sometimes if not more often
i do not only feel that i am an illusion
but that all what i do and feel is an illusion
and that even acts of love are as useless as all,
words are anyway.
poems are drops in the sand.
blood turns like milk, sour.
the flesh falls off.
the skin shrinks.
the world shrinks.
all flow concentrates in a swirl
and drowns in a maelstrom,
each step is blocked,
i don't know where to go.
me, soul, we long for peace and harmony.
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