01 · written word
i write to remember what dreams forget.
POEMS AND
MONOLOGUES
every word stained by Cherry, signed by DN.
WATER
Dissolving. Grief, memory, surrender.
-
Prelude
poem
“What is really to blame?”
What is really to blame? Why does the sweetest happiness hide the most bitter fear? The gods? Are the gods really the ones that observe people, mortals? Are the gods those who wait in sleepless longing on what they know it will come? Merely just one crack, one slot, one crevice is enough, from where it slips like a snake
the sorrow
and floods, like a river. -
Number 5 of many
poem
“A drop fell from the sky
and blurred all my thoughts.”A drop fell from the sky
and blurred all my thoughts.
I’ve written all of it down on a piece of paper
but they don’t mean anything
anymore
’cause they’re gone.
I burned them up
and let the wind blow them far away
to a land I’ll never know of
’cause they don’t mean anything
anymore.
They were all that I am
The were all that I know
I’ll forever keep them in my mind
someday, maybe
back to me they’ll flow.
FIRE
Igniting. Desire, anger, awakening.
-
Number 1 of many
poem
“In her boudoir
she burns a million candles”In her boudoir
she burns a million candles
a black teardrop rests on her collar bone.
The moon tonight is one still
always lonesome
aware of this tear.
Her lips widely apart shaking
and I can’t make out any words
incandescent
liquid mirror is strong
and I can’t see
it’s always dark
in her boudoir.
The sea tonight is one still
bedazzling
to know
that the mirror cracked
and blood
glass of red wine
spilled on the laces of the past.
Paints everything in red
and now one million candles are burning on, lit up. -
Monologue. Doctor.
monologue
“Palm shade tree shade on my forehead. I’m lying in bed with subjective fever
and sweat.”Palm shade tree shade on my forehead. I’m lying in bed with subjective fever
and sweat.
I watch the salty drops running down my fingers, between my shiny rings and nails
blood red.
Help me, doctor, but I don’t know if I really wanna be helped. This dizziness seems familiar to me, and you being here feels like an illusion that will dissolve into nothing, if I pass my hand right through you.
The blinding orange radiance is shaping amber waves on my floor and is sore on my eyes. I’m now struggling for breath, but I ’ll just smoke you up in a rollie, while I’m slowly looking for my
gun.
I opened up every drawer, but I can’t seem to find it. Or even remember how it looked like. Or if I brought it with me in the first place. I hate how it happened.
I’m dancing alone in my short satin night gown, spinning sedately between the light beams, with my eyes dried up. Keep telling myself it’s from the fever. And, in a moment, you’re here with me.
Hello, doctor.
I form my hand into a gun. That’s all I got, aiming at the heart, ’cause I can’t look you in the eyes. I told you, I go out with a bang.
EARTH
Rooting. Healing, body, belonging.
-
Number 15 of many
poem
“I walk and I hurt
the sound of broken parts is the one of the soul”I walk and I hurt
the sound of broken parts is the one of the soul
and that is what I see
if only they could flow
like new wishes
of turning deaf
because I hear them
now that everything persists
and in this depth
they convince me I am blessed
I open my arms and fall in the abyss
something I long for truly
and something
I truly long for.
I walk and I hurt
the letters came small
and that is how I feel
where do they go
the old pieces
of myself
because I need them
now that the void exists
and in every step
they drill whatever is left
and I don’t even know anymore if it is
something word-worthy
or something
unworthy of words. -
Monologue. Mother.
monologue
“Dear Mother, dear Mother.
How we mirror each other.”Dear Mother, dear Mother.
How we mirror each other.
I’m sorry.
I’m sorry for being a wild one. I feel more sorry for you, for trying so helplessly to restrain me, what a waste of time that was! My path was deeply engraved in my veins and kept pulling me like a magnet.
Then, there was Pain. Fire attracted me like I was a blind moth, trying to find the light. Mom, I wish I could hold you and fit the broken pieces together, but I was falling apart. Survival makes you numb.
