The Call

Often when I’m bored, I like to wander outside. When I’m depressed, detached, nothing comforts me more than the stars.  Not that there are too many left of them.

The outside has become bleak. Bleaker yet than my own apathy for the things around me. Neon signs and lid-up advertisements and flickering street lamps and house after house drenched and burning in electrical light. Still, I go outside when I hear the call. When it stings in my heart like a treacherous wasp in an innocent baby’s palm.

On such a night, I would wander the infinite streets. I’d creep and throb, as in a trance. As in the pulse of the city challenges me, pushes me, drags me with it. Passers-by, traffic jams, more noise than sense, it all blurs around me. I’d keep walking until the point of no return. The moment when one more step into the unknown could mean I can’t come back. I haven’t dared. Not yet.

Afraid isn’t the right word, I don’t think. Uncertainty, maybe. The call fades as the night slowly vanishes. As if the first cloud-broken sunlight washes away from my heart the longing for something stronger. Something real. It’s blinding, the light, blinding and daunting. Long before the sun grins far above my horizon, I’m back where I started. The place they call home. Where they say your heart is.

Home is where your heart is.

It’s not that I despite the day. I can feel its warmth, its life. Merely, I’m drawn to the night. The dark and unknown. It’s a fix. A rush like the next needle of an addict. Like the sensation of pain, the longing for release of tension, and the utter deny of it. The pleasure in this denial makes me feel free to push on or give in. It’s tantric suffering. I deny myself the final release, the climax of pain, until I’d dare to take the final step. This the call promises. That is why I hear it. Why I follow.


It’s been weeks since I’ve remembered anything of importance. The mirrors around me reflect now a darker world. The mundane lights around all but myself reflect in grey and ignorance. There are no distinct shapes or hints of other souls but my own miserable existence present. This I see in the mirror, not the world I observe around me. The world that’s fading with every new step I take out into a night growing stranger every time. Soon, there would be nothing remotely human left to look at. Just two dark holes for eyes. A flickering, dark pulse instead of moving legs and arms. As if this man in the mirror lost his soul in this dark design of his making. A desire for pain so undeniably stronger than his fear of anguish. A mirror filled with fleeting shadows, slithering angels of darkness, and monsters of childish nightmares. Whatever is left of this man in the mirror, he cares for naught but the call.

Again, I’m walking streets covered in a night stranger than before. The bleak and desperate struggle in my mind continues. Just one more step. Dare I find out the true nature of the call? Meet surely not my maker, but the one who has me undone? Not able to recall a way back to where I started, I shivered, trembled with bliss and with blight. I can’t feel my own pulse anymore. My heart left me with the shreds of sanity I stripped myself from.

Before the last step, I dare to look deep into the whole darkness. The light from the world of the living breaks at the surmounting terror before me. The nightmare come true. I peer deep; and whatever thread of soul may be left within this broken shell of dusty bones and rotten flesh, it cowers in dread. The darkness, not an entity or known being, but more a stale stench of eternity peers back into my eyes. The two dark holes absorbing no more light, nor stars, but the stranger things between them. Deeper staring, deeper fearing, I hold my foul breath. I follow the call.

Just one more step. With the last exhale of an escaping soul, when the tantric recoil in my mind at last releases me from my anxious suppression, I see my self one last time falling deep, deep within the mirror.

I am my own undoing.

The King

He was the rightful king, they’d pray,
and placed on him the crown to bear.
This boy, this child, the only heir,
had politics, not toys, to play.

He was too young, and none too wise,
yet greatness was just his to claim.
A lad that grew to rule and fame,
and soon his golden throne should rise.

The royal mind, though, served a fight,
until from childish dreams he weaned
himself, and drowned all hope in blight.

He knew once friends, now they were fiend,
who would but slaver for his might.
But soon he had them all demeaned.

He was a weary king, they feared.
The castle fell to time and dust.
Left was nothing, but mistrust,
Till one by one they disappeared.

For in his madness, he brought pain
to all he thought himself opposed.
Quick, the death for all that posed
a threat to what he clawed in vain:

This throne, not meant for mere a boy,
A crown that sealed his heart away–
a heart, so frail, so bare of joy,

that it, to all of their dismay,
sought in the end just to destroy
the few that for his sake would stay.

He was a bitter king, they said,
and bitter, true, he ruled.
None, save one, could have him fooled–
The demon’s dream within his head.

His lands then withered far apart,
and, too, so did his mind.
Soon left was no one dear or kind;
just barrens, and a plaque at heart.

His crown stretched big to blind the eyes,
this gilded throne broke coal instead,
He trusted no word, save his lies.

The stitch of soul was bare of thread–
This kingdom came, so its demise.
I was the rightful king; they said.

Timeless (Endzeit)

Our friends marched for us proud,
sirens sing the war songs loud;
Songs from fall after their pride.

Mushrooms cloud the skies beyond,
as our hearts in hate respond.
Lost we all guilt for those that died?


The wind sighs still, it’s raining light,
and the grin of death spreads wide
before an irony undone.

