it was a strange coincidence i met her that day.

in fact, it was a strange coincidence anything happened that day. i hadn't even expected to wake up.

whatever it was - a simple, logical chain of unlikely events or divine intervention - to my own great surprise i opened my eyes that morning.

i stared up at the ceiling for several seconds, my mind putting the pieces together for me, slowly. the sounds of the street outside my window, my calm breathing, my dry mouth, and finally, a devastating pain inside my head.

there were a few pieces missing from this puzzle. both my sense of time and my understanding of my own person were viscous and distant, and so i can't quite tell for how long i lay there. but the aching in my brain got stronger and became unbearable and, ironically, this pain forced me to get out of my paralysis.

i stood up and walked a few steps, my limbs stiff and convulsed, then took a moment to massage my neck before i stumbled into the bathroom where i found a package of painkillers, two of which i immediately gulped down, and then i drank water from the sink for a while. and then i couldn't do much else but get dressed and leave the flat.

there is a café on the corner of the street, it's been there ever since i moved in and yet i never had the time to visit it. wandering through the streets, dizzy and moonstruck as i was, i made my way inside it and sat down at one of the tables.

there was a fly on the vase before me, it was confidently sitting there, claiming its position, and so i started staring again. then, i heard her voice.

"what's making you put on such a sad face?", she asked, appearing before me and finally disrupting my focus. "life is beautiful! let me get you some waffles, right? the world is brighter after a good breakfast." her cheerful voice mirrored the smile in her eyes.

"thank you", i said. she was wearing a blue dress and bright red shoes.

"i'll go get them. you stay here!", she said, smiled again and disappeared behind some door.

i don't think she recognised me. but i'd seen her eyes and i would never forget them.

she had told me to stay, so i did. she'd said life was beautiful. and maybe, i thought, she was right.

be yourself

there are no rules anymore, nothing to play by, be who you are and express yourself freely and

oh, so this is allowed now? oh it doesn't have to be rhymes

this is art, you're

an artist just place the

line break between lines

where they wouldn't expect it,

write something about

hollow feelings, or deep ones

you can lie, too

they'll buy it, the few friends you have

and they'll never believe the true stories anyway so

go and play with your words,

be daring, be brave

you're rebellious

and pretending to be an artist,

copying styles

and it never takes more than five minutes, except when you force it

you genius

and you're wondering why they don't publish your works, well, guess what: you were right in your doubts and this doesn't take any talent,

you're just a liar

maybe if you were honest it'd work but then again

if you were honest you'd have nothing to say

so deep in your web that you don't even know what your honesty is anymore

if they told you to be pure you'd ask me for answers and tell them whatever i told you to say

you're not deep but sure have them tell you you are

you're not hurt

and you certainly don't have talent,

you just figured out

a way to convince them

and now you call out the liars around you

but it's not your intention and you'd love to be true

you'd even stop lying if you knew what that meant but you don't,

and you know when you rhyme you just write what sounds nice,

you forget about being you

night, only without the purity of cold black. tainted dullness, the sky offers only the faintest contrast; the clouds are big, without structure. just dark grey mixed with darker grey, sometimes with a hint of muddy orange, and even the moon refuses the satisfaction of contours and shapes. the stars fully suffocated with the smoke-like, dirty shadows.

the steady noise of a highway seems to numb all senses, an acoustic anaesthetic, and only the red and white lights of cars offer any distraction from the numbness, but with their attention seeking flashing, they lose their dignity.

the temperature is low but not low enough to be called cold; it isn't confronting, it's not a threat, just a subtle reminder of how dull grey could suffocate the determinated light of stars. as the vehicle slows down to make a turn, the silence becomes real.

i am sad that you left

but you explained why you did

and i understood

still, i do

i know it made sense for the moment

maybe you're right

maybe we would have

never

worked out

but maybe,

if you hadn't left,

maybe we would

have found

something worth

keeping.

lord

i am grateful

for your grace

for you are

my only base

to build life on

and to chase

hopes and dreams

and joyful days

i walked only

on the ways

you showed me.

