you know your suffering is pointless.
Longing and denial.
But these are not dreams, they’re real.
I couldn’t bear that you’d inherited
the smell of death.
I was homesick all the time.
Sweetheart, I love you.
I’m sure my desire will come back.
in the silence and the darkness.
Some birds made a scary noise.
when reality cracked.
from behind the wallpaper.
Your half-lies are so refined
Should we get dressed
and call an ambulance.
You’re so quiet, almost hostile.
a painter with no paintings…
I’ve come to realise that I love her,
Autumn was in the air.
and tried to penetrate me
cheeks rosy from the strong wind.
My world is very simple.
My life is my work,
It has to be real.
It might give you your heart’s desire:
It’s so horrible to see one’s own
and that the illness was like a dream.
mosquitoes in the bedroom.
Suddenly the emptiness
my insides are misbehaving.
You have such kind fingers
Paint a picture or compose an opera
games become puny and ridiculous.
An artist of the purest kind.
And her hair is so long…
Do you want to smoke a cigarette?
I sat yawning for hours
It’s like walking on clouds.
I walk through walls, you see.
It’s knowing that love exists for real
The teeth of the wolves…
the three candles inside.
He walks through the dark forest…
on the verge of tears!
He wants to be a poet.
Why should women always decide?
before we set the nets?
I decided to kill myself.