Next time

Next time I fall in love
I'll make sure
to kiss my lover
on the wrists
at the inside of his elbows
the soft space behind his knees
the hollow of his neck.

Next time I fall in love
I'll trace my lover's skin
with moans and sighs
and make a mental record
of the way he tilts his head
the sound of his voice
his moans
his laughs
the grip of his hands on my skin.

I'll make a mental note
to create as many memories
of my lover
next time I fall in love,
lest I be left alone
with only imaginary scenarios
in my head.

Self-destructive

I've been doing
some research
lately.
Apparently
I have
most
of the traits
of self-destructive
people.

Maybe
I'm just always looking
for new reasons
to drown
myself.

Afraid

I'm afraid
that the next time I see you
after months
and months
after a year
my first thought
will be
    
     where did
        
           all the tenderness

                  go?

Faded.

I used to be
so deathly scared
of you fading.
Looking back
I don't understand
what it was that I was afraid of.
Now I can barely remember
the shine in your eyes.
I try,
but I can barely care.
My organsim
has lost
the capacity
of you.

Poem of a late night bus ride

Everytime
I'd feel them
rolling down my cheeks
I'd tell myself
"It's
the tiredness."

Dedications

It doesn't make me
sad anymore
but the fact is
- and I can't
help
but think about it -
that people get singers
to make public
dedications to their loved ones
and I
couldn't get you to
talk
to me.

Ours is just a story
that will never turn into a song
because there is no story,
only moments,
barely long enough,
to have their own
soundtrack.

Faded

I see people
falling in love
and sometimes
it doesn't hurt
anymore.

     You've faded.

     And I finally let you

     do that.

Smoothe liar

I am
a smoothe liar.
I lie through my teeth
and I do it well.
So much so
that people choose
to believe me
even if their gut tells them otherwise.

I've been busy with university
that's why I have not come to see you.
So busy that I have not come for months
so busy
too busy
to even pick up the phone.

But what do you know
they still love me
even if I'm not there.
How do you love the one
who is always absent?

Oh.

But people love me all the same
and they love my smoothe lies
better have that
than none of me at all.

Do you know

Do you know
I'm talking with someone
and he makes me laugh
and it's fun.

(Don't care if it turns 

into something

or not)

You don't know
but do you care?

Imaginary conversation #1

I lean against the counter
drinking your sight in.
How long has it been
since I last saw you.
You hand me two beers
and I take them,
I watch you as you look into the fridge
watch your hands
as they reach in inside.

In the other room
I hear people talking.

You stand up straight
you're busy with something,
don't know what.
I watch your back.

"Come stai?"
"Bene. E tu?"
"Bene."
"Is that all?" I say. "One year
I have not seen you,
months we have not talked,
and that is all?
Bene?"
"What do you want me to say?"

In the other room
I hear people laugh.

"Something personal.
Something true.
Tell me about the moment
you felt eternal
or the moment
when you couldn't breathe.
Tell me how you fucked that girl
so hard you couldn't speak.
Tell about something
that had an impact on you,
about something
that kept you awake at night
if even for a moment."

In the other room
I hear your girlfriend laugh.

I wonder if it's the same thing
we're hearing.
"I missed you."
"Well. I certainly
didn't see that coming,"
I said.
"What am I supposed to say to that?"

Last night I dreamt
That somebody loved me
No hope - but no harm
Just another false alarm

Memory restarts

I sometimes think
I'd like the idea
of forgetting every night
the person I am
dying
night after night.

'Cause right now
I seem to be tied with people
and I see them drowning
and I can't help
I'm drowning myself.

Sometimes it's such a numbness
that engulfs me
I'm not sure whether I feel anymore.

Forgetting
and leaving
and cutting all ties
how lovely and lonely and better
it sounds at the moment.

(I'm fine)

Burning

I realised
you're just a phase.
I mean
I'm just a phase of myself
really.
So I decided
to sleep through you
and when I wake up
your memory will be more slippery
than the smell of jasmine
amidst the blaze of fire.
At least then
I'll have no choice but to let go,
I'll be too busy
burning alive.

The horrible one

In my head
it's all still going around
the ever lasting question
will we talk again
will we ever?

The loud pain is gone
faded
washed down the drain
along with the remains
of that alcoholic night.

But the empiness there throbs
reminding me
that something used to be there
reminding me to care.

Sat in a bar tonight
alone
at an hour that was too early for alcohol
but the winter sky tricks you about that,
it's what's so lovely about winter.

So I drank my bourbon
and that guy next to me chatted me up
as I though
good company or no company,
good alcohol
and good music.
And it's good.

Sweet guy,
he wanted to ask my for my number
as I got up to leave.
I would have given it to him,
why not?
(though that question alone
is reason enough).
I took a strange kind of pleasure
from the thought he'd beat himself over
for not doing so in the end.

Ever wanted to use someone not to think?
Or am I the only horrible one?

Wine

Go on then.
Drink your ine,
sip it slowly
savour its taste
let drops of it
rest on your lips.
Let me drink it from there.


(this is an old one)

Push

I don't get much sleep these days.
I either sleep a lot
or not at all.
Sometimes I eat.

I try to push myself these days.
Push my self to eat
push my self to rest
push my self to work
push my self to feel
(I don't always do that though.
do I?)

It gently occures to me
that I should try to care of myself
'cause no one else will
and if they want to
they won't always be able to,
now will they?

This feeling

I don't know
where this feeling stems from.
It comes after good nights
and it comes after bad nights.
It's not very picky about the nights frankly
or the days.
But it seems it loves me
all the same.

I recognise it
from the pressure on the chest
the thoughts of disappearing
the need to disappear,
this oppressive need,
from thr feeling of worthlessness
of being an Extra,
good enough
but far from astounding.

I see it, in those moments
whenI desperately want to show off,
to be praised,
and I laugh at my inability
to sustain myself.