and now i stand on the edge of this cliff

i believed in your lie

and i'll jump

and i'll die.

i rest my case --

and lord, i

forgive you.

lord

let me adore you,

let me pray.

you gave your life

for us to be

and then lived on

and so did we.

you gave us eyes

so we could see

you gave us thoughts

so we'd be free.

you promised us

eternity

forever - you.

and i have seen my name on a grave

i believed in your lie

so i agreed

now i'll die.

and you forgot about me.

and lord, i

forgive you.

my love, my world.

you're so infatuated

with this game that you created

that you lost sight

you lost your right

to play

today

you have to slay

those who do not like the rules

those who are more than blinded fools

those who like me now understand

those who finally demand

the truth, oh lord, and we will rise

with tainted bodies, famished eyes

we will abolish all your lies

tear down deception and disguise

reject your love that we despise.

no longer will i be this flawed

no longer numb this haunting thought

no longer live off a facade --

no longer will you be my god.

years of my life i trusted you.

believed your world, your word, was true

accepted life and dream and death

in fact, i was too blind and deaf

asleep, unconscious, paralysed.

benumbed. lethargic. agonized.

i loved you, i knew you loved me.

you were protection. you were here.

you held my hand, you gave me land,

you gave me fire, gave me flesh.

you gave me dust and gave me ash.

but colour has always been just an illusion and

i'll uncover your lie

one last time

as i die.

leave me, oh world. leave me, oh life.

be with me no more, you're the knife

that killed my mind and killed my took my breath.

my fate decided. freeing death.

my time is up.

so lord, hear me:

i don't believe in gravity.

I need to put it on my skin, on my tongue, on my eyes, on my lungs,

I want to breathe nothing but truth,

I want it to hurt the way cocaine only hurts when you do it for the first time,

The way your first love when youre too young to know youre in love breaks your heart like no one else,

The way a child cries,

The way your mind dies

When you drink to much

And youre alone

With what feels like the truth

In your head

I want it to burn

But it doesnt

I want glass in my skin, i want to be hated, i want to feel fear

I want to feel like im drowning, my body screaming for air

God, i want to not care

Like

Opening the door to the street and its suddenly autumn

But im not ready for autumn yet

Like five am in an airport

I want to break open

I just want it to hurt

And maybe then i could write again

how do you portray a world that wont sit still

winter.

snow covers the street in front my so well known window, the street that i've never seen a single car on, and now, there's no way the wheels could handle the icy ground. winter, late evening, the fragments of white crystal glass shine so dreamlike that once again i am doubting whether i'm awake at all. whether i have ever been.

all i remember is how you left.

how you walked away and my world shattered like the white crystal glass outside of my window. and how for a second, my mind formed the absurd question of whether i was just as beautiful. maybe that's what you saw in me.

you drank coffee with me this morning. didn't say much. we were lying on the ground for hours.

then you stood up. looked at me. said, "i have to leave. i'm sorry. goodbye."

and i stayed there on the ground and heard you close the door.

you're sorry, you said. sorry for what?

my mind had an answer. a solution. i can't recall what it was, but it must have worked. i found myself at the window. with red blossoms on my arms. i never knew you were so good at drawing.

i wondered if i should have told you about the times when i put honey on my skin because you told me you loved how soft it felt. i wondered if you should have seen how i smiled for hours after you told me i was beautiful.

because your words meant more than i would ever let you know. you went away but i couldn't let you go.

you said goodbye and you must've have hoped that i'd be fine, you must have thought i'd want my life to be mine. when you said sorry, it must have been an apology, and yet your sorry was the worst you could have ever done to me.

now that you're gone, i wonder what your skin felt like.

i remember one time when it was just as cold, and you were quite drunk, and you said you loved me and asked for a smoke. so i gave you a cigarette and fire, and you sucked the smoke in deeply, and when you let it escape through your lips, i saw flowers in your breath. and you put out your cigarette on my skin and the ash left a scar but it was okay because the pain was real.

and i thought you were immortal.

