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In poetry on 9. September 2015 at 1:43 pm

The illusion of freedom
The illusion of even giving a fuck
I could live my life with this pain, I swear
I could prosper in this little gap
The illusion of ambition
The illusion of peace
I could melt into the background
Not make a single sound

The illusion of cynicism
The illusion of wit
I could be humble or pretentious
and all I say could be lies

Such as that I want to
Such as that I can’t

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Too late a warning

In poetry on 9. September 2015 at 1:18 pm

Look around you, can’t you see it’s a trap?
And you’re both legs in, knee-deep
Does it not arouse your suspicion
When yesterday’s enemy is the most eager to carry the torch?

Be assured it’s all a scheme
Not even words are what they seem
They sent you on the wrong train
And it’s heading nowhere

But oh with what speed
It’s dizzying

On the road the helping hands
Hide blades in their sweaty palms
Their cheers of triumph are sincere
But the triumph is theirs under false pretense

They are making fools of themselves
It’s all according to plan
The more we struggle
The more we seem to get caught in their net

There are soon no words left to us
With any sharp edges at all
We have been gently disarmed
We have fallen for their peace, their liberty

Lest we hurt ourselves
Lest we hurt someone
Anyone

Bastard Child

In poetry on 9. September 2015 at 1:09 pm

Cry all you want bastard child

Cry meaningless tears

When will you cease to remember?

With the anger will you too fade away?

 

Maybe you were born a little devil

With a heart of fire in your chest

And only in your vilest fantasies

Can you forget

 

But you are vulnerable as a dove

Unarmed, always in defense

And your bared fangs

Are little more than decoration