between two graves

increasingly often i go to bed to sleep between two graves.

i see and feel my dismemberment, i  stay awake, stiff and unable to move.

i don't usually need nightmares in sleep. i know them and i live with them.

i am older already than my grandfather had been at the time of his death.

i live, i age, it is not just a fact, this is personal experience and it is relative only when thinking.

and this goes for everybody.

in this i am fortunate, there is a certain freedom in the way of a limited independency to move

and see the world. this is what a bit of self-owned time and presently  spare money can do.

it is not freedom. freedom i cannot buy nor happiness.

last night again awake in the cage of my mind.

above no sky, the ceiling in the dark painted with memories, under the bed a grid , down a cellar

in which my heart must have been beating on.

between two graves:

the left my own to be, i snipped nose-pickings into it, it looked like

a bath tub. memories of desire , longing, hurt , birth and deaths crept like snakes, dropped from above.

wasted blood collected in my grave ,despair boiling like acid.

the right grave harbouring old loves at the bottom, sighing, covered with hope

and roses withering,crippled birds,abortions of dreams, messages from far spirits, rabbits carrying clocks, letters from ghosts,  the tips of my fingers never far and never near.

the room, my skin, like a drum from inside, fate beating it, my breath very soft , withheld, not to wake a sound from inside to reverberate and deafen my last minutes.  my skin , my soul, my borders stretched taught, alone in all pain.

when i woke up this morning, my heart still buried and far, two graves to take into the day,

i took a coffee as there was nobody to tell nor to lift my heart and bring it back to warm me.

but of course,i always take my coffee, black and sweet.

all day i will be next to me until i find me smiling to see:

all this is true and untrue in the same time , in the same breath.