The Invisible Hand

My heart's arteries clogged
With your fingertips
And our hands half a decade apart
But it's all great because
Hand-holding is so redundant
In this world of adult smiles
And adult minds

So much so that nobody minds
That this intimate practice
Is replaced by pocketing
And window punching
And picture taking of the mundane
Sunsets nobody cares to share with
Anyone they don't have an internet 
Connection with

Anyway, I sigh and remember
The first law of existence:
I've got to save a bit of myself for tomorrow.
Cause there's nobody from whom I could
A bit of me.
I use my hands to make shadow butterflies
And butter-fry fantasies for the little kid
I nurture inside.

The good jobs of tomorrow will go
To the ones with hands-on experience
Of the industry. And those with rich parents
But we don't talk about the last part
Because last parts and partings and
Always hurt...

When I retire, my boss will hold my hands.
She will look me deep in the eyes and
Say: You've been a good dog/boy!
And I will bark happily and wag my tail!
Finally being able to allow myself
To love
And fail..

Weakly Affirmations


As we saw earlier in the weak

To love someone is not enough

Sometimes (or maybe always)

And even if you're tempted

To call this the saddest thing


You shouldn't.

Because there are far sadder

Things in this life


You should just take care

Not to hurt people that love you

And yes, even if I'm tempted to say

"And not love people that hurt you"

I won't.


Because life springs 

Through rocks, and pavements

And gravestones

And rose fields, poppy fields

Bacteria even form

On used heroin needles


And the needless



Even poemless




And sometimes that's ok

Even if I am tempted to say


This is sad and life is bad.


You need to know (and believe) 


Love should and therefore can

Make this all

A bit more



And I hope this poem

Made you smile. 


Like a raindrop in the sun!

Jokes Aside 

I am tall as fall
Banks call my name
And I dream of deadbeat
Heroin library sunsets.

Hope to find them soon.
I have to get a job later
Pay mouths and feed bills etc.

She wouldn't find it funny and 
I wouldn't find it at all.

Now jokes aside 
Inside the skin
We're all keen 
To sin.

But that doesn't excuse
My muse
Or me for not
Come cold or hot

I fought and tried
Yet strokes and jokes
And jokes aside

She lied and I
And even if the sea 's forbidden

You'll always find
Some hidden
Pool to drown
And drool
And drown again

The ones you bite
Will always pain
You back
Through bites
Or lack
And after 

Suffer. But don't in fact
I'll try to keep my soul intact

My previous tears reflect
Your laughter.

Money Heist (a series of) 


Stockholm Syndrome, fake friends
Ancient wisdom, toxic people
Same means - different ends

I can't justify you this time.
Shouldn't have done so before.
More so, your lack of
Empathy, ecstasy

Simplify, to dignify you
With poetry is
Fuck that song
That reminds me of your laughter

Hitherto and thereafter
Silence will fall
Like a guillotine wall.

Even if it takes a million years
I promise to preserve
Everything inside of me
But you

Go now, adieu
Sweet Romeo your Juliette
Was no Rapunzel
And being a bad person
Is hardly a puzzle
To be solved by me
At least

Out of the heroin rush - I rise like yeast! 

Without respect for each, none and any
Sick fishes in a sea of many

That gave my million dollar
Royal Bank of Pain
A penny.

Choice Cream


I should find a girl and
Fuck her up for good
So that whenever I'm
Insecure or alone
Or feel that it's all meaningless
I'll at least know that
There's one pathetic, obedient
Little dog
That thinks of me
And barks all night
Till I return.

I should but I won't.
Because angels cry each time
I see you.
And because someone has to break
This damned cycle.
And because washing machines 

Next time, I'll kiss the love of my life
On the lips first, then on the forehead
She'll look up and I'll see in her eyes
The gratefulness of all those women
That didn't have their hearts broken
By me, at least
Or one of my species.

And the clocks will stop screaming 
That I haven't lived or licked 
And the you you you sound the
Faulty faucet in my brain makes
Will sound like my childhood's
Ice cream truck
Sirens at last. (And again)

If I had a nickle, this time
I would spend it on ice cream.
No bank deposits, no throwing it on the
Street for someone else to find 
A lucky charm. Or make his day.

I missed ice cream.
Even if they had to remove my tonsils and
Half my lung 
From all the frostbites 
Your hypothetical lips
And sizzling body


To accomplish.

The Haunting


In haunted attics

I reside

Spider webs cover my

Blinded eyes

Struck down years on the wall

Draw the outline of my love for you

Not our love

My love, the corpse of it

I burried deep inside

I wash its bones each sunday night

Bring it flowers every once in a while

I weep for it behind my naked smile.


The boy I came across one day

At school so many years ago

Was too naive to let me know

That years are serpents feasting

On their tail.


She's so much better

The mirage

In my sahara heart

You gave me dried up bits of bread

She gives me dripping chocolate fudge


In haunted attics 

I reside 

The house awakens day by day 

And cleans and cooks and procreates. 

The dust is covering my limbs

With hoover lungs I fantasize

Of streamless joys

And endless ways

Used needles on the floor betray

The essence of the truth

Behind your lies


Rat poison and magnolia in the air

In haunted attics

I reside


In haunted attics

I just sit and stare

Perplexed together,

On a big brass bed

The corpses of my past

And Selfless self

And of the woman 

That I thought

You were. 

Farewell, Narcisse


The tree is tired now.

And I can't blame it

And you can't blame it

And I'm thinking that this blaming game

Is unnecessary or at the very least



I'm done being drowned in the pond

Where you continuously court

Your reflection.

The interrogation is pointless.

You can try and drown me as much as you want. 

I'll never say I love you 



Because I don't love you anymore

Oh dear Narc 

And that's the truth. 


And interrogations are meant to discover

The truth.

Otherwise, they are just tiring. 

Or at the very least,


Prosac Intermission 4


It was 3 in the morning. Even cats were ungrateful for the noise of their mid-street conversation. 


Why would you do this? She said.


Because I want to, he said.


Why would you want this? She said.


Because it's the only thing I can be sure you don't want. He said.


This is crazy! she said,

Why would you want something simply because I don't want it? 


Because you have a way of making sure 

I give you only what you want. He said. 


We all do! She said. We all want things and try to get them. This is human! We are human! 


The conversation was turning into the same old same old. Everything bad is human, everything good is  

Too romantic and unattainable. 


He didn't reply. He put a cigarette into his mouth. Lit it. Took a few puffs.


Chooo chooo! He shouted as he exhaled the smoke from deep within. 

Choooooo chooooo! 


See, now I'm a train. He said. 

I can be a train if I want to. 

I can meow, and be a cat. I can laugh at your face and be a hyena. This. This is Human.


This is what being human is all about. 


She started tearing up. After all, she knew him well enough. She knew where this was headed. 


So.. choice? This is about choice? She asked in a broken voice.


Free. He said. Free choice. 


He took a last drag. His cigarette was running out. 


Choooo! Choooo! He said. The last of the smoke leaving a trail from his now distancing lungs all the way  

To her. 


The female voice in his head was stern, but polite:


"The train is about to leave the station. Please stand clear of the closing doors."