Not loved

Empty…

when you know you have plenty.

He only wants you for a night

He wants the bits that are bright

He only wants delight

it might work for a fortnight.

Pleasure and concealement

of the void,

He is the centre of your asteroid,

your inner being you long to avoid.

Not loved…

used,

sectioned in pieces

digestible for daily consumption

hoping for love is a natural function,

but outer fulfillment

a mere hallucination,

a soul castration.

Cuz you cannot be loved

by him, by her, by them

by all, by one, by many, by a few

until you come to

find your essence on the closest shelf

and learn to love yourself!

Sausage Machine

And so they said

it’s routine,

a kind of sausage machine

an automated, repetitive process.

This job, this path, this event, this love

nothing, but a game

This miniature world

Oh Lord, it’s all the same!

And so I called Neil

a piece of information to steal

What’s it like for you?

What’s your kind of stew?

What kind of job would you like?

Would you go there on a bike?

He’d do it all, he’s keen

except for being a sausage machine.

Day in, day out

the life of a scout

It all starts with good morn’

a coffee, a bagel

an event or two

a cigarette with a chick called Bernadette

And then, the night settles.

Existence is nothing, but

a sausage machine

with hundreds of pedals.

Trapped, in a relationship

that’s lapsed.

Kisses and touches

come as a must.

Passion used to go first

Now it’s all simulated,

disguised and mascaraded

in talks and grand gestures

of spicing up things

when all that’s left

it’s moving numb limbs.

“I love you”

meaningless words on repeat

a hamster in a spinning wheel

dancing on a sad beat.

Lavish, trainspotting party

In the penthouse of illusions

everyone gorges on delusions.

Lost to reality,

numb, uncapable of inquiry

high on a cup of tea,

in love with hemp

indulging on snow,

everybody at this party

gets kicks out of blows.

If it’s extreme

with really tight denim

If it’s shallow

with tinges of hollow

If it’s bitchy

and a tiny bit witchy

If it draws blood

and mixes it with mud

they laugh, they scream, they dream.

They go along with the scheme

a cheap and shabby trainspotting scene.

They feed their brains with more gin,

discard the board games.

They just drink and grin,

they infuse their bodies to the beam

with liquor, drugs and toxic fumes.

The flowers that could be in bloom

have become just that….mean.

Everybody at this lavish party

thinks is cool and a smarty,

but they are just petty and dirty.

Overindulging in trifling banter,

full of rancour

pretend and try to impress,

on the rhythms of dance,

themselves and each other.

And them being flirty….

they are just thirsty

for all the feelings they have lost

when all the simple things in life they tossed.

Unbearably loud and absolutely meaningless

those pop songs, those repetitive house tunes

top off this lavish, tedious party.

And they’ll all be the same

when they turn forty.

The art of loneliness

The immaculate, white wall of the sanatorium,

the fleas, the bugs, the absence of rugs,

the lack of sounds,

or the rat-a-tat-tat,

constantly penetrating

the enclosure of the lonely,

the peace of the one and only.

In the garden of solitude,

Where her and his only companions

are fleeting thoughts and sentient beings,

Loneliness becomes an art

and the vacant space

enough to fill the heart.

Is she lonely?

Is he alone?

They might be,

but vibrate in silence.

Hush…

For it is the art of loneliness!

Down on Earth

Down on Lonely Avenue

I tripped

On a hell of a shell

And I fell

Me, an urban hippie

My floral gown, ripped…

Down in the void

A misfit, a rugged bearded man

Escaping, condemning society, materialism

Created his den

An onion, maybe ten

Layers and layers of Zen

Down on Lonely Avenue

My bloody knees

I lost my keys!

I might even have a kidney disease

Please… freeze, or maybe sneeze

To be accident-prone used to be fun

Like a pun

Now, it’s just a bull run.

Down in the void

I try to hold my own

Away from it all

At times, a Buddha in my soul

Seldom, as mad as Sigmund Freud

It’s quiet and free

under this Banyan tree

It’s lonely

only me and the green tea.

