I am very quiet.
The noise in my head is loud enough.
Tipping on my toes around.
To not wake the sleeping monsters of giving up.
Holding back tears, to not regret.
And letting the rain do it for me.
I am not good at searching for solace.

Again, I am scared of letting go.

Best to walk down, before I jump these 10 floors.
These thoughts come easily.
Making it easy to take a life.
And since I know, easer to stay alive.

In the distance shadows move.
Watching my own following yours.
I write for you and burn the words one by one.
Can you trust me now?
Just step off the stage, silently.

Playing with words, playing with life, making reality mine.
I wish you could sing for me, a consoling song.
Only, I hear a quiet laugh.

Not nasty, not belittling.
Full of sorrow though.
Not knowing what to do.

Don’t worry for me, when I am depressed.
Cry for me when I quite and alone.
Cover me.
Come for me.
Cuddle me.

When I pull out my needles, to tattoo my bad side, visibly.
Writing in fine script over my tender skin.
Take the needle and help me writing your name.
Fingers on my spine.
Delicately following this line.

I was not what you expected and you gave up to see what I showed.
For now.

I want to read you all I wrote.
Shouting it out into the darkness that surrounds us.

I still taste your first kiss.
Mixed in with cigarettes.
And poetry.

Words to take your pretty face and smudge it with love.
I am devastated.

Quietly looking over to you.
Sitting down and reflecting light from a screen at night.

I am so hungry for your words.
So hungry for your touch.
So thirsty for help.

My shadow touches your skin all over again.
Electrifying.
Perhaps a little terrifying.
A flirt is a promise.
Did you forget?

I loosen the screws on my thumbs that held down the scale.
Need to loosen myself a bit more.
Loosen my head.
Unscrew it.
Throw it off.

I wish to hear you don’t feel nothing.
But I only hear the air.
Emptying a space between here and there.

---

As preceded by 1, 20, Twenty-two and followed by 40–one

Trough the vail,
Into a well lit room,
Comes to me your ghost.
Your spirit, your free mind.
Surrounding the air, feeling me.

Here were the minds are free,
Bodies dance with glee.

Your whispers in my ear.
Your laughter fills the room.
Taking your hand to remake the solid shape of your face.
Tracing back your bodies outline, a form willed into existence.

Here to linger, for a while.
We live the life we are taking.

The smile on my face is fragile.
I smash it with my fist like glass.
And with it my fears.

Every thought is a prayer they say.
I don’t go for places of gods anymore.
And only ever pray for clarity.

I have taken your life in me.
The bits and pieces you chose.
And I know you have, too.

Your smile — as twisted as mine.
Our pain, revealing, yet hidden.
Always.

I am waiting for you.
In ruins, in paths of flowers, swimming in lakes.
We wait to awake.

Get drunk differently tonight.
Fall asleep in a bright flash of light.
And dream of your chosen path.

Down here below where I hear your whisper, I feel you ever present.

The words we can use, taste bitter now.
We choose not to speak.
Only see each other.

I look ahead into an endless blue.
Lush greens, so unlike the colours I use.
It’s pastel and sweet.

Expression and impression.
Though, it often is the other way around.

I look fabulous today. Did you see?
You astonish. Simply.

At the Small Alley Cafe we take seat.
No forced smiles.
Still no words.
Glances beyond wall, vails, boundaries.

That nose over there, sits perfectly, between ears, below eyes, in shapes still fresh, unknown to me.
Quietly I romanticise.

Cracking a smile; it shatters again.
The pieces fall on the table before me.
Wide eyed, you look at them.

You put down your hand, carefully, to not cut it open on me.
I hesitate to take —
it.
Both we wait.

Emotions play over our faces, without a muscle moving.
I take your hand; phasing in and out of reality.
Where could a path lead, we choose now.

You are thinking of my whispers.
You heard them advancing like an avalanche.
You never thought, I could cover you.

Your words are brief.
My smile lasts.
Unscarred.

You have chosen my visibility, ripped away the shadows I lived in.
And I feel every misstep I made.
We have both stumbled a lot to get here.

I have missed you all along.
And you knew I was good.
Alone.

And I remain the loneliness you fear, when you are not alone.
Now and here we live.
Always apart in flesh.
Sometimes one in mind.

Your smile, my smile, lips to meet.
Fingers touched.
Arms wrapped.
Floating, like.
Invisible to anyone,
Visible to us.

Finally we speak.
Words like rivers.
Thoughts like trees.

We go too far.
Right where we need to be.

---

Preceded by 1, 20, Twenty-two and 40–one

I’m front of me two young women sit, brimming to the teeth with lust and love for one another.

