These days were not dark.
They also weren‘t light.
They were noise.
Sometimes yellow.
But mostly gray.
And she was not waiting anymore.
But wishing for things, still.
And into the distance that wasn‘t even one,
but rather an empty hole,
she whispered:
„Oh, if the world hadn‘t hurt you!
If only your eyes would sparkle!
And if the world hadn‘t scarred me.
And if only my voice could sing!
But would it even be us?
If our skin was whole,
and our souls untouched
by the nightmare of being alive?
Would it even be us,
without shadows emerging,
and raindrops painting?
I think not.
But while you‘re out there, chasing the nightmare, never forget that I am still here.“
Has he heard?
Against the noise,
and the yellow,
cascading into gray?
And if so,
would he grant himself to understand?
Would he turn around,
and give a kiss
onto those shadow cheeks,
as long as blood still runs through them?
She shakes her head.
The nightmare is reaching out for them once more.
The latest Dystopia confusion – or what vaccines, glasses, and sunscreen suddenly have in common.
Confusion is one of the most important aspects of Dystopia. It’s this state of the world that keeps burning into the skin like a nervous flickering – and suddenly you’ve bought frog legs from the weirdo at the end of the road, while your neighbour was hanged for a miscarriage 20 years ago. Let’s name…
Keeping the connection – About taking the next step
I remember standing on the same field where I spent most of the past unnerving months. Listening to the same three accords throughout a song reminded me of time passing, of the feeling of spending time with people while doing something special together. Studying for an exam, rehearsing a song, going on a trip -…
Of memories and ashes
Once you were thereTwo minutes afterWith coffee and rainI will rememberThe way that we wereThe world has felt whole. Once we were thereIt was a ThursdayWith tea and a smileI will always rememberIt made me forgetThat the world has got holes. I want this to beThe one thingTo hold on toTo fill up the holesWe…
Mistress witch writes 