what is there to keep from the worry?
has the sea seen my claws come out at night?
in the end i know i heard a whisper
and in that moment i let myself cry:
it was a call for a action,
a momumental complaint against
the rules of attraction.
the sun can be felt i know,
i hear the screams at night from the scorched souls
but are they?
or is it just a cry of laughter?
from the muffled sounds of queens i can’t place a voice
my vision is frantic,
a non-stop machine
a sinking ship,
disappearing into oblivion,
flooded lungs and ideals
some of our dreams aren’t coming back.
i wish the blue could help me mourn,
but instead it has helped me announce and realise that this time this life is nothing but the in-between,
dangling in front of everybody’s eyes
a conflict of interest between the bodies
who are hot and cold against my touch.
instead this dream keeps filling itself up with words,
but from the mouth nothing more rich
than silence can be expelled,
possibly derived from a lack of desire,
or a lack of living,
which in some eyes is an equal.
yes i’ll miss you and you’ll see me run away again,
you’re escaping what i always wanted to have,
and you’re denying whatever you get.
from safer shores one day i will greet you,
hopefully with the trophies i had earlier promised you,
a quieter mind and a taste for the genocide
that implies the quality of living;
giving up has never been so easy
since i learned how fast things
turn
back
into water.