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Untitled

I opened my eyes,
but then I was kissing you
With eyes wide shut.
It was perfection
on its purest form.
But you lips were losing touch,
and I didn’t feel the taste
of your saliva no more.
Was I really walking
backwards to faultlessness?
Were you floating away
like an illusionary pet?

As I was staring to get
the panoramic view
of this worst case scenario,
I saw you were wearing
a white dress with green
circles. It was awful.
But in you, it’s flawless.

But what I couldn’t get…
Why were you motionless?
Why did you stand there?
You could have run back
to me, but you didn’t react.
Your perfection turned to
lifelessness; senselessness.

I was so focused on you
that I didn’t get to notice
the beach at my right;
some seagulls flying around us,
and some resting in the sand.
All this tranquillity didn’t fit
the stage-setting of awkwardness
on this peculiar moment of ours.

You were turning into a black
silhouette; a shadow.
I couldn’t see your awful dress
no more. I couldn’t even look
into your shallow eyes.
Not even could I tell
if I was running in slow motion,
or walking at regular speed.

I was tasteless.
I couldn’t feel the greyed-grained
path I was moving on.
All I got to see was your stilt
image fading away with the distance,
until being left with the nothingness.

While flashbacking random moments,
I felt a ray of light perforating my torso
and my soul being sucked.

I was asleep, once again…


the truth

oh, tonight
a firework show in black and white.
a thousand tiny lights
strung out in a line and left to hang.
making art in the grass;
a game of faint brush strokes
and drunken harangues.
interpretative design,
a couplet; dreamy eyes and
bottles of wine.
a pin-striped and rose cheeked
gymnast on a wire,
a circus on fire,
god and the ethereal choir.

a spaceship caught in flight;
a firework show flashing bright.
a million blinking lights
hung up in like a sign above where we stand.
words written in glass;
some sort of greeting cloaked
by trembling hands.
associates of the divine,
a couplet; mirrored eyes and
fetal-shaped spines.
aliens with green skin and three heads
and breath of fire,
crazy-men and liars,
god and the ethereal choir.



catch 22.

a
trained eye
can see bias
even in an ant hill.

among the shareholders
of faith and knowledge;
this is where
the procreation of progress
is dominant.
ominous gesundheits
handed out like social ornaments;
the sun sets
begging for a lesser involvement.

religion: decision,
revision of your faith;
intermission.
a mission, a vision,
a wish upon a star
for a listen.
a fallen
rendition of the
failures to mention
exactly where the rope ends,
and your neck
becomes the tension...

"opiate for the people"
is a copout.
"lazy" would be more
appropriate.


Campaign Poster

Years have passed since the
last time I felt genuinely loved.
It was a Tuesday in May.
The wildflowers in the yard
swayed lazily in the balmy

breeze as I watched him approach
our home, boyishly kicking up
pebbles with each step, casting
them forward and setting them

rolling. His rough and weathered
hands held soft calla lilies, for me,
his beloved wife. Nowadays his affection
is parched, cracked like the earth he toils

over; a testament to his life.
The dry spell has drained
our pockets, thirsting for the
weight and security of a lonely penny.

My patience can be strung
through the eye of a needle.
I could inspire him to persevere,
to trust in God's will to make it

through this barren suffering.
But I could also disintegrate and drift
away with the dusty breath
of nature's sigh and feel no remorse

for leaving his side, because I am
simply an ornament of affection,
a campaign poster for a happy marriage.
Transparent and domesticated,

I hold no high regard and I
stand in the shadow of the hopeless
land he loves, thirsty and
begging for a new beginning.

My wedding vows were broken
promises waiting to happen.