mrscyanide

1. Never allow the other to go to sleep sad. If you are so angry that you can’t talk, at least hug him.
2. Trust him. If he said, that he will come, but doesn’t, don’t make any assumptions, just know, that he wanted his best, but could not do. He won’t use this principle for his good, if he is worthy.
3. I need to feel love by physical reminders, that I can eat, smell, carry around or sleep on. Especially, if he is a lot away. This is how I feel safe. (And this is how I fall in love again and again, in spite of psychology theories.)
4. Fuck him with your eyes now and then.
5. Don’t argue. Ask, always ask. Encourage him to ask and understand.
6. Don’t lie. He is supposed to love you for who you are, not the part of you that you are demonstrating.
7. Once you chose him, YOU HAVE CHOSEN HIM. There is no doubt, no way back, no other way but to love and to trust. Because this is how you love, it describes you and this is the only way how you feel is right to exist. You are exactly this wonderful.

imma poet-

it describes me

not being able or allowed to say things out straight;

and a decent language

is supposed to be my tool.

well, guess what-

as your messy room told me

you did not expect my love;

among all the borders of politics

books of botanics

understandings that existence is meaningless

wet spots on the sheets

my bleached hair in your bed

(found a week after I left)

–

I love you fucking .

I want to go with you

wherever your deeds lead you-

if that is hell

then I want to be bad.

And I know…

yeah, my pathetic addiction.

. Pure cocaine goes though your heart,

this is the heart

I am blind by.

One day I will have to choose-

to be happy,

or to be a poet.

The irony is-

people want to be inspired

by the poets.

Can you be inspired

by misery?

I am longing for the nonexistent space

between our palms,

joined in unholy prayer

while screaming “Oh God”.

Like a blind I could draw the salients

of your tattooed skin,-

I have walked there enough

with all my body,

my whole existence

sticking against yours.

I don’t want to go to Paris with you,

I want to get high,

to get higher,

to get a common shape with your shadow,

cause that means we are in light;

we are delighted

in the sounds of Nine Inch Nails.

You help me to belong to myself

by the space created

when you turn your back.

The space always forms what we have,

not what we have not.

And since the day

when your body started to recite the poetry,

there are missed only the shittiest poems

left to said,

like this one.

Your spine is like trunk

shimmering with strain

and I am a snake

twisting around it

you bend my head back

so that my look impinges yours

and you can own my being fully

we are dying little by little-

so anarchical act of losing

ourselves for the moment

life vomits its truth onto us

that only by losing

we can have it all.

I kiss the wisdom

that lies in your palms

and I am leaving

[I let it go]

so that I can come back.

Tell me the pictures

haunting you.

You close your eyelids-

to see more fully.

God was there.

and you love Eve

in every woman

passing you.