Knight-Poet

Ich wollte noch nicht schlafen, in dieser Nacht, also habe ich mich aufgemacht, mir Schuhe und Mantel angezogen und bin hinausgegangen an jenem Freitag im Winter. Es hat genieselt. Schnee wäre mir lieber, habe ich gedacht, während ich so ging, mit seiner weißen Decke über allem, und dem Gefühl, dass alles gedämpft und in Watte gepackt sei. Es entfernt die Welt, es entfremdet die Wirklichkeit. Und doch habe ich es ein bisschen genossen, habe die Kapuze nicht aufgesetzt und habe das leichte, kalte Stechen der winzigen Tropfen auf meiner Haut gespürt und habe die kalte, feuchte Luft eingeatmet und gedacht, das

You're not part of me I am complete without you I am one, just one

At the door I feel the cusp of something, nothing, and I turn away.

The Strange Companionship of the Bathroom at Three O'Clock in the Morning You come home from a night out, in that state of weary elation, or elated weariness, that tingling in your head, that slight buzz that comes from a long evening with friends. In your raincoat, with the hood up, and your warm shoes, you walk the rest of the way to the door as the occasional car hisses by on the rain-wet asphalt. The artificial yellowish light of the street lamp illuminates you as you step up to the door and insert you key. Turn, open, and you enter the sudden, echoing silence of the staircase. The light switch on the bottom of the stairs does not work,

I had a dream last night, and everything was broken. Everything was alright and that was wrong. Everything was wrong, and that felt right. Everything that was broken was healed, and because it was was healed, it was broken. And the the un-splinter cut me to the quick, and the healing pulsed the red. And when I woke, the brokenness woke with me, And I woke to the brokenness, and the wrong was righted, and the heal broke, and the un-splinter re-splintered, but still I was cut to the quick, and still, it pulsed the red, and still, I was broken.

on a raft drifting my arms outstretched fingers dipping into the water i gaze into the sun lazily i lift my arm drops dangling from fingertips tongue outstretched eyes closed i lick and visions of dread and beauty flood my brain

Das Funkgerät rauscht und knackt. Dreimal knackt es. Dann wieder Rauschen. Noch immer starre ich es an. Die Uhr zeigt bald ein Uhr. Zitternd wanke ich herüber. Ist dies das, weswegen man mich hergeschickt hat? Ich zögere. Niemand hat mir etwas von diesem Signal gesagt. Ich weiß nicht, was es bedeutet. Langsam kriecht meine Hand zum Sendemikrofon. Es gleitet mir fast aus den verschwitzten Fingern, doch ich bekomme es doch noch richtig zu fassen. Ich atme ein. Warte eine Pause im Signal ab. Dann drücke ich den Knopf. Hallo? Ich zucke vor meiner eigenen Stimme zusammen. Nun gibt es kein zurück mehr. Ich schlucke

There is a gem, a secret I know, a small thing it is, in the darkness it glows. It is buried deep in far away dell, not my glow to see, not my secret to tell.

sometimes when i lie awake i look inside and think that everything that everything that everything would be all right if you were here with me.

I know who did it. Took me a while to figure it out. Thought I had lost the scent for a while there. Took me a couple months to get back on track. No matter what they tell you on the TV, it’s hard to find someone doesn’t want to be found. Well, and the person that did it, obviously they didn’t want to be found. But I know who it was. I know where they are. I guess what I’m saying is: I know. So now I prepare. Get my stuff together. All the things I need to make someone pay for what happened. I am patient. I’ve done the legwork. The mindwork. I know what I’m about. I know what to do. I have a plan. So I p

Young Mortal, thou art quite right, I should not have told thee such. 'Tis not for human mind to know the hour nor the minute of their final breath. And yet I find our correspondence inreasingly intrigues. Mortals have I known to rage and beg, to bargain, threaten, charm and wail. Mortals I have known to seek me out, embrace my coming in extremis of their lives. But never yet have I known mortalkind to seek me out while they draw breath, and not argue their case to me. Thus know that, while I shall tell thee neither day nor hour, it is not this day that we meet. As thou findest this my letter by your bed, know that my hand has passed thee s

In den gedämpften Farben eines verhangenen Novembertages schimmert der See. Während die Spitzen der Windräder oben schon im Grau verblassen tunken einige kahle Bäume ihre Äste noch ins Wasser. Ein Rudel depressiver Großmütter füttert am Ufer die Enten und unter der Oberfläche strampeln verzweifelte Entenbeine. Hoch oben im weiß-grau des Himmels versteckt entfliehen zwei Schwäne der Tristesse.

Sometimes I wish for a 'no room service please' sign for humans. Yes, Sir, I am here. No, Sir, not for you. Yes, Sir, I am lonely. No, Sir, leave me alone. Yes, Sir, I'm aware of you. No, Sir, I won't talk. Maybe I will speak someday, but no, Sir, not this time. Sometimes I'd like my life to stop just a little for me to rest in the pause. Yes, Sir, I am here. No, Sir, not for you. Yes, Sir, I am lonely. No, Sir, leave me alone. Yes, Sir, I'm aware of you. No, Sir, I won't talk. Maybe I will speak someday, but no, Sir, not this time.

Dear Death, my Daddy says that I can not write you. But I also write to Santa. Santa gets my letters. I hope you will get this letter too. I am writing because of something verry importent. Yetserday you touk my Grandpa away. Mom and Daddy went to the hopsital. I wanted to go but Mom said no. She said that it will be to scary for me. But I really want to say goodbie. So can you tell him goodbie for me? Please? Sincerly Caren PS: Please tell him that I am sorry for breaking the vase too. Thank you Mister Death!

I am a liar. And I don't mean that sweet little "I am fine". Everyone knows that this can be a lie because they themselves tell it occasionly or -some people- all the time. I am a liar. And the lie that I tell is "I don't care". It's "No, it's just a hobby, nothing serious don't laugh if I mess up, 'cause I probably will" while that 'hobby' is my lifeline. I am a liar. And good enough at it that I don't lie very often, because people just assume it doesn't bother me. What I think of as lies is what they think of as my personality. I am a liar and the lie I tell is my silence when I want to say "hug me" and going home before starting to cry

„Yes, I know, that the rat race... Stop grinning!! has existed right from the beginning. Now, what we have to face is not only the race but the fact it’s the rats that are winning!"