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A poem about nothingAyto einai ena poiima gia ola
kai gia tipota
Gia kathe erota poy afise ta simadia toy
stis sarkes tis psyxis
Ola ta oneira poy ekapsan oi floges
oste na mhn ta deis kai trekseis makria
Toys fovoys poy heri heri kryvosastan
eos otoy papsoyn oi arrostes krayges tis
Den vgazoyn noima oi lekseis poy kyloyn
Den eixan pote kapoion skopo
Einai ena poiima gia ola
kai gia tipota
This is a poem about everything
About every love that's left it's scars
on the flesh of the soul
The dreams that were burned by the flames
so you don't see them and run away
The fears, with which holding hands you hid
in the dark
until the sick screams of silence cease
The words tha flow make no sence
They never had a purpose
I told you
It's a poem about everything
chained by your dreams
you've become a slave
to your emotions
like the dead
you cannot llive again
Forbidden PleasuresThe way your flesh yields
under the pressure of the thorns
-what a sight to behold-
Oh, it makes me tremble in pleasure.
It's 'cause of this twisted me,
this sadist that I am
I want to make you experience our affair
at a whole new level
I'll drown you in wine
and tear you apart.
I'll make it as painfull as possible,
So that you will scream
with every part of your existence
of our forbidden act.
Don't look at me with those eyes
or they will steal my soul away,
make me fall for you even more.
Every pain that licks your flesh
is enough to send chills of exitement
down my spine, into my very core.
You look up to me and smile.
You feel me, you understand,
I knew you would,
only you could.
'cause it was all for you, my masochist.
It was because I love you so..
TransformationMany times I have wished
I was a swallowtail butterfly
Away from unwanted "friends"
and useless lovers
And most of all
away from the memory of you.
I hoped for my own blue sky
even if it only lasted a few moments
-'cause in the end, life is short isn't it?-
what I have turned into
is an insect without wings
What is your sin?"Can you see it? What is your sin?"
That part of you.
I always hated it.
saying it's unfair
for you to be punished this way
You mean to tell me you don't realise it?
You can't feel it burning in your veins?
Can you not hear it's voice?
"Think harder and tell me. What is your sin?"
It was my fault -you say-
I tricked you into this mess.
I wish that was the case.
Then I would burn in your place..
So you intend to continue with this stupidity..
Let me tell you now
I am nothing like the creatures you created
for your peace of mind
and I refuse to be your scapegoat.
Why do you still so stubornly
refuse to face your responsibility?
"An error cannot be corrected if not realised.
Which is it?Poetry's an open door
or so you say
The Truth is always simple
that's what few of them claim
Then what's the problem with us?
Standing infront of the Door
Could it be that we are too blind
to see what is behind,
Or that we simply do not wish to do so?
Which is it?
CircusWithin a tent of red and blue
In the heart of the carnival
A funny circus hosts it shows,
They've sent invites to all.
It is a one-man lonely show
given by a wind-up clown.
The crowd there cannot see him play
But it doesn't bring him down.
He juggles with his knives all day
-That silly little clown-
For children without eyes
that can no longer laugh or frown.
He wants to please and make them laugh.
But no one's left alive.
Still he just plays and hopes and waits
for some one to arrive.
Oh, foolish clown, why can't you see?
Your efforts are in vain.
Or could it be you're so alone
you cannot bear the pain..
But I know your secret -I'm you,
you're me- my funny pierrot.
You killed them all and now
you're left here rotting all alone.
Within a tent of red and blue
The sight in so grotesque.
And insane circus host it's shows
avoiding it, is for the best..
Didn't we start from Wonderland?
See? I jumped down the Rabbit Hole
I had promised you, hadn't I?
But I still have a question..
When did we switch Fairy Tales?
Without thinking, I find myself
Following the same path
as Hansel and Gretel.
The witche's Gingerbread house
sure looks tempting!
Yet, I don't waste my time here
with the others.
I don't want to. I'm aiming too high
to do so. My goal is you.
I say that, but,
though I still follow you,
You're so ahead of me
I can't even hear your watch's ticking
And all this time, I cannot help
but feel alone, so alone.
Much like the frog in the well.
All that's left for me is to look
at that tiny piece of blue sky
And dream of the outside
And hope to someday catch you.
..even if I don't know what you look like
Yet no matter how much I wish
for this foolish dream of you.
No matter how hard I try to climb out
into the warm light.
I always end up falling.
And when the pain from falling
that is when I begin to wond
So many things on my mind.
So little time
My heart wishes to write.
My hand cannot obey my desire.
And what to write about
in the first place?
About sadness and melancholy
engraved in one's heart
as he struggles his way through life?
A deranged mind
twisting fairy tales into nightmares
having lost all contact with reality?
Should I talk about the people?
Lonely, insane, hatefull, disgusting
crawling their way aroung the city.
Or maybe a war, a product of greed
Leaving in it's wake a sorrowful nomansland.
The maimed corpses, the mad ghosts, the
cries of the innocent.
It ought to be a poem
about pitiful people
with pitiful problems
leading to great disaster.
I wish to write.
But I wouldn't know were to begin.
The inner darkness
or outer darkness
I need to write.
But what difference would it make?
And yet, I wonder.
If we give up on talking
about this mess we're in.
Who will be left mourn for
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