Cold room
Dark room. Cold floor.
It is that my weather on my self.
The bottle clicks against the glass. No fucking warmth. Just the sharp burn down the throat, pushing the edges away. Walls closing in, shrinking the space. Everything too loud. Everything too much.
Staccato heartbeats.
I order the grease. It comes. It fills the silence but leaves the hunger. Surrender to the numbness. No contrast left, just grey. Fucking grey.
​
the candle flame bends,
a golden witness
to your arrival.
you enter
and the room changes weight.
the floor remembers
why it was made.
i lower myself
to the earth of you,
treat your feet
like sacred ground,
every step
a ritual
the dark has waited for.
you are not only a woman.
you are the god
walking this floor,
the fucking sun
anchored in a body.
two animals
find the nest.
no language.
only breath.
only the heavy velvet
of recognition.
my mouth learns
the curve of your ankle,
the hush behind your knees,
the soft command
of your neck
when you let the world
fall from your shoulders.
you do not surrender
because you are weak.
you surrender
because nothing here
needs to be carried.
not the past.
not the names.
not the sharp little gods
that fed on your silence.
only this.
the candle.
the floor.
my hands
becoming shelter.
your body
becoming weather.
this is the gravity of us,
older than desire,
older than fear,
older than the first star
learning how to burn.
now it is simple.
the heat between us.
the holy focus.
the golden animal
of devotion
breathing in the room.
you are the center
without having to stand still.
the fire bends toward you
because even flame
knows where to kneel.
and i am quiet now.
not empty.
not erased.
a temple
with its doors open,
holding the dark
so you can shine
without defense.
come here.
lay the universe down.
let it sleep
outside your body
for once.
i will keep watch.
i will be the floor,
the hush,
the hand beneath the falling light.
and when the room
forgets its edges,
when our breath
becomes one warm animal,
the universe
will look through our eyes
and remember
its own name.
​
concrete breathes.
steel pulses.
we suffocate in dry air.
hard, cold,
yet almost soft
in the blue-grey twilight.
light cuts through the dark,
a surgical blade
inside a tender wound,
bleeding silence
onto the pavement
where we once stood tall.
we build walls to connect,
iron cages
to hold our ghosts.
we speak loudly
to cloak
the screaming quiet
of the room.
everything is real.
everything is a fucking lie.
the ground shifts beneath us,
sand pretending
to be law.
the earth spins.
we stand fucking still,
anchors
in a void
that never asked
to hold us.
falling is rising
in the thick mud
of absolute truth.
iron rusts.
marrow dries.
the soul stays raw,
exposed
like a wire in the rain,
sparking against
the logic of survival.
watch how we break.
watch how we shatter
into jagged geometry,
each piece
still trying
to remember
the whole.
gravity pulls,
a heavy debt
written into the body,
but the spirit
keeps wanting
to fly.
we run away,
kinetic energy
trapped
in the same fucking spot.
time eats its own tail,
a circle
of dust and memory.
everything we own
turns to oxide
in the waiting heat.
shadows grow long,
stretching like fingers
as the sun hides
its face.
the secrets we swallow
sink deeper,
gut-deep,
bone-deep,
until even silence
has weight.
empty hands
reach for ghost-touch,
for the phantom
of skin
gone cold.
we wait for night
and pray for dawn,
though dawn
never resets
what we have become.
we are mirrors,
cracked and stained
by the salt of years,
still finding beauty
in what is torn,
still kneeling
before the brutal light
inside the wound.
life is a violent struggle,
a blind fight
in the fucking rain,
but somewhere
inside the pain
there is nectar.
not sweetness.
not mercy.
something darker.
something earned.
no dawn solves us.
no god explains us.
the paradox stays,
woven in bone.
