Not my , but I sometimes miss her. She didn't have the best living conditions ever, but her owner wouldn't want to change them or give her away...

i. there is no glory, just
taking small steps,
step-by-step.
each step taking us further
from the curled-up, drooling nonsense
we’ve been born as.

ii. no stepping stones to bounce from,
we are stepping on each other toes
as we are climbing the rocky road
towards „mental healthiness”
i carry the stick (as always)
and they follow my steps in the dust

iii. i am climbing the life
like
step-ladder
i slowly crawl it, step by step,
constantly asecurating;
what most people fail to see
is that reality isn’t continuous
between each step is a crack
a hole of infinity you can soak into
if you don’t stick to the discrete measures
of happiness
i need solid metal of step ladder
to go ahead, raise up, and move on

iv. one step behind you
there is always past
there is always home
siren-singing you
back in;

v. your nature
is your
evil
step-mother

i.
people’s eyes aren’t windows but mirrors
but you cast no reflection
and so by you, i am seen.

ii.
the sun shines through
your translucent heart
unstopped,
undamaged,
unfiltered;
it dances on my face
amorphous haze of colours
the sensory feast
some may call it sick
some may call it brutal
some may call it beautiful.

iii.
i am carving a monument
of myself, to be seen
but only you can caress the wood that made me,
your fingers can read my surface.

v.
people’s eyes aren’t windows but projectors
we have left the cinema through the backdoors
sometimes show doesn’t have to go on;
words have missed us as we travelled back home.

I dream of the things that are forbidden
heartbeat thundering till I'm deaf, lulled
by the earthquake of hormonal shake
sickly-sweet on endorphin. Floating,
the tide carries me on.

I dream of the things that are forgotten;
flex my muscles like a hungry dog
does to its chain. I am caged and stored
in the box entitled „SELF-PRESERVATION INSTINCT”;
I don’t quite remember how to be back myself
anymore.

I dream of the lands that are forsaken;
can i still travel dry deserts of skin
search for the fountains pulsing under surface;
will my body know?

I dream of the things that won’t be forgiven.
"Have no fear", I whisper as I move
along.

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