Below

Deep below my skin
Awakened again
Stirred from the depths
I stared at myself
Blurred in the mirror
Something misplaced
Easy to miss
My skin removed
Removed like bark from a tree
worn by a creature
Not man or beast
A plague with no name
A thing which drowns all joy
A death which no one here would mourn

Burning

I see stars burning to dust,
they sigh and crumble,
leaving their mark; an empty husk

Be embraced by their light,
dying and therefor loving,
A fruit which has turned beautifully ripe

The sky is full of love,
I see it falling,
its strings have been cut
my heart is thawing

Come stars and sky, rest in my arms
you shall find peace,
together, free from all harm

The Garden

The sun burned upon their garden,
melting the ice which nested there.
Old memories resurfaced as the statues weeped,
spring had come and with it came flowers fair
Rebirth from sun where ash became fire and bone to meat.
A while garden blooming with lilies and dahlias
friends returning with haste
for they knew soon they’d share summer’s embrace

Their statues with tears shed and nothing else to give
turned their gaze to what once had been.
To guard against the ever closer creeping frost,
giving way for brighter days,
succumbed in a light that has yet to be seen.
And the droplets of tears shed, sprung from the past to the future
as a warning to those who came next
winter could come and that winter could stay
giving no child or un-bearing adult rest
until a grave unattended is all that is left.

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Jag lever

Mitt hjärta blöder en sorg
Utan ord och utan vila
Något brustet, en kristall i bitar
Allt levandes förflyttat till dödens torg
Men jag är i liv, här har jag funnit mitt
En sång i gråtandes form
Tårar färgade snövitt
Havet som i sin medmänsklighet gråter

Beklagade och förstående  

Medan jag endast lyssnar och förlåter
Döden sitter och håller henne i sin tröst
Vakande som en förälder i ett rått minne

Och mitt leende avspeglas på hennes läppar
Hon ligger i en dröm jag vågar ej avbryta
Inga ord vill jag utbyta
De som sades i tystnad och hördes av ingen
Räckte väl för all framtid
I alla kommande liv

Här sover hon sött
Mellan allt levande, med hav och död i sin famn
Alltid nu med kära vänner, en kärlek nyfött

Tårar mina, vänner från en annan värld
Lycka eller sorg, vet ej längre vad skillnaden är
Tystnaden är allt som hörs
Och det finns inget mer jag behöver se
Från detta ögonblick jag frigörs
Så att jag kan låta nästa ske

Röda Moln

Kan du berätta vad jag är?
Vem jag är?
Vad jag ser?

Vad jag inte ser?

Vad som finns framför mig, enligt mig och mina skadade ögon?
Jag skulle säga
Om jag ägde orden

Den korrekta samlingen av ordförråd som kan tilltala
Det där något som sjuder inom mig

Men jag har inga sådana ord

Min mun är sydd för att tilltala ingen

Gjord endast för tystnad

Mitt leende värmer ingen

Min glädje liknar ej eran

Den växer som en parasit att utplåna.


looks of concern

Maybe I will see

even when my eyes are gone

Maybe I will find a way

for the world to enter me

and leave me alone

I’d dream but my head is light
and I fall

I know that now
I cannot be this forever
even if I tried
I’d fail
as would all

Maybe I need to see
through my missing eyes
and light the fire in my heart

All I need is in front of me

Am I damaged?
Am I sane?
Who can tell
If I won’t tell?

Who can know
If I never let them in

I just wanted to see
what is in the mirror first

Someday
I could change

and if I dared
even if my eyes were gone

Maybe I would see again

Frigörelsen

Frigör mig
Förgör mig


Låt mig brinna i fred om jag brinner, i friden finner jag allt som binder mig
Min vilja, långt borta, i att leva, besviken, inte sörjande, inte lidande

Jag brinner i de lågor som jag klär mig i, de lågor som också bekymrar dig
I min besvikelse som tar tag i min själ och dansar djupt ner till det väntande som beger mig inget

Desto mer jag talar desto mindre äro orden mina
Men jag står rakryggad, full på intet, trött på dagen, och ännu har jag än inte påbörjat livet

Jag vill så mycket, och ändå har jag fullfört inget

I min egen avspegling så finns jag inte, det är något där på den sidan som inte är jag
Som lever i annan värld, i fin värld som brinner i lågor som består av blommor och liv
Inget mörker som håller den världen fånge, det är en värld som jag önskar vore min

men oavsett hur mycket jag bryter ner min spegelbild kan jag inte bege mig in i det vackra
I det spruckna, blod dränkte glas, där jag finner mitt underland

