I hate this time of year.

The spring is ending,
bending all in it’s way.
Summer on the horizon
with disappointment and regret,
with failure stacked up,
like an organized stack of hay
embedded within my being.

The sorrow, the sorrow,
nothing can be said about it.
It hits while you’re on your way,
towards nothing.

That’s the effect of springtime on me.
I’m going towards the unknown,
or better yet,
the unknown is chasing me.

Fuck you spring,
I sincerely mean that.


Holy you say?

Burning holes everywhere,
taking a plunge into nowhere.

Despair and lust,
leaving me chewed and through,
like scattered dust.

Thinking of you right now,
collapse again,
as I glisten and shine in the sun.

The holes getting bigger and holy,
a shrine for souls forgotten and abused,
by your holiness.


Struggling is always fun!

Struggling and suffering,
trying to stay afloat.

Lying on my bed,
wishing I was on a boat,
stranded in the middle of the ocean
with the waves carrying my soulless soul,
deep down to the ground, into my final resting hole.

Seething with the mundane everyday,
adding to the wallowing misery at bay.

Facing the mirror,
obsolete, and full of demise and joy,
I prance around like a lunatic
waving to death,
who’s reluctant and coy.

‘Should I save him, or should I not’
‘Should I save him, or should I not’

Sadness, #5

Isn’t sadness wonderful?

There’s a heavy burden laying on my chest, and I need to get it out of my system.

You know what is unfathomably stupid? Playing the waiting game. Your mind starts playing tricks on you. Nothing is going to happen, nothing will ever happen, and you need to move on.

I wish sometimes it was that easy. It never is that easy.

It’s been almost three years now, and yet, I can’t seem to forget, I can’t seem to forget her.

This is, at least now, I’m realizing that it was never meant to be, and nothing will ever mean to be. All these years, and all the time, spent waiting and hoping, gone to waste. Maybe it was, and maybe it wasn’t. I am yet to know.

It is a great sadness, when you love so hard and vigorously, KNOWING and willingly indulging into dead emotions. This was not a ‘cliche’ form of unrequited love/crush. I wish it was, because if that was the case, I’d move on in a heartbeat.

It stings you greatest, when you know you found what you consider perfection, but that perfection and all what you hoped for was eventually falseness, and a compilation of crumbling hopes and desires.

She’s gone now, I guess, forever.

I’m not sad about all the time wasted, I’m crestfallen and full of sorrow because I know it could’ve been something magical, out of this world…

Or was that just in my mind?

It’s always just in my mind.


Is anyone else hearing this?

Sounds creeping and crawling through my ears,
as my soul trickles down like tears.

Is it a hum? Is it a whisper?
or is it just my fragile mind,
popping like a big fucking blister?

I hear it, I listen to it, I know it’s there,
but at the same time,
it can be anywhere.

Maybe it’s a mosquito,
buzzing in my head.
It stings my brain and leaves me dead.

All I know is,
the sounds and whispers are alive and alright,
but I’ll sure be glad
if they fade into the night.


I cannot escape it.

Feelings unintentionally violated,

Drifting sideways upon the empty threads.

The needle with its partition disease,

Gently tipping my vein,

Tapping my life away in a swift prick,

Filling my intentionally violated feelings,

With the medicine of life,

The elixir of eternal joy.

Vivid dreams and luxury within,

Colors all around my selfless being,

Floating away with ease and trust

In what keeps me, me.

The potion of immortality,

A part of my existence.

Shuddering and quivering for more,

Wrapped around my body,

Feelings of certain fatality.

What keeps me alive,

Takes my life away.

Happiness is temporary,

But so is life.

I better think twice then.


Staring at nothingness, realizing I am nothing.

Staring at the ceiling above me,
Pale and white, the paint shedding off
I pause, and stare
Drowning my sorrows every night,
Sitting on this old wooden bed,
Eyes fixated upon the same illuminated screen
The realization of failure,
The realization of nothingness,
The realization of woes and sadness
I look up again at the ceiling,
Trying to find some purpose,
Maybe just maybe, the white old paint has the answers
The paint, the screen, the whirling thoughts
Thoughts of love and desire
Thoughts of pain and heartache to come
There’s no escape…
I wish I had nothing. Nothing would be better,
Better than living among lies
Nothing would suite me just fine now,
As I am nothing,
And nothing I shall be.