the sort of field in which you just want to write, "Your Mom."
i'm not really a poet, but this is where the sleepless morning took me.
My friends have been reduced to ones and zeroes,
While life's core and Eros
Are digitized in the most repulsive way.
Obsession with current events,
As if that could change anything…
Makes a wheel spin, but it's stationary.
As my body and brain hum to the rhythm of leftover poisons,
Moments of clarity are brief and mere buzz words…
Of starvation, deception and manipulation.
I am the modern man no matter the struggle,
An Athenian at heart…
Living amongst a swirl of contradiction, exposition and hypocrisy.
Which are in me as much as anyone…
How to deal with "original sin"?
Always searching for your other half in a sea of eternal brokenness.
In vain and out of touch,
Sucking at life and all that means…
Loneliness makes more sense than ever.
Not geographically, physically - or even emotionally - lonely,
But virtually, absolutely - and naturally - lonely…
As if it were written in the stars.
Always on the verge of caving,
Turning my ears to a more beautiful song,
Or a more (com)promising light.
Because you can't have grey without black and white,
And there cannot be nothing without a notion of everything (or something),
No beginning without an end,
If there is a way out, there is also a way in,
Even new days are not in themselves,
They too are destined for night.
My friends have been reduced to ones and zeroes,
While life's core and Eros
Are digitized in the most repulsive way.
Obsession with current events,
As if that could change anything…
Makes a wheel spin, but it's stationary.
As my body and brain hum to the rhythm of leftover poisons,
Moments of clarity are brief and mere buzz words…
Of starvation, deception and manipulation.
I am the modern man no matter the struggle,
An Athenian at heart…
Living amongst a swirl of contradiction, exposition and hypocrisy.
Which are in me as much as anyone…
How to deal with "original sin"?
Always searching for your other half in a sea of eternal brokenness.
In vain and out of touch,
Sucking at life and all that means…
Loneliness makes more sense than ever.
Not geographically, physically - or even emotionally - lonely,
But virtually, absolutely - and naturally - lonely…
As if it were written in the stars.
Always on the verge of caving,
Turning my ears to a more beautiful song,
Or a more (com)promising light.
Because you can't have grey without black and white,
And there cannot be nothing without a notion of everything (or something),
No beginning without an end,
If there is a way out, there is also a way in,
Even new days are not in themselves,
They too are destined for night.