Some poetry

Miscellaneous aspects of life

The Voice Of Despair

Triangles of half-open doors Reveal all the truth that is hidden: Just condoms and cans on the floor, Black papers with verses, forbidden - Unfinished remakes of the song,

Every Single Evening's Plot

I closed the door of my dirty old flat, I went outside for a short evening stroll. I bought some cheap hooch and a condom instead. I'd only arrived when I heard a phone call.

Hope-less

Deceptive freedom. Honest lies. A charming, yet so dreadful guise. Forgotten memories. Two hearts Are in my chest, both torn apart. Strong weakness of a wilted rose.

Scarred

It is just another sleepless night, It's the breath of spring that we await. One more gulp of wine, and I'm all right, One more secret till it's way too late.