stranger's disease

"i wish i believed you when you said that this was my home"



daily car crashes

one day he read my poetry and said
well it fucking sucks.
and i laughed,
       i know.
then why do you keep writing?
                        for the same reasons you breathe,
i said.
          i write everyday.
          i can't function without it.
will you ever publish anything? he asked.
i laughed,
pointed at the screen and said,
                                   what? this crap?

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state offices of nothing

the train goes by every day at the same hour.
everytime you leave the station you think,
damn i should take a picture of that sunset,
but you never do.

you arrive always at the same hour.
you watch the light outside the windows and
hopelessly sprawl yourself
in the hope you'll find something better in lost sleep.

the same people fill the same chairs every day.
we all arrive at the same hours.
and i think,
damn i should talk to that guy.

the sun goes up,
and then it goes down,
your shoes are still on,
revolution seems so old.

then it's just you,
this absent moon
and the never ending question of
how things will stay the same.

then it's a question of how
empty the spaces are left.
even this loneliness is so familiar,
it seems like hell.

turbulent skies worthy of pictures are
no longer admirable and those pale blue eyes
are no longer full of life
and i see you fall asleep at the desk and think
should i do something to change?

but then i never do.

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put romeo to rest

do you know what hell looks like?
well hell is dancing with the devil
handcuffed to your own deathwish
waltzing around the grave you dug for yourself.
hell's got blue eyes and a thing for
people like me,
hell's your best wishes and your best friends.
it's the things you love the most,
stabbing you in the back.
it's the life you want the most,
turning its back.
do you know what hell looks like?
it looks like you when you forget my name,
when I struggle to find a way to reach out
and come out empty-handed.
hell is pretty much like drowning
in your own fatelessness.
that's why I can't trust the prettiest faces
and I see no calm inside the eyes of those who love me;
well sometimes I even see myself.
there are holes in my stomach
and a line of burned out cigarettes.

the devil's got your smile
and it's got your name.
god knows I fucked up,
that's why you're my one mistake.

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i still didn't want to go to that party

both of us right there
next to the empty table
full of empty bottles and then
you look at me and say
'is there any coke left?'
and the my heart kinda sinks in
and i flash back to a memory of you
being my friend and then,
oh god,
i have a memory of us
i wish i never had.
i look at you,
that feeling never existed
and now look at us,
we're nothing but strangers.

we've always been nothing
but strangers.

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why do i feel like i am missing something?
it's like i have become tangled in
this mess of guts and dust for no reason
and everyone's moving on.

why do i feel like i am missing something?
it feels hard when you let your friends go,
but even harder when those you cherished
leave you first.

why do i feel like i am missing something?
life is a lot different from what it was back then, it's true
but i can't seem to find a stable phase
i can't seem to find a cure for
restlessness in this peaceful life.

(clean me up from all
remains of white noise.)

why do i feel like i am missing something?
whithering away,
in a wheel, in the wind,
looks all the same to me.

why do i feel like i am missing something?
probably because i have hit
the finishing line
                          a long,
                                     long time ago.

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