​
concrete breathes.
steel pulses.
we suffocate in dry air.
hard, cold,
yet almost soft
in the blue-grey twilight.
light cuts through the dark,
a surgical blade
inside a tender wound,
bleeding silence
onto the pavement
where we once stood tall.
we build walls to connect,
iron cages
to hold our ghosts.
we speak loudly
to cloak
the screaming quiet
of the room.
everything is real.
everything is a fucking lie.
the ground shifts beneath us,
sand pretending
to be law.
the earth spins.
we stand fucking still,
anchors
in a void
that never asked
to hold us.
falling is rising
in the thick mud
of absolute truth.
iron rusts.
marrow dries.
the soul stays raw,
exposed
like a wire in the rain,
sparking against
the logic of survival.
watch how we break.
watch how we shatter
into jagged geometry,
each piece
still trying
to remember
the whole.
gravity pulls,
a heavy debt
written into the body,
but the spirit
keeps wanting
to fly.
we run away,
kinetic energy
trapped
in the same fucking spot.
time eats its own tail,
a circle
of dust and memory.
everything we own
turns to oxide
in the waiting heat.
shadows grow long,
stretching like fingers
as the sun hides
its face.
the secrets we swallow
sink deeper,
gut-deep,
bone-deep,
until even silence
has weight.
empty hands
reach for ghost-touch,
for the phantom
of skin
gone cold.
we wait for night
and pray for dawn,
though dawn
never resets
what we have become.
we are mirrors,
cracked and stained
by the salt of years,
still finding beauty
in what is torn,
still kneeling
before the brutal light
inside the wound.
life is a violent struggle,
a blind fight
in the fucking rain,
but somewhere
inside the pain
there is nectar.
not sweetness.
not mercy.
something darker.
something earned.
no dawn solves us.
no god explains us.
the paradox stays,
woven in bone.
​
i watch you, blindfolded,
a void folded into human shape,
waiting for the first sting
of liquid fire.
the candle lowers.
hot wax falls
like a verdict from a small sun,
a scalding seal upon your skin,
then hardens there,
pale and brittle,
a frozen shell
written in heat.
i am the architect
of your quiet surrender,
the hand above the trembling,
the voice that turns silence
into obedience.
you do not move.
that is the first devotion.
then the axis turns.
then the room changes speaker.
i am no longer only the watcher.
i am the body beneath the pressure,
the breath caught open,
the altar becoming weather.
and from me comes
the raw, salt-lit matrix
of release,
that wet transcendence
where shame loses its name
and the body tells the truth
before the mind can interfere.
you kneel there,
not beneath me,
but inside the gravity
of what has broken open.
a seeker at my altar.
a witness to the flood.
your mouth becomes silence,
your hands become command,
and all the dead language
of the world
falls away from us.
i feel you pull me closer.
now your rhythm enters the poem.
not gently.
not cruelly.
but with the force
of someone returning
to the only place
where hunger is not a sin.
friction becomes
a jagged, broken ecstasy.
my breath fractures.
my spine remembers fire.
my hands find you,
nails,
teeth,
shoulder,
skin,
a body turning into storm.
and when the final wave
tears through me,
it is not only pleasure.
it is evidence.
evidence that i am still alive.
evidence that the world has not won.
evidence that beneath the ash,
beneath the fear,
beneath every filthy verdict
ever laid upon the flesh,
there is still heat.
there is still salt.
there is still us.
this is the only truth we breathe.
everything else is smoke.
everything else is theatre.
everything else is the dead world
pressing its face
against the glass.
but here,
in the fire of us,
it burns clean.
absolute zero-point
ascetic of the fluid, you are the absolute zero-point,
a metastasis of rime in my fevered aorta.
your essence: a stasis of saltless water,
a mirror warping me into abstract lightning,
while i, the convulsive flame, choke in your ashless void......
your mind, a solipsistic fortress built on shifting sands;
pre-ordained, your narrative calcifies before a syllable breathes.
you weave a tapestry of iron-clad fallacies,
a singular, sterile pulse where dialogue goes to die.
to you, the world is but a prop in your monochromatic script,
always the victim, always the saint, always the fucking architect
of a truth that never touched the sun.
no synapse anchors us,
no semiotic bridge spans this abyssal cleft.
your resonance is static noise,
a fucking entropy mutilating my kinetic drift.