Timeless now a man guards steady,
with his rifle at the ready,
as once his father, soon his son.


For all of those, that promised love.


As I stare into the oncoming headlights, I let my hands glide gently over the steering wheel; just a breath away from pulling over into their lane.
It could be so easy. I feel how my foot is getting heavier as the motor howls under pumping fuel, like the adrenalin flooding any sense for reality, and a stench of perfume and sweat suddenly takes hold in my memory.

Maybe I want to lose.

As if she was a dying angel, her sigh reached my ear like a whisper begging for mercy while my hands slid away from her naked body. The entire night was an endless dance of wanting more and crying for help, somewhere deep inside of me.
If only I could have loved her enough that night.
If only she could hate me as much as I do now.

Maybe she would not have gone, leaving me behind like a shadow in a light forsaken room. For her I’m nothing more than a beautiful memory. A day once upon a time, before she turned away from my face to find new stars on a horizon, which was long dead to me. Without even one breath left, I had to watch her leave towards her luck and away from our destiny. I’ve never had a choice or a chance to find control over my emotions and thoughts towards a world, that I’ve left long ago.

Maybe control is illusion.
Maybe Illusion breeds madness.
I give up. Everything.
I don’t even know where this road is taking me and I don’t care. East. All I need to know is east.
They say, home is, where your heart is. But now that I have nowhere to go, what will happen to my heart?
I slowly drift away. Away from everything I learned to hate, I tried to forget; sleepless nights or days wrapped in insomnia, like it’s a bubble wrap protecting my fragile thoughts. I drift away from any meaning, from reason.
Wrong intentions.
Fake smiles and dead memories.

We were two strangers stranded between cities. There was no word, no first thought. Just a kiss. The second I looked into her bright blue eyes, I forgot everything. Anything was possible. We didn’t need a reason or a definition for this moment. There was no expectation. There was no hope, no wish, no lie.
Then, all we had was us.
I can’t forget the feeling I had when we first met. Our souls were on a collision course and nothing could have stopped us.
Her smile was that of the sunrise breaking through branches, bursting into a myriad of colors as it hits the morning dew on the leaves. When she smiled, I knew she believed everything we’ve created. Everything we’ve defined, we’ve dreamed.
I took her up to the highest mountains, down the frozen rivers and along side a sinking sun of a perfect day. We were defining our future. After sleepless nights of passion, after everything, we’ve seen; we had it all.
The only thing to gain was loss.
We became two lovers on their last journey together. Beyond the doors only passengers were allowed. Again, I had to stay left behind. The time we’ve spent together made me believe.
So I believed it all; the love, the possibility, my dreams.
I wanted to hold her close, be with her; wanted to marry.
Now, if only I knew that the kiss before the security gate would be the last breath, we’d ever share, maybe I could accept it now. Maybe I could let go.
I looked into her bright blue eyes. They promised love.
Maybe it would have saved me.

I let go of the steering wheel and let the flow of things take their course.
I never wanted this to happen for either one of us. I wish I could say that everything will be fine and I will move on. However, the truth is, my darling, that there is no truth left to believe in. We drift alongside of each other hoping for something to make us stay, but eventually we all have to go. Everything we tell each other, we want and desire, is a lie. Fake, like the actor after the show, that drops the mask of his perfect script to fall back into his life superficiality and cheating stars. Accept the lie to preserve yourself.
The price for sanity is the value of truth.

I paint a smile with emotions, that, if I don’t learn to let go of what I love, will feast on me from the inside of my own mind, like a parasite or sickness.
Because things end. Life decays. Love is an attitude and as such only a matter of perception.
For their lifetime things never change, but only my perspective can. Consistency is the fact that nothing ever means the same to anyone. I have to let go of what I am before I understand what I was while I had it. It’s the things I’m not, in which I try to find myself.
If I define them, I define me.
They tell me to be something, anything. To dress, to act. A script for love, for life. Defining takes away possibility. Takes away freedom, creation; right to evolve. Defining takes away the right to change.
Definition is control, not life.
Does it matter who I am?

The nerve grinding sound of a passing car almost hitting me pulls me out of my thoughts. Like a manic, I grab the steering wheel and pull it to the right to gain control over the situation, that almost killed me.
But control is illusion.
I realize that the sun has set behind me and the sky drops a strange twilight over the road ahead. Rushing lights of other cars coming towards me, yet nothing but the last orange tears of a sleeping sun is left behind.
A sunset, that seems too surreal to be in reach, reflects in the rear view mirror. My eyes roll away from the road and look into the mirror to rest on sun’s ever so fading glory. And I can’t help but think of all those people, I’ve tried to forget.
Those, that are too defined through the world around them to look over their horizon, but instead believe in the simple promises, they find right before there eyes. That tell them, who they are. That everything will be fine. That they’ll move on.
Never do they know, nothing will love them as much as I always have.
And as the sun disappears behind the road, I look over the dash to the dark horizon before me, hoping to catch a glimpse of a sunrise never meant for me.