Det är flykten jag söker, flykt från behaget, av lågorna
Det är min flykt jag söker, mina vingar jag vill slå ut och fly över himmel och bort från jord
Det är mitt jag vill ha, mitt som jag själviskt ska slå runt och gömma
För mig, och bara för mig, ska Jag dyrka mitt, höja mitt till nya upplevelser, bort från lågor
I min egen frid, där jag söver min beklagelse med lycka, glädjen

Det är människorna som jag beklagar, de människor som inte förstår, eller har glömt
Flykten från behag och in till sitt eget

Desto mer jag talar desto mindre betyder mina ord
Jag beger mig in i tystnaden, där endast jag står säker
Utan fel, och utan rätt, säker från allt som skulle kunna såra mitt hjärta, och läka min själ

Det är drömmen jag söker, den dröm som jag kan gömma mig i, den dröm som får mig att känna mig i liv, den dröm som ej är verklig, men ändå på något sätt så den min verklighet. Ett behag som får mig njuta och le i andra sken än de som egentligen finns. Skratt och snyftande som finns djupt inom mig men kommer endast fram i drömmen. I det overkliga, där som jag vill finnas, och där jag vet att jag kommer trivas.

Jag vill ut, kasta mig ut från bo så att jag kan försöka fly innan det är försent
Det är det jag vill

Kasta ut mig, låt mig falla

Min vilja som drar ifrån mig
Min vilja som lämnar mig trött och besviken
Men det är allt jag vill och det är inte alltid det kommer vara förståeligt för dig
Att leva ger mig, stundvis, glädje utan liken
Låt mig ha min frid
Om jag förgör mig, då är det bara jag som kan återskapa jaget
Tro på mig medan jag frigör mig
Tro på mig, jag försöker endast hitta vad jag vill
Mer än så kan jag ej begära
Desto mer jag säger, desto mer människor från mig försvinner
Tills det enda som är kvar är det vulgära
En kropp uppdelad utav eld som, i alla tusen färger, så fruktansvärt brinner

Desto mer jag lever, desto mer är det av mig jag förlorar

Change of heart

What is this beat my heart so eagerly pursues
A stroke of light and hope it never seizes to abuse
I was created with frail bones and dirty skin
lasting only by keeping it all within

This bloomed me into a hollow man wielding wavering smiles on bloated lips
hiding everything I knew and felt behind a wall made of fleshy bricks
still my heart, and maybe even my soul, demanded hope to thrive
even though I must have given up long ago in another life

Were I so kind to dismantle myself and reveal to all my heart
maybe then I could grow strong without ever falling apart
but here I stand naked and bare worded in front of what I called defeat
and now I must alter my words to let it become my victory complete

This house is my jail as long as it is treated as such
And while I still draw breath, a change of heart is needed much
A cage can be a home to those afraid to fly
but fear not, nothing will last beyond forever, I am yet not afraid to die

Reborn

I hung from the umbilical cord
A fruit from a world unknown
A noose made of flesh and love
Binding me to my mother's blood
Cut these ropes and I shall fall
Back to where I once came
A womb with loving walls
Hiding me from sin and shame
Loved by my own
Alone
inside my mother's room
Chewing away the dust from moon
Afraid to step into the light of sun
There's not space enough inside this womb
Wish I could crawl out to live
What flavors I'd taste that the world had
What flowers the world I'd give
To leave this room so mad
Tightly beating her heart next to mine
Reminding me that my life is borrowed
A life most undefined
By its insignificance to me bestowed
I'm an infant unknown in a world too known
I will hang myself with my mother's old umbilical cord

And I wake once more

From me to you

Take me away from all gloom and hate
Replace it with summer nights and rain
A sea of wishes and beauty to descend like snow
Upon the place where winter barely shows

Oh mother your fair body stretches over the earth in your watery shade
Reminding me why the moon turns so pale
at the sight of your risen form
to which my heart does contort

Pride, steal my soul
And let the sea fill that hole.
Connected by stars and space,
Through winds and mountains,
From heart to art,
Take me from gray city streets
To some place I can't recognise
Some joy and smiles,
Take me there even if it's too late
Even if there's no light to shine
And before I go through heaven's gate brilliantly

Bury me in Italy

gears of the mechanical heart

Were it so I had my hands on a bird
I’d pluck it apart until all that was left
Was its tiny still beating heart.
With that heart I would create a tiny friend.
A sweet friend without words or voice,
It’d stare at me begging me to love it.
And I would. I would love it so much
That the blood spills over in its cup of heart,
No longer bird and never will it understand
What it has become through my hands.

That friend I’d keep, and together we’d watch

Its old body rot and decay in seas it never seen.
It’d be my child. My heir. My legacy to the world.
A machine with the heart of something alive
Something that still feels through its mechanical gears
And still cries even without eyes in its sockets.
And it would be mine. My sweet little thing.