Oh, mom. You got us a house, but took me too long to feel like I was home, so I was never around. I’m sorry I didn’t come home that night, and the night after that, and for so many nights in a row, that we almost forgot each other ‘s face.
Mom, do you understand? That was my way to cope, even if I had to crawl to the darkest, filthiest, coldest corners of the world, ungracefully, with eyes shut. I know it was hard for you to just watch as an audience to my theater of self destruction, making a mess and running away after the show, but it was twice as hard for me.
I’m sorry, you were there the whole time, I just had to do this for myself, even though it got so lonely at times. Pushing everyone away, and myself to the limits.
Mom, we lost everything, even ourselves.
I’m sorry I turned my body into art. Mostly I’m sorry that I wouldn’t change a thing. My art is my truth
and I found it all when I was lost.
Mom, do you understand?
I pushed and I pushed.
The lower I sinked, the higher I flew.
Mom, I didn’t get to choose. I had to act, looking straight up in my demons’ face and smile. You raised an angel that turned to the devil. I’m only human. And I know, you are, too.
Mom, thank you. You taught me how to write and my first poem was for you. Mom, it’s so sad. I dedicated my life to words, and still can’t find the way to say “I love you”. But I do.
You are a diamond and I’m tourmaline.
Please, stop worrying now. I’m here. I’ve found a home. In myself.
There’s only one thing I always wanted.
Freedom.
Of the mind.
Freedom.
Of the soul.
Freedom.
Dear Mother, dear mother.
AIR
Releasing. Forgiveness, flight, return.
-
Number 4 of many
poem
“Your shape, so inalterable in time
you look at the sky”Your shape, so inalterable in time
you look at the sky
and you don’t understand
you are paralyzed
yet you walk
you are blind
and yet you see that
it doesn’t burn once you touch it
and fires up always when it rains
shattered crystals
the dreaming of some people
from another world
different
I don’t understand
my dreams are leaves
on immense trees
and when they dance to me
I can smell the resurrection.
I now am on the dark path I met you
but I can’t see anything, anymore.
The wind drags me to an edge
where the moon
bites on my soul
and spreads it up high in the void
and down low
I see the mercury scattered over these
stones
moonstones
on the dark path that I thought of you
and I’m now not moving forward at all. -
Monologue. Paradise.
monologue
“Paradise. What is paradise to you? Are you living your life as though you’re in it?”
Paradise. What is paradise to you? Are you living your life as though you’re in it?
We run on a golden sandy beach, laughing and yelling, while you teach me how to dance. We have it all, but we’re out of luck. That was never an issue.
I long for paradise.
I just wish that I find my people, and ourselves, one more time. Again and again. The lost, crazy, brilliant, mad, madly brilliant, brilliant in their madness, with flames coming out of their core and eyes that do no reflect, but emit the sharpness of the mind, the deep intellectual seeking and the magnificence of the soul, clothed in the beauty of the sinner flesh, I hold a mess and pray for
freedom of the mind and love
of every pore, every cell, every idea that sustains us while we drive into the big headlights, and hear this music that’s dizzying, but wouldn’t have it any other way.
I long for paradise.
The endless roaming that kills me
like every drag of cigarette
and makes me feel alive
while running with my heart on my hands
cause I don’t yet know what to do with it.
In my left hand a pen
in my right, a gun
always ready to fire away
maybe on you, maybe on me
I wouldn’t mind a little pain cause
I long for paradise.
The rush and the crash.
The art.
The struggle of the troubled mind.
The breaking of the stereotypes.
I like feeling lost
this is where I mostly feel at home
the electric touch of people who do not touch
but connect
and, in a moment, they burn out like fireworks
in the night sky
like city lights.
So sit beside me now, let us watch the waves crash the shore in this familiar thunderous silence. Don’t forget to take yourself with you, on your way to paradise.
Two from each phase. The rest lives in the book.