The one in white looks wishful at her counterpart sometimes whispering a word to her.

Her counterpart stares at her phone not really doing anything.

Later she glides her head on the first ones shoulder and then gets up again.

And the air becomes visible.

Their lib sticks are nearly equal, their lips look made for one another.

Their hesitation may just be social and I wonder and I hope I don’t miss gender either of them.

Like a bad romance novel I want to call after them as they leave the train: go get them.

Don’t worry to hurt, where there is joy there is pain.

Go there and do what you feel.

Kiss those lips and be free.

we always end on a quiet tone.
when we remember what it was like.
as we look back, fondly on the happy days, in pain on the fighting nights.
also as we taste kisses again and feel each other.
inside and out.

At the end of a run, I stand at a crossing.
Can go many directions.
Sweat dripping of my hands.
I imagine holding your face in them again.
Fondly. Tasty. Pretty. Sweet.
Ah~

When did I forget your tenderness?
When did you remember mine?
Was it all long since replaced by violence?

Two figures in black.
White yellowish skin shining through.
A grand smile on their faces, coming towards me.
Immortalised in my word progression.
I take their life’s and make them part of mine.
As they walk past my dancing self, smiling at me.
Maybe imagining the deed I have done.

Same as the cat last night.
I had to get off my bike to watch it closer.
It laid down on the street and purred.
But did not let me come close enough.
Till rain started to fall and we parted.

A red light in the distance.
Flickering peacefully.
I cannot see it, my glasses are off.
And wearing them, I see it’s an ambulance.
Or the police.
It draws me in, as I draw in here.

And now for a dance.

A pink Vespa.
A colour as if it wants to be licked right off.
I guess my sex drive is back.
Bouncing off me like sunshine.
And I notice short skirts and on top scared faces.
I fully understand, though I am certainly not one of them.
Having survived rape and attacks I couldn’t ever, not even in play.
Added violence only scares me.

I only add violence to my walking dance, throwing my head around, not looking out for walls.
Pain has always been better then nothing at all.
And no pretty face has ever drawn me in like yours or yours or yours and so on. Pretty & beautiful. My drug of choice.
Watching you. In my kitchen at night, sipping a beer, discussing with me meanings and life.
Ah~

And I remember your tongue on my lips, finding and searching.
And I remember your eyes wide open, taking in the memories I share.
And you are different people for now.
But we are all connecting internally as if part of a shared memory.
Mine, where I melt you all, past, present and future.
It’s not an/my ideal.
Just fond memories of things that came to pass and will and didn’t and won’t.
It’s a game they say.
It’s my reality.

Little boy praying at the shrine.
For good grades?
With his grandmother judging his antics.
I hope, he will be heard.

My watchful eyes fly around the streets.
But they do not meet.
Just see.

Seeing all these people in crowds.
Scattered on floors, lifting themselves up on towers.

No tears to divide us, now.
It’s unfortunate that we can feel the same, but never speak.
It’s wondrous that we can just move, pass, watch and never see.
Always in circles or spheres or bubbles.

Answers always hurt, my love.
Questions best always asked, my love.
Confronting us every step on our ways, my love.

My love, a shadow in dusk.
My heart, a flame in sunshine.
My mind, poetry under your eyes.

Dancing straight ahead, we think.
Dancing through walls, I see.
Dancing straight into bed, you wish.

Blessed, we fall apart.
Cursed, we fall into one another.
Neither brings us closer.

And always 2, duality.
Two directions.
Two realities.
Two others.

Look at your keypad.
It was designed by a lonely person.
Two, leads to five, leads to eight, leads to zero.
Straight down.

And your smiles cannot mask your pain.
My words cannot conjure joy.
Yet nothing creates itself a future within all this.
Perhaps nothingness is in the end.

And the beginning.
In loops, circles, spirals.
Whichever way we choose.
Somewhere we end, somewhere begin.
In between we eat up joy and wonder.
We kick and scream.
Lay down together, tearing apart at all seams.
Or kiss and mean—something.

---

As preceded by 1, 20 and followed with 40–one and Fifty and 3

What ever thought you had, keep it don’t let it out.

Says the wise man.

As I look at them.

Staring at me.

As she lifts her skirt and he makes a gesture to me.

Once again I wonder:

When did I become visible to them and why?

But I don’t answer the thought, instead I leave.

I am not what you can buy.

Only what you can find and maybe win.

And then loose and let go again.

For a touch I reach through walls.
Just to feel something.

A smile and no response.
Thinking and spinning.
Head in circles.

Pulling my head over my shoulders.
Up on my hair.
To see more.