My heart is still pumping way too fast and I find it hard to keep my eyes on the road, because my thoughts seem to blend over my reality; if there ever was such a thing.
Now, the sound of turning gears and growling engines fades for the noise of rushing blood, like a poisoned river through a dying forest.
I wish I would forget.
We were colliding, rushing into each other like the world would come to an end, if we didn’t.
I need you, she begged.
When she left, suddenly everything became undone. No promise was made. No story was true. We were actors. Our roles were defined and ending. All along, we never had control.
It wasn’t enough, she said. I wasn’t enough.
You were everything. You are nothing.
I came home, I opened the door and I saw her sitting at the table. She looked up and smiled, like it was the most natural thing in the world that she’d be sitting there, waiting for me. Then she faded. The light behind her bright blue eyes became dull. I pressed my eyelids together so tight, it hurt. For days I haven’t had any more sleep than just a few hours. The mind overlaps memories and reality.
Anymore, I wouldn’t know, whether I’m awake or dreaming.
Now, all that’s left were filthy coffee cups and dried out bread on the table.
She has left long ago. I turned away.
Maybe I tried to follow her.
Maybe I just had to leave.
I got in the car, and as the engine cried under the ignition I took a deep breath and closed my eyes. Then, I was here. Heading east with no goal, no expectation, no hope and no lies left.
I can’t change the future by upsetting the past.

Maybe I’ll wake up.

After I let go of all my frustration for this act of life, I can now only laugh about it; if indeed I care enough for any kind of emotional reaction.
Nothing really matters.
Maybe if there was any reason for any kind of mature responsibility, sure, things would be different. If only anyone would care, I mean, then it should be different. But for me it’s a gamble, this life. It’s not about who is first and who comes in last. No competition. Just a game.
And if I stay behind on the track, don’t bother looking for me. Being lost would only be the last step to complete ignorance.
A stranger I’ve been all along.
I am alive to watch myself die. With every thought I think, every beat of my heart and every exhale of used and lifeless breath I curse the very person I’ve become.
At the end, after this act of human disgust, in a play too real to be true, I’ll find myself standing on an empty stage, staring into the faces of the disturbed audience, waiting for the curtain to finally fall.

Though, coming slowly back to reality, I remember that I’m still on the road. Still heading east. Still driving against all those headlights shining at me. Leaving me behind. Heading home, towards their luck, their fate. I shake my head, rub my eyes and try to get my mind out of the dark corners it created since I hit this road.
No sunlight’s left, only flickering instruments on my dashboard. A climbing speedometer. No horizon. No destination or destiny.
I’m so far away. I’ve gone, I’ve drifted and I can never go back. And so I surrender.
There is a time for everyone to change the world. Sometimes it has to be one last deed to preserve anything, that is holy. Sometimes it needs the sacrifice of all love has promised.
The quiet click as I lose the seatbelt is like a moment of inner release. No guarantee.
I’ve made my decision. Let’s not over think this, not make a big scene. The steering wheel twitches around nervously as I put my hands on my lap. No illusions.
My left food steps on the right one to make sure it won’t move away. No dreams.
This is my reality. A perfect script for escape. My heart calms down, because now I understand. Fear is only a matter of perception.
Still, I stare into the oncoming headlights and I ask myself, what if all of this ends tonight in one single impulse of lost control?

Maybe I’ll find a final insight between crushing metal and plastics melting in the heat of burning fuel, covering my broken and twisted body.
Maybe, while my fingers are still cramped around my knees, and the face of a stranger peels through a shattered windshield of an old japanese car, that had the best safety rating of it’s time, the promise of death in the chaos of collision and destruction reveals my absolution before my eyes.
Now, as I lie dying, when I breath smoke and vomit fume-poisoned bile, I will crack a wicked smile of satisfaction, which might just make the day of the police photographer documenting the incident a few hours later.
For what it’s worth, life is only a matter of perception.

Maybe I’ll come to realize, all of this wasn’t that bad after all.


“A broken promise is as good as a lie”

Beyond dreams

I will dream like wolfs astray,
in worlds made for the silent lambs.
Conform, in fit with holy scams,
I stood no chance as willing prey;
too scared of truth to dare the fray.

I go to bed with snakes and shame,
with forked belief, Uroborus;
’till deadly my own vice arose –
and now, awake, the beast lays claim
to set my world of peace aflame.

It rips apart my view of Me.
As snake bites tail, and wolf claws deep,
I drop the rotting skin of sheep,
the mask of fake and unity,
Real is all I seek to be.

Did too far my dream has led?
My very soul assumes no more …
I watch the life, that I once wore,
and wished I’d feel at all, but dead,
as air is filling full regret.

I’m choking on enlightenment.
Reallities, they sufficate –
and None means All before my fate,
here, where all my time is spent.
There, where death and I ascent …

I’ve dreamt as lamb of the mundane,
the empty shells, the herds of skin.
In dreams I gave myself to sin,
and wished I could just once regain,
what stirrs behind my hope; in vain.