autumn --

i'm still here. still waiting. you left long ago, but i'll always be here. because some day, i know, you will come back.

i'm not yet alone. there's still those faces around me. and voices. telling me what to do when i forget. you left them to look after me.

now that you've left,

and those red leaves, wet leaves on the ground, and the smell of dirty rain,

i guess we could say we never met.

it was a sunday and you'd barely thought about it,

you knew that was the only way it'd work.

so you went out,

you made sure to make it quick, and easy

and now you're walking away, thinking

if only he had turned around,

and you could have had one

last

moment

together,

maybe then it wouldn't hurt so bad,

but then again

maybe both of you turned around,

just not at the same time

the air is frigid but not biting cold and there's no snow on the roads, no leaves, either, just here and there a dead cigarette. the sky is heavy; with all the clouds in it it's pressing down its weight on me and i'm not hurt, i'm just exhausted, i simply want to sleep, but it's almost christmas.

i don't talk about myself a lot these days because there's nothing more to say, i've been bad, i've been better, i've cried for help and now my throat stings from smoking. the neon signs around me promise fulfilment but all i want is no more flashing. i wish i understood. i wish i was bright pink, too. i wish i wished for anything at all. but i'd rather just lie.

it's almost christmas.

there's the pressure. there's time. there's the causality of life. go, go, go. walk on. it's almost christmas.

and we get old so fast.

raindrops, giving me a rhythm to hold onto, to breathe to, and when i stare at them long enough, for a moment, i forget.

you miss being a child. you miss being young and the world being easy. you should have believed him when he told you he loved you.

maybe i'll just buy myself a hot chocolate. and then i'll stay awake and fight my tired eyes. i want to sleep so badly. i will watch tv until i fall unconscious, just like yesterday. it works. it's good. you stare at raindrops and forget. then it's tomorrow.

i remember back when we were young and beautiful and sometimes i think we can be again

but it's almost christmas

i am an artist, and i lack the paint

at night i compose, i create, but in vain

i need to find words to let go of your pain, i only need ink, my writings are faint, but i am an artist and i lack the paint.

my feet are naked, my soul is free

my fingers on stone, my soles on weed, my hands in the air and my hair in the wind, the warmth is my comfort, and yet i feel skinned

i am an artist but something is missing, as i let in my thoughts i hear angry hissing

of the wolves of the night in the depths of the shadows of trust and dependance so i fall back into repose that gives its warm comfort to numb the old lies,

but as i look up, in the darkest of skies, the moon's hollow eyes reflect your soul's cries and

as i look down to my feet on the ground in the puddles of ink, i find the paint i've been looking for

but as i put my hands in the water it fades

and on your skin are red blossoms and they're sculpted by blades

i am the artist and you are my art

and there goes my mind. and i write

because my lies might leave you scared but my truths would leave you scarred,

i hoped you wouldn't let me in but you let down your guard

and i saw your defenselessness and when you fell apart i was already paralysed by the abstract heart inside you

and so i started writing

this narrative of nothingness

an acoustic anaesthetic to assassinate your fears, dreadful dreams and dirty daggers but enough to dry your tears, but you got addicted quickly, and when your conscience sickly flickered that's when i should have had enough -

and when you asked me not to lie

i seriously tried

but trust me it gets harder

everytime i say goodbye

i was the one to break this down, and yes, i set the fire

i played my game, i'll take the blame, and yes, i am a liar

but

i am an artist, and i am addicted

i am comforted, safe and conflicted,

i am an artist and i am dependent.

i wish i could breathe but my lungs have been broken. i wish i could leave but what has been spoken

can not be erased

i hope you're happy when you go. i hope you believe, and i hope you know that all of my lives were composed just for you, and all of my lies have been chosen for you.

hope you never forgive me. because after all

i won my game and you were the doll and not once, i saw you for what you might have been.

so when you fade out, i will paint a grin on my skull and i'll smile when you die and you'll see when you're gone it was right that i lied

when you died the first time

and though you believed it, i was never a saint

i was an artist, and i lacked the paint.