Poetic Death

To exit from fool's paradise, and be rustic
Forceful awakening so unrealistic
It feels comfortable to find that you're a dumb
I will laugh until wind chills my gum

When I lie back, obsessions are slain
Like the illicit holy saints' chain
Not too faithful I pierce my skin and dig my trench
And survive not long before I break my branch

Why do I have to share your tragic fall
Oh who do you wish for when you fall
Hang on steadily as when you were zealous
So nothing's worth ending jealous

A space floating outside my window
I will follow wherever you may go
Why don't you be my lover still
With a not very holy grail to fill

justify the means
justify all means
justify the means
justify all means
love is always a poetic death

23 September 2009

E.

Perpetal Youth

drug me some noble notions
over elaborate, impractical illusions
guided by the list of missing people
to a dart field where I fail to hit reason
making passage through epochs of decadence
striding every world's corner, schemes redesigned
mountain of dead papers not so care about dead trees

yearning for myths, proud catch
I am the three-legged in sphinx's riddle
with the dispelled earth crawling under my barefoot
so alive, so immune to establishment
with fever in my soul I'm in a healthier shape
I haven't gone too far this is just certain altitude
a venture to the empty road knows where

adopted by evil God king born in dignified vice
named after the Goddess of Youth
total curse to the old tired expired justice
everyone acts like me but I can't get a picture of those
never enough to be just a single person
ignoring the luxuriously poor splendor
every tightened fist smells honey milk sugar gold

23 September 2009
(nothing's actually wrong when you're young)

Grass on My Father's Grave













And then I took the scissor
And started to crop a tiny area
They grew strong and lush
Soiled and nourished
by the decaying body down there

And then I handed the scissor to my sister
to escape from charge of guilt and devotion
But she told me that grasses need to die
Because they need to regenerate

(March 2009)

(warning: boring rhymes of nonsensical rant)

Born 21

When I was 21
Imagination of god and what's sacred
was being cloaked or crucified naked
Imagination of pornography
between procreate or procrastinate trophy
Imagination of the megalomaniac
being egomaniac or soothed by prozac

When I was 21
afraid of my inner appearance
and longed for disappearance
bought and sold my own heaven
no idea what will be on my 27
my vibe scattered to a million
being heterophobia to sophophilia

When I was 21
I was a legitimate subgenre
space that small but enough to pray
forced for a character murder
to suffer and be a mother
divorced with naivety
while I yearned for longevity

When I was 21
I wanted to be 21x4
When no power allocates for my rage
Energy personified only for old page
I wanted to be 21x4
When men don't talk to my breast
And hormones cannot protest
I wanted to be 21x4
Children stay away from my smell
Leave the war hang in my teenage cell

As I leave my 21
You can see me packing my bag for good

(20 October 2008)

Next. Next. Next.

to kill or be killed is an easy lesson
beautiful, majestic demolition
too much names in my head
I can't remember and cry over their stories
season change, does age change
Haunted by great great grandfather's war
Our heroes
Our martyrs
We are ready to worship
the ground you've walked on
But time do not own us
Then why belong to generations?
Dear Father where can I find you
I need to talk about.:
Next. Next. Next.

(March 2009. Reading Fathers and Sons)

rebel or noble

seven times reading the same book
seven times the hurt
just because you don't know nothing about God
that doesn't mean no one can
just because it is your body
that doesn't mean you can do what you want
we've suffered a lot to find truth
but you haven't find the depth
the burden of your moral
lighter than artificial intelligence
rebel or noble

(January 2009)


Totalita

You're a dictator's pet
You're your own personal pet
You're your own personal mascot
You're your own show mascot
You don't want to be parted
You don't want to be total
Your own father
locks you in a gulag
Your thoughts full of bureaucratic obstacle
and dies before reaching the heart
No country is better
You're confused
You're deluded
I'm offering nothing
We shall help each other out
from this media circus

(June 2006)

Hide and Seek with Chameleon
















hide and seek with chameleon
change follows me on and on
careless about the treason
in this land of hypocrisy
where equity tastes greasy
is that trust you see?

(Everything's under negotiation. Listening to Nicky Wire 'I Killed the Zeitgeist'. Image is 'Picasso's Woman Playing a Mandolin')