fairytales
sung by the sun
of springtime, oh springtime

splintered & the shell jar

(splintered)

why am i so damn fucking angry
and at who and what and how can i let go
not implode but explode
kick, scream, resist, tear to pieces,
FREAK
not speak my mind
get rid of it, spit on it
dissovle in an inferno
of hate, rage, devastating power
i am so powerless, feeble, scared
i cannot read, see, speak
without choking on tears
without feeling wrong
without losing what i am always on about
doing things right, being alright, healing, fighting
coming to terms
is this what i really want? what i need?
i hear glass being smashed in a container
which is my body, my soul
a waste bag
please just get me on a car, on a long
road leading
nowhere but into another
senseless, drained, and hollow
now-here
get me on this road, in my bag
and on your way kick me out the window
into the grass, into the mud
return me to the earth
but even she would scream
i did not give birth to you
you have no place to go to
no roots
just boots to walk
silently, endlessly,
through Berlin streets at night
i sense no fear when i stirr and race through the rain
it protects me
cause it´s only inside
and the night showers on me in response
i need the echo
emerging from solitude, hollowness, pain
and the shell which is the city i pass through,
the city i need, i greet, and will leave behind
i move, so i am still alive
but so often, so often i die
the shattering glass rings in my ears, on my mind
i feel, paralyzed, caged, and marred
by the noises, the voices from inside
i want to bleed it all out
i read of a dead child, a murdered child
identifying its murderer
by bleeding just a little harder
when he stood by its side
he was reavealed, the bleeding was stilled
and it died
they could cry, and despair just for one last time
and grass grew on and closed the gap
it was freed from the trap
of a life so pure, so good, so protected
but fuelled with anger that was so long neglected
and so it ended as a victim, a martyr
and innocence embroidered the heart of this saint
always humble, obedient, insane and pitied
buttered with mercy and good-willed understanding
of all those who know but would not admit
how they are so much better, so much more realistic,
so good, virtuous and fucking sane
i don´t want to bleed harder when i see myself as the victim, the murderer
in and from my grave
i have to unfold into the world
not let it all fold in on me
silently, acceptingly, like a slave
do i have a right, a right to resist?
can i throw with glass, even if it caused all my own scars?
can i hurt and mark
those who seem so much better, so superior, so deserving of happiness,
gratitude and love?
my gratitude, my love, my improvement
i will get better, do this, do that,
soothe you, smoothe me
get back and start over
escape my selfish, greedy, needy me
and roll on the grass, a meadow, a white plane of flowers
fruity, fresh, not falling into dust
with you
embrace you
be a container
an embroidered, curved, fitting vase
for the flowers we pick together, knit together
in a festive bouquet
a gift to us
our friendship, union,
the life and the love and the relief
from the abyss that cut right through me, through us
and made me run naked and bleeding
through Berlin at night
hearing glass being smashed
and the shower of rage inside
not released, never released
in screams and hits, and kicks
what at
who at
i am losing my mind
where can i go
and deposit
the waste bag
that is me
my dirty and bad
burning soul
and a body too sick, too humble
to leave, to be heaved out the window
that i cannot go through
to the life of others
nothing that i can do
i want to replace feeling by sensation
gratitude by evil
love by ignorance, sex

(the shell jar)

i want to be a shell,
just moved by the waves
not knowing how it feels
to be wet, to hurt, to cry from a life
overspilling inside
just a dead shell,
glimmering in the sun,
fucking in the sand
until the waves wash over me
and carry me away
until the tide is low again,
rests me tenderly on the shore
and i am found by another collector
who plays with me and tosses me
away again
i would not care
i would not feel
and when the waves rage wildly
and the storm has all might
and i get shattered on a rock
all will be silent
no gaping scarrs, no resisting, regretting and never forgetting heart
just dead
and melting with the sands and the salty ocean
to be and to become nothing anymore
no desire, no drive, no longing, no will
just going nowhere and anywhere
invisible and free