Tears that became doves

I've shed my tears in my childhood

Now I spend life trying to regain that mood of lust

Whatever trust in myself I had confide

With no masks or sides

Just a frail smile weakly broken

A hollow core hardly proven

No morality, only thoughts of mortality

I'm moving like a ghost of a memory

A reflection projected on a side of dreams I've forgotten that I could see

Seeing thunder painting gray skies to a more blooming light

Red colored snow rising into abysses where there is none to feel

A memory rediscovered, were I really that shallow?

What fruity tears I've shed for something I cannot meet

Slowly carving myself hollow with someone else's teeth 

What taste I have found in delights not part of me

I'd like to forget where I was born, start anew where I can sow

A life not taken in the place of my own, can I really ask for more?

A child's love ever pure, twisted heart strung by ropes

Hoisted on the branches of the world and with all to see

The bruised, beaten and lame thing that became of me

I grit my teeth as the rope tightens to a close

Sent from my womb into the arms of hope

Crowned silly and spoiled, even if I was starved to the bone

Here at the end of the world, truly I have found my home. 


Autumn leaves

Autumn leaves are the petals of my long lost love's rose

I now accept that path that you in ancient times hastily chose

And Wings of ravens have become the sound that you make when you speak

They are your tongue with their raven clothed words, no longer pale and no longer bleak

And No more do you smile, you lie in repose in our open bed of love

silent you Stare up at the burning heavens above

And even though it's next to you that I lie, 

it seems to me that my eyes have found a different sky

What wonders have it we stare at the same tree through different times

You see it blooming and I see a withering thing waiting to die

The heavens cursed the heathens heaving us down with their dirt

A burial with the semi dead, their gravel staining my buttoned up shirt

Alas the heavens were untouched by their simple symphony

Quick they threw in the cloak of unquestioned evil tyranny 

And so I am sorry that I must add that in the end no one cried

Not even I, my tears had since long dried

So hushed the autumn leaves fell from the plucked rose

Down upon this grave you too hastily chose

The choice that should have been mine

What wonders in the world was created first and rediscovered after long rest far from the past and age it had come to know? How many of these wonders are left undiscovered, yet to be unearthed, to be found and grounded once more in the hearts of the descendants of their creators? The distance between the hearts of creation and of the beholders is so vast that they don’t necessarily have to be the same kind, they could be something other than human, but they are human, and so we know our heritage. The language that they spoke, the words they portrayed their poetry and their drama, it laid the foundation of what we are today, from so far away, to here where their hearts never stayed. Will our wonders of today leave this earth to be discovered later on by others, that will look upon us as we look back 2000 years in bewildered thought and imagination? How much of it will change? What values will the things created now have later in life meeting the crescendo of our species? None of us, no matter what age we were in born, had the choice of life. We just simply was. Created out of love, or greed, or need, or hate, or crime, or comfort, or companionship, or labour. Our lives had meaning to some extent, but meaning and definition can be blurred by ages come and ages gone. What is my definition now does not determine my definition tomorrow. If I was born from love, I could be needed for comfort later. It is unwise to think about tomorrow, it is another you, with another purpose, with another desire to do with this life that they had been with bestowed. To one who stares in from the window glass and watches upon the despicable forms that the human takes on each day, what masks it decides to wear on that particular occasion, it must be so strange to see this undefined line of almost outlandish behavior rationalized and idealized into laws and governments of human society. Humans are still animals, dictated by hierarchies and pretending to be better than the other animals for they have the ability to wear clothes over their naked skin, to conceal lies with masks and false smiles. In truth it is just so that our barbaric nature enforces a more aggressive society, we are nothing more than wolves in suits and we have been since the birth of our kind. I could not stand being born  and the thought of giving birth to the same pain in a creature that would be my child, that thought I found repulsive. My children would be lesser than me as I was lesser than my parents. Dictated by this hierarchy of age and experience. No one asked me if I wanted this. I wish I had received that question.

16

I have been sleeping for sixteen days
or 16 hours
or 16 weeks
It’s hard to tell
Time is cloudy when you sleep
it doesn’t matter in your dreams
I slept for a very long time and I woke up as someone else
I don’t recognise my face in the mirror anymore
I woke up in a stranger’s body
That face is not me
it has never been

I don’t know who I am anymore
All I was, was that face which has never been me
How do I wake from this?
dreams that I must be experiencing
how do I make them go away?

