I write sins, not tragedies

  • Sleep well beast

    I won’t remember you by anger.
    I promise.
    I could, but I don’t want to.
    There was a lot of shooting.
    None of it straight.
    And none with mercy.

    Only confetti.
    Like a fucking party where I drink too much and drunk dial you just to say
    “Hey…are you awake?”
    Well… tonight ain’t a party, but I’ll pour myself a drink.
    Or two.

    Headache will be the least of my problems tomorrow.
    There’s a pill for that, but there isn’t one for absence.
    And then some.

    If I could draw a line, I would go in circles.
    And I did. Without a doubt.
    Because it’s so comfortable to know what’s around the corner.
    Isn’t it?
    So effortless.
    Almost natural and almost true.

    I always thought “almost” was the saddest word to reply with.
    Now I know to “almost belong” is the saddest thing to cope with.
    That doesn’t make me less of a soldier.

    I’m no cavalry, but I got loyalty like one.
    The one infantry can always count on and win a war with.
    The battles in your head are for free and a white flag is no option.
    Only a hangover and a missed drunken call.

  • I’m going back to 505

    Zblogom, I'm going back to 505

    It’s hope that kills you in the end.
    But you wake up at 5.05 on Monday and carry on.
    The baggage of reminiscing of what ifs and what not.
    The lonely coffee and its bitter taste.
    Fear of unconsciously adding some sugar while you’re half awake.
    Hit or miss – that’s what life is, but not your fucking coffee.
    Or your playlist.
    Your once favorite song plays in the background but you don’t smile.
    It doesn’t take you where you wanna be or where you loved staying.
    It’s not home.
    It’s ruins.
    Used to be 505 but now…

    Let’s not go there, right?

    Because we know home is not a place.
    We were taught that by people who didn’t love us.
    Enough!
    Or loved us in a way we’re afraid we won’t be loved again.
    I said what I said. I wrote what I meant.
    But you…
    You read what you felt.
    And that was not nearly all.
    It can’t be because you don’t burn bridges.
    Not across the river that makes you go with the flow.

    You look for blessings before lining up the losses.
    They stay gone.
    They might never come back.
    …but you don’t bury them.
    The love they gave.
    The home you once built.
    The bricks in the wall you painted.
    And the picture hanging on it.

    It was worth it.

    The liability of vulnerability.
    The question of leverage in it.
    And the answer to it.
    Just know it is worth it.

    Even at 5.05.

    ****

  • We bruise and get better

    If I had to describe a home, I wouldn’t go with a house.
    On a tree or a ground.
    Not with a building, either.
    It would be a song.
    Never small and always huge.
    Hit the tune and fall apart.
    Sometimes low and sometimes high.

    “We bruise and get better” – famous last words.
    But you can’t get there when you weren’t even good in the beginning.
    We bruise and get better.
    Become a masterpiece then dissolve.
    The bruises fade away and I remain an unapologetic champion of dignity.
    Which you love.
    And “love” is a word we rarely use, but we mean it.

    “We bruise and get better” – famous last words.
    But you can’t get there when you weren’t even good in the beginning.

    – Come home – it rings as Buddy speaks.
    And he knows things.
    He knows us.
    When the roof gets on fire and we open the windows.
    When we put it out in silence but wanna scream.
    When we’re bruised and better at the same time.
    What about feelings?
    Oh…they’re everything but daisies. 

    Here’s the deal.

    “Later” never came and afterthought screamed “rather never”.
    Not a friend nor foe, just a reminder that black looks good on me.
    I am not afraid to attend the funerals.
    I know which flowers to bring.
    And they won’t be fucking daisies. 

  • Castles and gallows

    Get smart before you fall in love – they said.
    I know – was my answer.
    But before that, I had so many questions.
    Only I could answer and nobody else.

    Will I know? Will I feel it like before?
    Will I remember before I forget?

    I can only hope.
    But moreover – will I want it?
    Will you want it?

    The crazy life ahead of us. And lunatics cheering to get the front seats.
    The missed airplanes and banned landings.
    The derailed trains of thoughts that are always on fucking time.
    Even when we wish they are late.
    Or never arrive.

    Will I know? Will I feel it like before?
    Will I remember before I forget?

    Because words never fade away.
    And time only lets you consume it in another way.
    Bitter. Or sweet.
    Like gin fucking tonic, ay.
    My favorite, remember?

    I’ll board the trains. And airplanes. And ferries.
    I’ll stop them as well.
    If they are about to crash and make 9/11 look like a fairytale.
    Fairytales? Who the fuck believes in those anyways?

    I might. 

    Because walking down the Frederick’s street with my eyes closed is the walk I’d take over and over again.
    To see the castle where I don’t end up being the princess but just an admirer.

    I’ll count my blessings before I doubt I’m cursed.
    That’s how fucking brave I am.
    And I don’t get brave with anyone.
    You know what I’m talking about. ’cause you don’t get either. 

    I’ll treasure it. Maybe won’t like it all of it.
    But, let’s face it… you won’t either.

    It’s like getting an ice cream when you have a sore throat, isn’t it?
    And we, now, have the privilege to choose the fucking flavor.

    I just hope I don’t go for bitter.
    And you like the ice cream.
    Better than I do.

    So choose the flavors carefully and let me know I’m wanted when I’m too silent and pissed off.
    And maybe not with you but with the lunatics.
    And this crazy fucking world.

    Because walking down the Frederick’s street with my eyes closed is the walk I’d take over and over again.
    To see the castle where I don’t end up being the princess but just an admirer.

    Just let me know.
    Before I board the trains and planes.
    Before I get a scoop.
    Before I walk down Fredrick’s street again with my eyes closed.
    I just don’t want to imagine castles before I figure out the crowning.
    Or at least to get ready for the gallows.

  • From church to court

    I’ll take you to court
    And make love to you
    And if that’s your worst sentence
    You should be glad.
    Because I have seen the jurors.
    Who flaked on a blessing.
    Who were mistaken and became monsters.

    And I am not afraid to beat one.
    Fuck, even become one if I have to.
    I’ll carefully put everybody to sleep,
    say a prayer, make it all go away.
    Make you feel like monsters were never even there.

    Because I have seen the jurors.
    Who flaked on a blessing.
    Who were mistaken and became monsters.

    But you have to dare.
    But you have to decide to be present.
    But you have to know I know your fears
    And once you allow me to take them away…
    It’ll be the best; friendship, companionship…
    Every ship that is ever supposed to sail.

    And if it wrecks…
    We’ll remember how Titanic was glorious until it sank.
    And we won’t blame the ice.
    Or the fire.
    Or the absence of lifeboats.
    We won’t blame each other.
    But we’ll be.
    The first dance.
    The last song.
    The drunk text on a Friday night.
    The not so lovely Monday morning.
    The pros of undelivered words.

    But you have to know I know your fears
    And once you allow me to take them away…
    It’ll be the best; friendship, companionship…
    Every ship that is ever supposed to sail.

    ‘Cause the mailman decided not to ring the bell but he left a note.

    And the note said “Come and get me”.

    Put whatever meaning to it that you want.
    And if you can’t handle it…
    Abort.

    Just know that before the jury take a seat and the judge rules in my favor…
    I’m not easy.
    But I’m the best hard.
    And “guilty as charged” will never change that.