30 august 2020
The Exit
The sleep was disturbed.
A book reads me.
The thinker will not rest in the arms
of Morpheus.
There is no road. You will
walk in the kitchen for the last supper.
A scream in the throat
dies. I have no soul. The night
looms large. I will not surrender
my pen.
Unquenchable thirst
was me. My head in a spin,
I go beyond the words,
to find the clapping hands.
18 september 2025
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17 september 2025
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16 september 2025
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16 september 2025
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16 september 2025
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15 september 2025
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14 september 2025
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13 september 2025
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12 september 2025
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9 september 2025
absynt