man atop the mountain
nothing waits
on the other side,
only yet another long day
of no purpose,
with no goals to achieve,
no accomplishments.
the sun is shining,
there's nothing left
and the blue sky explodes
in a blast of glory,
leaving behind nothing but razed fields.
from the depths of the sea
the monsters come crawling,
slowly, devastatingly
and the laughter echoes across the skies,
traversing cities and continents
filling everyone with despair.
desolation,
everything is ruined,
nothing but debris
of what once was.
and standing tall,
the lone dark figure
that refuses to die,
somewhere atop a tall mountain
staring and observing,
smiling at the destruction.
lighthouse
from faraway
the distant light
tries to break the silence
of the endless night.
a lonesome lighthouse
lost amidst the heavy mist,
trying to brighten up the day
of countless wandering souls
searching for a purpose.
last walk through the absent streets
fond memories,
images all around;
each creating a story,
each apartment
another steamy night,
meant to be forgotten
into the oblivion of numbers.
numbness,
as it's all about to be left behind,
forever;
joy, for abandoning the old and rotten,
yet fear, too,
for the new is old
and there's nothing there even resembling hope.
alas! for once no promises,
no future bright foretold by the stars.
only the bleakness of the dark night,
the coldness of the blanket made of snow,
the warmth that only the needle can provide
and the absolution found
when there's not a sip left
in the bottomless bottle of bourbon.
lonesome ride
lonesome rides
into the dead of the night;
forging new lives, creating
memories out of the mist.
digging up corpses,
burying others alive.
setting fire to the mountains,
drowning the forests.
lonesome rides
into the darkest midnight.
head to head with the monsters,
eager, ready, willing
to perish.
nothing happens,
lonesome rides into
the night.
forget me, leave me behind,
like I did.
it's alright.
I stopped feeling
the first time the needle pierced my virgin vein.
it's alright, I said then,
it's fucking alright, I say now.
always the same,
lonesome rides
into the dead of the night.
going back HOME
there is no place
like a flowery meadow
with no lights,
where bumblebees come to play;
searching for meaning
in the bottom of overpriced beer
(tasting like piss),
and in prepaid lips of dead dreams.
forever in the shadows
—always hiding are the true flowers—
lurking, waiting,
granting wishes to stubborn children;
can you even hear me?
the moments gone,
the kisses forgotten.
drowned in the great ocean.
devoured are the memories;
there's no reason to return.
only to move forth.
go back home.
the only place where
the soul comes alive;
the flames are bright and strong.
the mornings are forever erased;
wallet's constantly empty.
it's alright,
and you'll go back
(night after night).
because