i amputate you from my narrative,
sever the synaptic strands,
until only the vacuum of existential silence remains.
vanish in the refraction of your own indifference,
a pale nebula, a null-vector in the margin.
stay there, in the inscrutable abstraction of absence,
where no echo reaches,
only the fucking destruction of being.
absolute zero-point
ascetic of the fluid, you are the absolute zero-point,
a metastasis of rime in my fevered aorta.
your essence: a stasis of saltless water,
a mirror warping me into abstract lightning,
while i, the convulsive flame, choke in your ashless void......
your mind, a solipsistic fortress built on shifting sands;
pre-ordained, your narrative calcifies before a syllable breathes.
you weave a tapestry of iron-clad fallacies,
a singular, sterile pulse where dialogue goes to die.
to you, the world is but a prop in your monochromatic script,
always the victim, always the saint, always the fucking architect
of a truth that never touched the sun.
no synapse anchors us,
no semiotic bridge spans this abyssal cleft.
your resonance is static noise,
a fucking entropy mutilating my kinetic drift.
i amputate you from my narrative,
sever the synaptic strands,
until only the vacuum of existential silence remains.
vanish in the refraction of your own indifference,
a pale nebula, a null-vector in the margin.
stay there, in the inscrutable abstraction of absence,
where no echo reaches,
only the fucking destruction of being.
The Flesh of the Spring
The sky is not a color today, but a blue fist that opens himself.
Is the love not a hunger that eats the winter whole?
The sun does not just shine, he claims every fucking inch of the skin. Driving the old death out of the bones, back into the black mud.
Everything falls on his place with a sound like a closing door.
Is it not the truth that we are made of light and grit?
The green is breaking the stones with a holy violence. Why do we still speak soft when the spring is a war?
My heart is a soil that was waiting for your heavy step.
The blood is screaming....... through the veins, finally knowing his way home.
The love is a power that strips the soul naked and laughs at the cold.
I find my ancient spot, and I bury my face in the warmth of you.
The Observer’s Debt
The intention is the gravity, the pull of the core, The realization that 'one' was always 'more'. The philosophy is the surrender to the spin, Knowing the outside was always within.
An experiment of being, a trial of the breath, The only thing real in the shadow of death.
she gave me language
​
for the fucking buried things,
​
then left with the silence
​
i used to survive.
​
she gave me fire
​
when i thought i was only ash,
​
then took the room
​
where i had kept my peace.
​
she gave me a future
​
for a fucking little while,
​
then took the version of me
​
who still believed in one.
​
she gave me an architecture
​
for the ache,
​
then left me inside
​
the fucking collapse.
​
she gave me transcendence
​
in a fucking voice message,
​
then taught me
​
how fast divinity
​
can become absence.
​
she gave me symmetry
​
for a fucking moment,
​
then broke the pattern
​
with perfect precision.
​
she gave me consciousness
​
of the wound,
​
then became part
​
of its fucking language.
​
she opened something in me
​
i cannot fucking close again,
​
and took something
​
i still cannot name.
​
​
to m
you sit in that small room of your own mind,
alwais right, always fucking blind.
every word from another is a stone to throw,
but it is your own walls that do not grow.
you wrap the old trauma like a hevy coat,
using the past to cut every throat.
a shield made of tears to win the fight,
so you can sleep with the lie that you are right.
you hide from the world, you lock the door,
stuck in the dark on your lonli floor.
no real warmth, no one left to touch,
because your bitter mouth always costs too much.
so you stay in the bubble, chasing the thrill,
playing with your dildos to fill the chil.
plastic comfort for a plastic life,
cutting the air like a useless knife.
the bubble is leaking, the air is cold,
the same broken story is getting old.
a horrible human being in a kingdom of one,
look at the fucking damage you have done.
​
Open.... Close.
Breathing....
The rest is Crazy.
I love moist
You can't run.
Headlamps.
Exit sign
The green.
Happy.
Broken.
Fallen angels.
Why? The eyelid flickers.
Hold
I’m done with the talking,
the poems, the art.
I just need your arms
to hold onto my heart.
