An imbalance of adrenaline and melatonin.
Circling in pairs
In the North-West direction.
She wanted a crown of pearls,
but he gave her a pot of geraniums.
They lived, yet not long enough,
probably because they didn’t post enough cat pics.
They were drawing the air, but it turned into
a raging fire, and everything around was burning
while the trees were crying aloud.
It’s hot in the city during the second half
of this summer. An asphalt is melting in tired muscles,
And you can hear the mourning of the mute alarm.
While he was looking for Nirvana in the nerves of the subway,
She found her peace in the metaphor of Hexogen.
and when the Black Hole grows
it swallows all the emptiness inside
and the vacuum outside.
and the direction doesn’t mean anything
…… so is the time.
just an abstract:
to be able to feel
how you are getting old;
and everything around.
some moment it will implode
While the thick clouds
were raining sulk
down onto the sullen
Above the thick clouds
the cosmos was raining meteorites
in complete silence.
But nobody could see that.
she took with her the feeling of desolation and unrealized hopes.
last time I saw her standing in her persephonesque’ish pose
by the door.
through the bottomless pitch black well of her eyes
I had a glimpse of a silent river through
the scaffolding of the seven levels of hell.
“please, don’t follow me. I’ll take a subway”, she said.
when you open your front door
and behind that door
you find yourself standing
and asking for a shelter from the rain
and instead you’re offering a glass of water
and a handkerchief.
and then you close that door
and go back to the living room.
then you get on the couch
to watch a weather report
in the loop.
and the angel of death
is sitting next to you
sipping a herbal tea
from a blue porcelain cup with the gold trim
and a matching saucer.