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Au dessus d'un cimetière aux tombes grises

Tombent les feuilles aux couleurs mortes 

Tandis que dégringolent au gré de la brise 

Des lambeaux de vie et d'espoir que l'on avorté

Le vent chante se sinistre mélodie, 

Soufflant les flammes de bougies heureuses 

Pendant que pleurent doucement à l'agonie

Les branches frêles de la sylve silencieuse 

Ne craint follement les feuilles qui tombent

Celui dont les pensées

Résonnent la nuit durant dans les catacombes 

Les plaintes de la forêt qui se meurt,

Seuls l'entendent ceux qui de la vie ont peur 

Et qui cherchent le sens à toute heure 

Du ballet de la chute des ombres brunes 

De la pâle froideur de la lune 

Alors sous le lierre et les ronces

On peut entendre un murmure, une sinistre réponse;

"Les morts ne parlent pas"

Un petit garçon regarde la Terre

De son nuage paisible d'argent.

Il aperçoit, tout en bas, la mer

immense et douce comme sa maman

Il regarde les arbres, les forêts

Les montagnes ensoleillées, les bergers

les villages, les enfants, les vergers

et voit doucement passer les années

Parfois il entend pleurer une fillette

Et tend l'oreille, d'un air alerte

L'enfant n'aime pas entendre la tristesse

Il préfère regarder les amoureux sur la plaga, 

observer les poissons sur le rivage

et regarder les petits chats qui naissent

Mais il est tard sur le nuage

Alors doucement l'enfant s'en va

Et retourne au pays d'où l'on ne revient pas.

My brother died,

And in his place;

I was born,

But I was repelled.

My mother threw me from the table,

Abused me, both mind and body.

My father never present,

And if so, he ignored me.

They left each other fast,

'Cause mother was a lesbian.

But my father needed a woman,

For his children and as a housewife.

The second was quite alright,

Even if she made me eat axis.

Only my sister I couldn't see,

That became off limits.

After years they had their divorce,

And then came the third, the most terrible.

My wicked stepmother,

The greatest dictator.

She tried to strangle my brother,

Then father did interfere.

She put me in the sanitarium,

With false motives, my fear.

Firstly in a crisis-centra,

'Cause I ran away from home.

Then in the sanitarium,

Where I for six months did roam.

In the sanitarium,

Provided with medication.

By which I lost my memory,

Crawling in the emptiness of chaos...

Regularly I suffered blackouts,

By which I saw nothing.

Not knowing what I did,

Much like sleep-walking;

And strange vistas occurred.

I wasn't suffering delirium,

Is what the doctors told.

So all this time,

I was in the asylum for no reason.

Then I had to go to boarding-school,

Where I developed something bad: anger.

I wanted to kill another, a female;

And Nyarlathotep, I am sorry;

Maybe I didn't wanted to commit this act,

But I had to from Satan...

What happened was unforeseen,

'Cause my room was now aflame.

The building completely in axis,

The police came to arrest me.

A year and a half in prison,

Locked away in a cell, in Hell.

A year and a half terror,

The bondage of society.

When I got out, there was another project,

Named room-training.

I had to work in a factory,

But that didn't end well...

I started to mutilate myself,

Which I learned in the sanitarium.

They send me to the hospital,

To the psychiatric division.

Then again to the crisis-centra,

Which I didn't liked at all.

As if I had to start over,

I couldn't take it anymore.

Through the open door I escaped,

And from my last money;

I buyed a train-ticket,

Which brought me to Ramses.

Every single note was a song in itself

And every little breath was a melody

And I, a painful ripping squeal

That bellowed from inside of me

Her crimson lips had softly smiled

As she sang angelically 

But no more than a dissonant chord

Was the best that I could be

Oh, angel of the nightly song!

How wrapped in you I have become!

How can I go, and sing alone

Shouting like a falling drum

I can't forget your heavenly voice

That pierced the ever-present noise

Through sky and the pervasive smog

To me, whom naught but death employs. 

Dramatic tunes play in my mind

as I wait in bed for your replies

Took a trip, tried to listen to

A Brief Inquiry Into Online Relationships

But boy, I really should take note

that 1975 was never the year

that the internet was born 

then lives got weird

Dramatic tunes swirl in my mind

Nauseating and mesmerizing, all at once

I trace all the pieces I could find

to draw the image that may resemble you

and draft the letters I could think of

but never would I send to you

Dramatic tunes leech on my mind

Trying to design my last demise

The nothingness on their side,

churning violence all coincide

Dramatic tunes play in my mind 

As I wait for your replies 

The darkness would soon arrive

here and hear my last goodbye

The flock of crows are closing in

Floating just three feet above

But then I feel my eyes flinch

As the phone buzzed

It only takes a whisper

To break an eternity of silence

It only takes hope

To dispel a world of fear

It only takes love

To erase a history of hatred

It only takes a touch

To wipe away a tear

As long as there are stars to see at night
There will be problems for us outside
And there's nothing to grant you a better life
Just the expectancy of something worse
Only to be surprised with something
Probably as good as it was in the beginning
And that's how life rolls
How Earth's still turns
And how dark takes over the sun
How the stars shine along

Hopeless and Denial

3/17/2019

Afraid,

Hopeless,

Fear.

Afraid to accept being single,

Scared of growing old alone,

Scared of getting screwed,

Hopeless that I am alone.

Who am I?

Why am I here?

I still ponder these words and phrases each day.

Sometimes I want to start again,

Other days I just want to be crazy stupid,

While the rest I want to get drunk.

Again, I ask myself,

Who am I?

Why am I here?

I see all my friends having loved ones, marriage, pregnant, etc… and then I see myself sitting here and not living my life to the fullest.

I try to update my online profiles or at least have a gal to notice me;

But then I re-read myself and I am sure every woman has heard all of the cheesy pick up lines all the men have told them… and I simply give up.

There have been days I simply have wanted to give my number to a coworker (or as theirs) or even more to a customer… But I feel stupid in doing so and become shy about my approach.  Because I am too afraid of denial.

As I always mention…

Who am I?

What do I want?

Why am I here?

I know try too much… I always have and I know women “sense” that… but do they also sense of how hopeless I truly am?  I do not want pity from them or sympathy; but I do pity myself all too much into denying on who I am.

I always tell my friends and coworkers… that they are always Number 1 just below my Family and that I am Number Two; but in reality, I am Number Five in my book… always last and never first.

Almost each night I cry myself to sleep… where sometimes I just want to spin myself in drinks and get drunk who knows where.

They always say that the “quiet” ones are the ones one should fear most; but sometimes the most talkative ones can be just as bad because they are afraid of being judge.

A long time ago, I accept that I am constantly talked about behind my back.  Especially at my age since of the job I currently do.. But that hasn’t stopped me on who I am nor will it ever!

 Society

Walking in my dream like state

wondering

when will it end?

The darkness

too overwhelming

to handly by myself

The lonliness 

too strong for me, 

for us

Who decided

to let me be like this?

Why am i the way i am?

People say

we can be who we want to be

but

thats not true. 

Society doesnt allow that.

We can try

but

society wont allow it.