Down on Lonely Avenue

I crawl on concrete

I almost lost my wit

Everyone’s laughing at my outfit

My pain, my care

I wanted to transmit

Yet… the masses only perceive

that my cardigan is vintage and double- knit

Down in the void

The retired fellow

On a pension scheme

Of one and a half marshmallow

Banished himself and his cello

to this world of mellow

down bellow.

He renounced the sun

and all of its yellow.

Down on Lonely Avenue

The cruel with all their expensive fuel

Invaded the street

Their feet clad in meat

They bargain and tweet

I admit my defeat

Descend in the void

Oh, wonder!

Who is this other humanoid?

Love Metamorphosis

 

Love,

Simple,

Peaceful and fulfilling

For some, for most.

Love,

Multiple personality disorder

Or possibly,

Borderline personality disorder

For me.

 

A voice that speaks sublime,

That chants his name to the sky

But suddenly, a makeover!

The lucky clover turns to ash

And belladonna comes to crush

Fragile, the soul exposed

You flush!

Fragile, naked to the eye,

Your essence unveiled

Free and available

To users and abusers.

The skin, so soft, translucent

Trembles under his fingertips

And then it cracks.

You blush!

Passion is a rush

Take the stash

Of distorted voices, of conflicting emotions

And make a run for it

Never to come back!

The panic wave

 

Hear, hear

The king of panic and fear!

it’s Monday

or Sunday

or maybe Friday

the days have departed

a mighty routine started

hours and hours,

and weeks,

a month of bacteria

no cafeteria

a deserted city

there isn’t even a kitty

a bleak soul,

Disinfect each and every bowl

breathe in, breathe out

the virus outside!

This auspicious year

has spread only fear!

Hear, hear

only time can heal.

The elusive Chronos…

he, alone, knows

how itchy is the nose.

The mask speaks

the skin’s so dry

bleach, wash, sanitize

don’t forget your eyes!

Did you order pies?

you better have some spies

if there is fever

you become a receiver.

The apocalypse, sci-fi

ghost towns, the future

Like in the movies

It’s almost quarantine

except it really is…

in Wuhan.

There’s no one around

no peace of mind to be found

Tell me, seer

all these folks

with all their jokes

were they to eat an iris

would it kill the coronavirus?

Horror Story

 

Once upon a time,

There was a gory, hoary dime

With a scary costume,

Promising doom,

A Halloween creature,

In a monochrome feature.

Living in a chocolate ball

Too frightened to fall.

The dime and his shawl

Were playing a role!

Sad and alone,

All they wished for…

Was  a doll!

To whisper some eerie tunes

and climb on some bleary dunes.

The dime and his friends,

All Halloween threads

Special,

with a hint of peculiar,

Were crawling in the sewer

Scheming to murder

The prehistoric hotelier

with his own mortar!

It’s all too familiar!

It’s all getting clearer!

A living dime, some rags and a killer

It’s a Halloween story thriller!

Murder on the Orient Express

Orient Express: My dream, my fantasy, my inspiration.

 

An international affair,

Murder and le bon air,

Velvet, stockings, lace and silk,

A moral hazard,

Retro crimson shoes,

The sound of soft steps,

Tak, tak, tak, tak…

On the Orient Express.

Candlelit dinner,

La Belle Époque,

Mischief,

And a well-known thief.

Lips are sour,

The witness swallowed a flower.

From Paris to Constantinople

Mystery, my dear sire!

The truth shall never transpire!

Silence is woe,

Secrets and snow,

Dwell in the shadow.

Spring emerges

 Crime, it purges!

Stealing souls

 

Drink the darkness of your soul,

The oozing venom on patrol.

Feed yourself

With flesh and blood.

Crawl in the mud,

Hide in the shadows!

You, robber of souls!

On twisting and turning lanes

You feast on veins.

A mediocre performer

From dawn to dusk

With twilight

You change so brusque.

You guzzle on people’s vitality,

Thrive on carnality.

You, Dorian Gray of reality!

You, the Mr. Hyde of nightmares!

You,  a modern Dracula!

You, Azrael walking on Earth!

You, soul collector demon!

You move so swiftly,

Yet, your work is filthy!

Terror, terror and downfall!

Terror, terror by nightfall!