Poetry

Darkness doesn´t scare me; 
isolation does. 
The cold wind 
blowing soft needles 
between the thinning threads 
of an unwashed blue hoodie does. 

Prosperity is sickness. 
Courtesy is blind 
on an evening stroll 
through urban-planned beauty, 
and you are broken 
like me. 


Torture: 
        is the way you put faith 
        in something that will never 
        love you back. 

        is the way you drool over 
        the prose of half-naked half-wits 
        because their juices 
        dribble 
        on the tip 
        of your tongue. 

        to wake up 
        and play the same piano scales 
        without ever listening 
        every morning. 

        to fall asleep 
        in the warm bosom 
        of archaic tradition 
        without ever caring 
        every night.