random mess
Through the bleak window of my soul
In marble halls of falling snow
Winter touch the Earth undone
Embittered we embrace the funerals to come
words (c) by KATATONIA
word work
title says it all
——–
wired curiosity
scarlett trails
left to resign
another solemn vow
another broken past
movements intertwined
as long as it shines
the spoiled sun.
slowly passing the cry around
as my fists hit the ground
it goes on, infecting, catching
scarlett scars on me, on you.
complex patterns
never solved and never done
no creator visible
but there all the same
the prison is our misery
build of thoughts
chains of lost love
bars of kicks and cuts
all one and dying
under a scorching sun.
slowly passing the cry around
as my fists hit the ground
it goes on, infecting, catching
scarlett scars on me, on you.
on the scratch
It’s all a bit messy without actually being messy at all, if you get my drift. And this blog suffers under this as well. The major point is, most stuff I post here are poems and they only happen when I have some major emotional thingy, in any direction, be it up or down and atm it’s like a stright really boring line.
But to look on the bright sight, conveniant reader, the next crisis will happen, that’s certain 
To fill the black hole in this blog, I’ll revive the ‘music’ thingy I started with a post about katatonia featuring a rant about Opeth. Stay tuned for this.
If you want poems, find me a woman who can make my life either good or bad, the equation comes out the same way
lisra
further
Yeye, I haven’t done anything here in recent weeks. I’m not sorry
Things must go on though and here’s something to prove. Anyone who doe snot know me might say it sounds incredibly emo. It isn’t. Anyone who can’t accept that: to hell with you^^
numbness closing in
every single blink is
followed by the words ascending
arising, looming, screaming
pictured thoughts
framed memories and fantasies
blending
mixing
crossing
is this really me
is this someone else
what are these faces
what mean these names
and are these my own hands grasping
who’s voice is it in my head
who’s fear I feel when the night goes on
it’s me
it’s me
it’s me
it’s me who’s crying now
face behind smoke blackened glass
claws against the wodden wall
scratched marks from another mind
traces left to find.
Empty streets is what’s there to see
deserted, left for the scavenging clouds
steps come closer, disturbing the silence
watch the figure’s walk.
Lines are spread across the face
waht’s left of the lost years except
the beat of the heart
goes on and on despite the cold.
Behind the smoke blackened window
the claws grip the windowsill
they belong now to a corpse
died when the first man for years approached.
Silence reigns except his breathing
the eyes all lost in drug-forced mist
no face behind the windows any more
claws and owner lying on the floor.
With a sigh he pulls out his syringe
injects his death in a small amout
eyes cross and breathing lapses
they both die in solitude
unaware of the other’s presence
could lived on for some time together
didn’t, died and now they rot
silence reigns again.
