Dream yourself a mosquito, find a way through, then bite yourself.

Dream yourself a mosquito, find a way through, then bite the sleeping figure.



I’d always choose insomnia

For it is better rated.

More wakeful time, more reason to arrange thy words.

To make your reader tremble,

To give him dreams of her.


She’s cool to touch

Like sleeping in the snow and waking,

But not quite.

To dream you go to sleep and I shall follow,

For only then we’ll be as one.


panic attacks

It is within our hands... It hovers over our heads...

It is within our hands…
It hovers over our heads…



Man your lungs, my friend, for here it comes:

The Big Swell.

You don’t breathe, I don’t breathe,

Yet we’re breathing too fast.


My pulse is racing ahead,

Whose body am I inhabiting?

I am besides myself with fear,

With fear that I’m still trapped inside my skin

My skin is pushing,

I’m being re-born and I father myself,

I have no mother and this biological impossibility gnaws at me.


Reason returns, and with it, a name-tag, to hide the fear.

The fear that in the Beginning there was nothing

And then, conveniently, came the Word.

Let’s hide together?


only darkness blowing

Can we step outside the Cave?

Can we step outside the Cave?

I felt the walls crumbling,

I sensed my being crawling.

I do not exist:

I merely am what you want me to be.


If ink shall tell the story,

It will not be my story.

This pen takes over: It’s writing!

There is no one out there to stop it.

only darkness blowing

To have and to hold

Therefore I write bad poetry

Rapping rhapsodies of representations, remonstrations, and ruminations.

I’ve been meaning to ask you.

Half-way through, I stopped for your answer:

To start anew, or to finish the question?

Perhaps this silence makes half of the answer.


I feel like water seeping through your cloth.

Did I soak your body in a warm embrace?

As the dry wind carried me away I prayed

That you’d cry and lend me your tears

In the river we’d flow.