.18

it's night and i spend it dancing to Fields of the Nephilim in a black wig, black clothes, feet bare. feeling exactly like Rachael in Blade Runner, pressed to the weak blinds, swirling. i hit my knee severely at the workshop lately and it hurts at the slightest movement. funny how pain makes you aware of your body, how it makes you concentrate. if you don't, you fall to the floor, sighing heavily from pain, clenching your eyes in silence. 

the black hair brush my cheek when i am turning, i wish i had a huge mirror here. i could turn off the lamps and let only streetlights light the room. i could hardly see but the reflection shifting on its surface would still be visible. i could dance with my own shadow. to the song of others. those unaware of the pain i feel in every move. unaware of my natural hair colour. natural lip colour. and still - completely, utterly --- me.

au fil du rasoir

♫

.i can only pray this way

take my piano ------- and then take me 

dust it with your only shirt 

i will sleep, the black key in my hand, under the pillow 

your forehead, lined 

stretching into a stave 

words, stretching into five lines 

or more, if the scale is big enough 

notes 

pauses 

b-flats 

ties 

endless 

persistent 

constant 

here 

hey. 

here

♫

.17

do you know the raindrops pearling on the windowpane
when the weather is changing so quickly that they become
a filter for a perfectly blue sky. can you remember
these thirsty winter walks when you are waiting
for the rain to come back, the prime sign of things changing
the glow of the first warm shower 

do you know the sound of strings when you stroke them with fingers
still soft from rain

♫

.16

how come the most shady minds are the most free ones as well? 

can it be that stars breathe darkness for life, sun being the greatest of them?

♫

.15

when your hair becomes heavy with tears
soaked and straightened to the ground

you contemplate the gravity
drinking tears from his navel

the last border

if the full moon makes people act crazy
what does it do with madmen

because i feel a strange peace
the only thing i cannot figure is
if it's the one of a seventy-year-old
or
the one of a newborn

♫ 

.14

[...] on your hands never seem to heal

on your arms, in the mirror, on your footsoles, across your chest, through shoulderblades
they run. the ones under your eyelids stop you from sleeping sometimes
the ones on your tongue make your voice break in the middle of
a word - sometimes - that should be inborn instead of learnt

scarsick

to get rid of this disease:
look down. watch the scarred hand
see a hand

it's alright, the stars are all aligned

when i surrender

back, joining the river, being the river
meaning - the same as the flow
follow and surrender, cease
to be the rock, cease
to cut the stream
be
water

♫