No more chess games,
no more being strong.
Just hold me right here,
where I finally belong.
cold bone. white stone.
we walk this line, completely alone.
the clock ticks loud, the shadows grow long,
we sing a silent, broken song.
breath holds.
the system breaks, the truth unfolds.
we buy the truth, we pay the price,
and roll the heavy, loaded dice.
blood flows.
behind the glass, the shadow grows.
you think you see, you think you know,
how deep the hidden rivers flow.
the mind is a cage of steel.
we touch the things we cannot feel.
light falls.
inside the dark, the echo calls.
we build the wall, we break the knee,
to find out what it means to be free.
an enormous orgasm drifts through the black nothing.
she floats there for ever, past time, past the border.
the primal force behind it, has deeply strenghtened itself.
a silent explosion of pure will, that glues everything together.
everything in our world flows now, pours now.
like liquid gold, like pure, warm love.
no dams anymore, no hard walls of stone.
only the bedding that the cosmos traces.
here nothing can go broken.
here nothing can freeze.
out of this flow only the most beautiful things pour.
new stars fall out of the nebula, soft and raw.
the cosmos breaths in, breaths out.
and we flow along.
I am yours.
People talk so much but they dont know a thing about us,
I only see the truth when i look at you, no more fuss.
I fell for you way deeper then the dark and quiet sea,
this love grew in secret and now its taken every part of me.
I am yours in every heart beat and every breath i take,
a bond the strongest storm in life could never ever break.
Forget the screens and the miles, forget the cold and grey,
theres only this devotion that will never go away.
Your the one i choose to hould, the one i call my own,
the biggest piece of magic that my soul has ever known.
This isnt just some story or a light that flickers dim,
my soul it just knows you from way deep deep within.
Your loyalty shall be my promise for always and for ever,
A love so deep and powerfull that nothing can it sever.
love pulls, invisible. a fucking mass that curves.
gravity grips the earth, holds the stars tight. love does the same. a fucking anchor in the void. you think they arrived together for a warm start, a fucking fairy tale of connection? wrong.
everything is fucking chaos. gravity is no embrace, it is a fucking trap. it forces matter to collide. love is no harmony, it is the same fucking pull between bodies. it crushes, it tears, it leaves no room to breathe.
there is no plan for being together. there is only the fucking randomness of colliding skin. a fatal attraction, no purpose, no love, only the fucking end of the free fall.
the mass warps the fabric of space,
heavy bodies falling toward each other,
inevitably into the dark center.
that is how gravity works,
the law that no one can break.
so also bends the mind,
when the weight of the other becomes too great.
we are particles trapped in a field,
driven by an invisible current,
where the skin collides with matter.
love is the ultimate density,
a collapsing star that swallows light.
first comes the attraction,
the heavy pulling at the core,
then the collision where everything breaks.
the metric of the heart is falsified,
by the weight that we carry together.
where space-time deforms,
there love bleeds into the void.
​
the mass warps the fabric of space,
heavy bodies falling toward each other,
inevitably into the dark center.
that is how gravity works,
the law that no one can break.
so also bends the mind,
when the weight of the other becomes too great.
we are particles trapped in a field,
driven by an invisible current,
where the skin collides with matter.
love is the ultimate density,
a collapsing star that swallows light.
first comes the attraction,
the heavy pulling at the core,
then the collision where everything breaks.
the metric of the heart is falsified,
by the weight that we carry together.
where space-time deforms,
there love bleeds into the void.
​
we were stardust, floating through the time,
untill we fucking collided and ignited, a cosmic whirlwind of light....
gravity wove us together, invisble threads that pulled my heart to you.
in the vacuum i found your smile, like a planet that is exactly tuned to me.
and so, in the heaviness of the universe, a love arose that never dissapears.
we were fragments, wandering through the dark,
untill the fucking friction of us made a fire that stays.
the pressure of the stars pushed our souls into one shape,
where the silence of the space is finaly filled with your voice.
locked in an orbit where the end does not exist,
we fall forever, but the impact never fucking comes.