I watch the people praying into their shrine.
And know I won’t be heard there; they dont speak my language.
While a car roles over me.
Nearly.

How do I bare a thought that ain’t mine?
How do I feel an emotion right out of your heart?

Do I look at you when you look away?
Do I see your dress that spells out nemesis?

Where do years pass and leave no mark?
In my face.

You run, I see.
I am just set to fall.

We dance to tunes we play.
Finally I feel freedom like a bitter sweet taste.

The things I have seen change me, chase me.
I follow your eyes as they stare away.
I follow your head on the ground, rolling, freshly chopped of and blood still oozing.

Drained, free of lust, free of everything I still have tears.
The flames in my smiles burn brighter then candles in the sunshine.

What we do in the night we never do in the shadows.
Why?

My screams produce no sonic airwaves.
My words induce no reactions.
My funeral will provoke no tears for all the whiskey I will force attendees to drink.

The letter draws words on a wall in green.
Today I would prefer blue.
My green is a colour of death and for a month I have changed enough.

Like a bumblebee I only smell flowers and come to see.
When has my invisibility come off?
Since when do blossoms respond?

Too many thoughts for one poem, but I don’t want to make them 3.

Writing, while walking, mind open as if on LSD and I miss pot.

Little park in Shibuya, but I won’t sit today,
Life’s still calling me back to thee.

All the questions I could answer if someone just asked.
And all the answers I would seek if I could direct them.

The air carries my whispers somewhere to sound like messages from down below.
Keep your blessings y’all and just speak.

Twenty minutes and 500 light years further and I still see no rest.
I always become what I have always been.

The fleeting emotion you cannot understand.
The one to long for without a grasp.
The heart broken ever again.
The loneliness you fear when you are not alone.
The heart you let go, without a fight.

And thank you.
I am an experience.

---

Begun with 1 And followed by Twenty-two, 40–one and Fifty and 3

Writing lyrics for music unwritten.

Writing music for films unmade.

Writing films for audiences that don’t exist.

An ego my body can hardly carry.

An emotional depth I loose myself in, often.

A little dance that shatters the streets.

I wish my voice to echo in your ear, a little.

I hope my tears will meet your lips, eventually.

I long my hands will hold yours, strongly.

There is no way to end this, but to look at you and cry.

---

Portishead—Portishead

You are a part of me now. A part of my story. We met, we touched.

A brief moment of happiness. Happening.

Before and after all these moments.

We are what we are.

Dancing next to one another.

A white dog just crossed my path.

Free of a Master, looking at me briefly.

A friendly bark, then it was back on its way.

Not a cat, but a dog tonight.

What a rare sight.

Thinking back to my days of being wild.

And so I am telling my kids: let never anyone change your mind, but yourself!

As tears go by again, I enjoy how much I cry.

Always in the mood for love, I think about my role.

I can be, whomever you need.

A friend, a lover, a fiend or an artist at your feet.

Just never accept me into your rouges gallery of looser and suckers.

I am too old to be stupid and too young to be broken.

And I will always remind you: you are great in all your ways!

A marionette. Dancing on strings

Is it me or you or us?

Are we dancing on borrowed time?

We pull the strings ourselves in the end.

We dance a dance of time.

My wish remains to kiss.

To shower you in tenderness.

Even when I m distant and insecure.

Who we are, what we are remains to be seen.

What we want, what we dance to, is still a sight unseen.

As melancholy has displaced depression once again, I control my own path.

Pulling strings.

Pulling free.

---

Marionette by Mathew Jonson

We come from darkness.

Where it’s warm and cosy.

Our mothers womb.

We live in darkness our life.

Where it’s sometimes cold and sometimes warm. But mostly lukewarm.

Unless we apply passion and risk.

Unless we give ourselves and really live.

We go to darkness.

Either after fire or into earth or water.

We all succumb to stardust in the end.

And fly freely in the cold endless darkness of the universe until we once again become bodies and souls.

Circles. Endlessly.

A crow gave me its feather today and said make a wing and fly.

But one wing won’t carry me, I answered.

A second crow came and gave me a feather and said here you go.

I took them both and spread my wings and now I fly among the crows, till they let me go.

Flying at the speed of train.

Heavy feeling.

Heavy thoughts.

Heavy understanding.

Heavy tenderness.

Going.

Going.

And crying.

This is not it.

It is never that simple.

This is not it.

My son just kissed me out of the blue.

I was looking at my daughters fingers.

It is good to be loved.

Unconditionally.

It is dark where our souls rest.

It is bright where they danced.

Tears go by.

Hearts stay dry.

Never alone.

We are all connected.