I don’t want this reality
I want something else
for 16 hours I was unaware
16 weeks I saw myself like something other
Where the trees has stopped growing
where the ocean is always still
Where the wind has been silenced
there I spent my 16 days
A dead husk of something beautiful that was
I don’t want to die
but I don’t want to be
I wish to passively cease
and make this face my own, a friend
might I always be a stranger
but never shall I dream and be in pain
it is the time I spent 16 years not knowing who I was
that I dread to fall back into again

Eternity's grace

For a second or an eternity, it was hard to tell, they all disappeared from my vision and I sat alone in darkness, no eyes to judge or any real semblance of a living thing, no doctor, no woman, no children. Just me alone upon my chair. I was dreaming, or I must have been, I was awake or sleeping, realising soon I was in the middle of a black hole swallowing tons of stars in its whirlpool of inducing and alluring force of gravity. As the stars screamed and ceased I sat still, watching the rays of colors devoured and sunken deep into a place of no radiance or any celestial body, simply a hole in something cosmic and unspoken. Otherworldly it was, scarce I shudder, if anything where I live could be this dark and be so beautiful that my very eyes cannot stare away from its gravitational grace, then oh humanity would be ruined in the blink of an eye, or an eternity as it was hard to tell. Soon though, after enjoying the bits of stars still lingering and being devoured by this abyssal hole, I saw myself descending above and into the same whirlpool that the stars had been caught in, but I was not devoured nor did my radiance seize even for a second. More magnificent a star had I not ever witnessed, birthed new or dying old, my skin was dressed in the flames of even a brighter existence than theirs for they were blue and red intertwining, reaching into the parts of each other to complete the unfinished and bury the already done, the light was so bright I had look away, just for a second, though I was driven back shortly to gaze in awe of the descension of this other me, but then I heard myself speak.
“How can it be so that in a place where there is no light, that it is I who shine so brilliantly, I who am no sun or moon, why do I embody the radiance that this abyssal hole cannot swallow?”

In the moment that the last words were spoken I realised that I was staring at a mirage and that I never had been seated and always had I been falling.


The Little Boy

There was once a little boy with lips sewed shut by thin silver threads.
He had been telling lies, you see, and no one believed a word he said, or so he thought to himself.
It came to him that the words he used to enchant everyone meant nothing,
and so he stole a sewing kit from his little mother
and pressed the needle with the threads into his lips over and over
until the stitches covered his lying smile.
When he was done he broke off his fingers.
No more lies, written or spoken.

Now with his lips sealed and his fingers broken,
how would he tell mesmerising beauty apart from the horrifying ugly?
All he had left was his little body,
fragile and unattractive to the naked eye.
The little boy was so conflicted as there was something deep inside of him,
still lingering that,
even though he could not speak,
spoke to him.
It told him of a great hole that he knew to be true,
a hole deep inside as the whisper that spoke,
a missing piece.
He pondered if everyone was missing a piece of themselves
or if he was alone.
He felt alone.
With words he spoken and lied for love to come,
with words he had written and portrayed his love for others,
lying he had gotten their hearts.
Without words, written or spoken,
would he keep the hearts he loved with his lies?

The little boy did not know the answer to the question,
he feared its answer,
but he did not want to lose what he had earned.
So one night he ran out of his little home and far far away home to all those he loved,
and there at their wonderful home he tore out their hearts,
for safekeeping,
and ran back home where he kept a metal box.
This little box was smaller than him,
but it was stronger,
for unlike himself the box never lied,
it never used any word at all,
it simply had just one key that unlocked its chest and that was it.
Inside its chest it kept all the anger that ever was and ever could be,
reasonably there was no room for love
but the boy was being unreasonable
and forced down the hearts there anyway and locked the box.

One by one his loved ones left,
going to better world,
for his world was twisted and ugly,
and none ever loved him,
they loved the words he took away and not in his chest where he had all his hate.
Eventually he was all alone and had forgotten how a voice sounds like,
he undid the stitches that caused him such loneliness,
just to hear his voice once again,
but when he did
his tongue spoke on its own
”I am everything I hated”
not wanting to hear more
and without second thought the little boy ripped the tongue out of his mouth.

The little boy died soon by the loss of blood he suffered,
on his grave no flowers were given
nor did they carve a tombstone with his name.
He was forgotten by the world
and everyone lived happily ever after

Clockwork of the Mechanical Heart

The doors opened and the blood poured out.
Less so than the church had allowed.
Mocked and ridiculed stood god on a blazing stair.
Not one cloth he bore and showed his all to his dear.
Instead he spoke, and speak he did of many things,
of virtue and of good old sins.
Praise he did not shun us,
he commended and saluted our beings.
Words traveled far but they were known to be fleeting.
The machines of man had opened many doors.
There they had changed our wars.
Falseness clothed in words of tongue,
pretending to be god his own.
Man by his machines bypassed his own growth,
and created god,
valued as such,
worshipped as such.
There could be none other to take that seat above us,
than the creature handmade by man.
Woven into creation to be better than the rest and guided by some otherworldly plan,
but purity of all fallen and decayed,
in some other animal it lurks again,
as we are stuck with a grim smirk,
painted by a false heart mounted upon the gears of clockwork.