I am not there yet.

Scattered racing thoughts Like scattered papers on my desk Roam between the fragments Of my scrambled brains Reality set off on a sprint I just saw her standing around the corner A couple of days ago What incited this spur? Why the rush? Reality is endless Immortal Why did she feel the urge to knock on my door right now? Why is she pulling my feet back down? Reality, give me a break I will come back to you unhurriedly When my dream fades away …

Morning inspiration*

In the depth of your stare I drift Then I shrink And disappear Into the pores of your skin I fly up to your brains Scrambled little brains I scrutinize Fascinated, I tremble And disappear again I wake up in my own bed On my own With your scent lingering in my nostrils And your shadows in my head And in my spirit, a hole Growing deeper… like my longing to you

My brainworm*

You are a walking novel
Or maybe a piece of poetry
Created by the gods
Just before the mind was able to give birth to an idea

You are a fairytale
That no one could decipher its ending

You are a rare piece of art
I was holding in my palms
That transformed from static to the living
When I whispered to it ‘you’re beautiful’

You are a concept in my mind
A complex bouquet of nerves
Clutching together in most strange of ways

A brainworm

Once developed into a butterfly
Will fly away and set my mind free

Till that day comes
In my head, good vibes you breed

A point in time.

On our little island
We disconnect
And time stands still
As our spirits become one

On our little island
We drift
And nothing seems to matter
Anymore

People come to life
Others go
Seasons change
But all remains the same

Untouched
Unchanged
On that little island
Our no man's land

Green*

Focus
Is one thing I lack
Ever since I colored the sun green

The grass turned yellow
The caves went all red

You stepped on the back of my neck
And made your way
Right into my head

Since then you are stuck
Since then I am stuck
In my own thoughts and fantasies

Even when you disappear
The sun remains green

See painting with a mind is irrevocable

A vision of the kitchen floor.

Let me run my fingers on your back
And carve my nails into your skin
Let me caress you, hold your breath
The trip is long
No rush, no rush
Let me tiptoe on the kitchen floor
Where you lie naked and drained
Even desire has left you
Let alone fame
Let me carve my nails deeper
Till drops of your blood appear
On pink clots formed on your skin
Your drops of blood taste like fresh apples
Maturing under sunlit summer trees
Your drops of blood
Running on the edge of your lips
So inviting, so inviting
Let me caress you, hold your breath
The trip is long
Too long
Too long

Sandstorm from within*

It is snowing sand today
Small golden flickers
Sparkling up with every sunray
That doesn’t reach the ground

Sand flickers absorb sunrays
Creating a new substance
That has an existence of its own

They are a contradiction
To everything natural
To everything real

It is snowing sand today
And the emotions in my head
Sparkling up with every sunray
That doesn’t reach my soul

Sand flickers absorb sunrays
Leaving my soul obscure and hollow
With an existence of its own

I am a contradiction
To everything real
To everything natural

It is snowing sand today

And I am no longer there.

(tran)scent*

I sent you a morning kiss

And evening has come
Without a trace of you
Or few pale traces …
Remaining in my mind
From a time spent high
On the scent of dawn
And that of your skin

I inhaled

And the scent was carved inside me
And the scent transformed
Into colorful threads
That keep lingering inside my mind
Way after our bodies split
The scent transcended
From thin air, it materialized
And became part of me

Inside, I can still feel you

On a present past.

There is a tiny noise in my head
It is coming from a long way

It is dead.

It is a collection of recollections
Bits and pieces of a past
Assembled in one spot in my mind

Bits and pieces of a present past
That have not spend enough time in my brain
To allow for their fermentation
And fragmentation into memories

Shall they become memories,
I would be able to visualize them
Draw pictures of an altered past
That puts on a new dress, in my head

Shall they become memories,
They would become part of me
They would experience the present
And get nostalgic and make me cry

But they are not memories

They are just a noise

A tiny noise

Tomorrow, it will go away

On feelings...unwanted.

Nothing good will come out of me

Until I am able to throw out
All the feelings I have inside

I want to see them coming out of my mouth
A rainbow of colors
I want to see them splashing on the floor under me
I want to be able to step on them and walk away

I want them to evaporate under the desert’s hot sun
I want them to sink into the sponge-like sand below

I just want them to disappear
With no evidence whatsoever that they even existed

Loneliness does all sorts of things to the brain
Wicked images are normalized
Sick thoughts become only natural

Anything to fill in the hole inside
Just anything could do
Even the sight of a stranger’s smile
Warming up … Seconds before it dies

Loneliness does all sorts of things to the brain