Poem: Not Allowed

I should have never bought this pair of tights, so you wouldn’t have ripped and messed them and my hair.

I should have never answered your calls filled with your needs for cold coffee, which consumed my time.

I would not have talked about my past, if you haven’t had asked your childish questions about my origin.

Why have I sat on you playing that game of boiling emotions and eggs in the morning three times and again?

I hereby pronounce: You are not allowed to think of me anymore. Clean your dirty mind of mine quickly.



Poem: I Hate Freedom (i)

img_2321Gosh, how I hate freedom…

Freedom of choice,
take this or that
be thin, be fat…

Freedom of work,
do or do not
spend time with stuff…

Freedom of love,
share your emotions
out of an bottomless bag…

Freedom of mind,
Struggle of life
or easyness of returning…

Gosh, how I hate freedom
and the feeling
of regretting
nothing. (i)

Four Poetry Pieces Written These Days

Weekend Clouds.

Slowly the clouds
Travel down your body
I reflect myself in
Your sweet bellybutton.

Tie a knot
In my soul as a reminder
To return to life
After satisfying you.

Weekend clouds –
They smooch.
We observe and replay,
Silently condensing.

Emotional underwater

Ruins of a fortress
Dressed in green.
Algaes screaming
For a rotten poem.

Dressed in waves
Dolphins shout out
Hearable sounds
In every direction.

Can’t you be quiet
Like water in the eye
Of the storm?

In a ocean of kisses we sunk in each other’s past. These wounds of yesterday melted from our bodies like icecream we were collecting with our mouthes. We are cruel suns. Let us be dirty angels and praise Dionysos with our touches. May others judge our easyness. Let us drink the bitter vine of sorrow with a smile they call maniac. Let us await the day without pains as weird entities, still alive like a cat someone follows silently.

looking for something

looking for something
first level
burns daily
struggle and
of work.

looking for us
it’s healthy
to be egoist
and loose
in tears
of joy.

looking for love
we are
searching for
a mountain peak’s
blue flower
to guide us
to death.

looking for sense
through doors
of perception
of the nibelungs
red dragon
a fire.


Axeman 32

Take a number. Get in line. Please stay behind the person in front of you. It may get cold. The sun will answer your inquiries. But one after one. Don’t leave line. Or you have to go back to end. These trees just watch for your safety. Don’t eat, don’t drink, don’t shit in ways and always keep your nose clean. We hope you have time. Don’t howl to moon, it won’t help. Follow instructions or a membrane could tear. Concrete, stay closely, Grasshoppers, to me instantly!

Long I thought about what to do. Something had to happen. The trees were grinning at me. I could hear their stony roots calling. Be water, my friend, give light, my love. Creepy. They had a wide network. I took my axe. This one was a strange tree.

Sometimes I doubted. Had I decided on wrong profession? I still loved to be outside. Concrete jungle had always opened my hanging mind. Perhaps that’s why some entities suffered while I hit those victims. I draw a parallel to my own life: My eyes are their executioners, but somewhen their long faces will be mines.