A dream. A romance. A love. In Words. I think you prefer when the world "together" means not "a million," but just two.

  Poems to Louis


I was one of the insatiables. The ones you'd always find sitting closest to the screen. Why do we sit so close? Maybe it was because we wanted to receive the images first. When they were still new, still fresh. Before they cleared the hurdles of the rows behind us. Before they'd been relayed back from row to row, spectator to spectator; until worn out, secondhand, the size of a postage stamp, it returned to the projectionist's cabin. Maybe, too, the screen was really a screen. It screened us... from the world.


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Die Einsamkeit nimmt neue Formen an ...
9.6.08 00:20



Why do I always want those who neither want me nor anybody else?
14.6.08 00:11

Love and Despair

When we weren't fucking
we were talking about the relationship
that was never going to happen.

That moment is gone forever
and in its place it is me spending
the rest of my short life trying
in vain to get that moment back.
15.6.08 02:04

Craving ...

He hit me.
He hit me hard.
I liked it. I loved it. I hit back.

He revealed himself.
I liked it.
I loved his belly.

I imagined to kiss him.
Bite him. His lips.
Kiss him hard.

I want him.
Want him in such a way.
Pain, love, despair, desire, sex.

I wanna fuck him.
Fuck his brains out.
Want to be fucked by him.

Hard. In such a way.
15.6.08 02:17

A Song

Lie with me.
Sleep with me.
Dream with me.

Crawl like a spider.
All over my body.
Wind your legs around my waist.

Get down with me.
Hit me.
Scratch my back.

26.6.08 23:27


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