the real me?
I sang upon the hills every last letter I had inside of me
trying to give them tune and life
when i understood that they were only letters
cast from my mind into a net of words swimming inbetween people
how could i believe these fragments of thought?
that would change shape in fornt of any person watching them?
how it pained me until i udnerstaood
the pain was part of the singing letters too
who is the one
knowing all this?
the loving death
there is this longing to posess more
thirsting after death in overwhlmedness
to slowly drown in senses to the point
where senses are no more
like being a fetus in the womb
where perception shuts down and the only thing left
is heartbeat, warmth and everlasting closeness
eyes are closed without possibility to open
only watching inwardly
in this endless moment where the only thing
is the presence of being alive
and loved
I am not whole
cries the human soul out
in desperation
always wanting to climb
posses, feel, grab, expand, buy, chase, dream, yearn, long, struggle for
I have lived on the lip of insanity. Wanting to know reasons. Knocking on a door, it opens. I have been knocking from the inside!
