i stopped mid-song and blocked her walk with an arm; her curious eyes were only slightly annoyed. "i haven't sung a christmas song in... i don't know, i don't know the last time i sang one."  she laughed "next year i'll make sure i'm with you on christmas so you'll finally sing them on the proper day."

boots and gloves and scarves, we walked through the cold night humming old musical songs. always out of tune, often running out of lyrics; dancing a little, she always kept an eye on my easily lost balance. she told a few stories of us. i like her stories better; in her stories i am strong and determined and consistent. i am the hero in her stories, never the anti-hero. her mouth turns my weirdness into eccentricities of a genius. her history shows my deeply intuitive side, with which i carried myself and others through fire, through death...

we keep talking, her heart gets mad at my stubborn soul, then she sighs and says;  "i love you, sis. this too shall pass, yesyes."  she doesn’t mind reading my lines.

i am wary of women mostly, they scare me. most of them seem to lose common sense, common courtesy for whatever cause their heart is wrapped around at a time. they become unpredictable and vicious; i am the only loose cannon i can handle in my backpack. butbutbut, i love the women in my life, my women, mine. each so uniquely brilliant, each speaks to another part of me. they are riddles i've solved years ago; i solve them again and again. their familiar scents guide me down deep where wild women dance around a gigantic bonfire. nakedness does not prick my flesh down there, i take the layers off with ease. the flames don't care about what we look like, we are what we are, and existence is the only beauty we need.

"sis, do you want coffee?"
“sis, where is the lighter?"
"sis, are you ready to go?"
"sis, hurry up."
"sis, why did you have to move?"
"sis, when are you moving there?"
"sis, i have so many things to do."
“sis, don’t worry.”
"sis, i love my jack."
"sis, i love my jack."

we use the same sentences over and over again. we have been singing the same non-songs for years. we snap at the same stuff. we get annoyed at the same shit. we don't mind walking as long as the other is walking along. we try our best to see through the words we utter. we always hold onto the kindness in each other’s hearts.

we love each other.
the love is true because we worked hard to get to know us.

i am the spring...

the same sentences have taken over my soul for a while now. the time has come to abandon the last labyrinth i've been playing in; it is time to go back home.

with words for bricks, i still am an amazing builder of labyrinths. one might see me wondering through one, dirty and wounded and nervous, one might see me lost and forget i actually know my way out. i don't do power games, i don't try to teach anyone a lesson, if you see me fled your side, if you happen to be left behind, it's not entirely personal. i do like to go on adventures, i love treasure hunting, and flying through the woods, but i love going back home more. home where the mirrors don't lie. home where love hides in a piece of cake. home where my strength cuddles up next to me as i sleep. not everyone gets to come home with me. not everyone knows i have a home. i can't blame them, i am the one who pretends to be homeless and weak and troubled. how could they know i just like to step out of my castle now and again to roam my lands incognito. i am actually glad not everyone cares to see all of me.

that's quite alright if i am not to rise from my sleep tomorrow.

just when i thought none could hear me no more
she pulled me in and painted me green.

i got to hear her chuckle.
i got to watch her speak.
and this time it was me who got startled
by the force of her hug, and a whisper so simple.

"thank you" my lady said.
as she left i didn't have a single tear to shed;
how could i not laugh when i knew i could write to her again.

this teasing is proving to be quite detrimental to my soul. i know for a fact that i can take it, and it might even be worth it, but i am starting to get rather annoyed.

for someone obsessed with ferris wheels and merry-go-rounds, 9 years is a long time not to have ridden any. i think i shall organize a trip for myself. if december can steal the warmth of april, if december can claim the sun of may, i think i can borrow temporary solace, i think i can snatch some juvenile excitement. just because i always dreamt of kissing on top of a ferris wheel, it doesn't mean wind-kisses won't be enough. just because i think i am too old to ride a merry-go-round, it doesn't mean i need back-up to turn possible reproachful looks to those of shared joy.

i am ready for this year to be over
maybe then i'll allow myself to mourn

jackie boy!

railroads pull on my lucid dreams.
i wake up and i am ready to go, go, go!

unknown cities, rank hotel rooms
bottles of red red wine,
the cheapest kind.

i do not need your directions,
they say i have a hound's nose,
i'll sniff the marrow off your bones.

can you hear me, boy,
the rickety rickety rackety?
did you paint me well, boy?
is that my face upon your wall?

the ones you mistook for laugh lines
hold my screams, boy.
the eyes you named for dreams
are blood wells for sufferers, for fools.
my face lies, boy; my words mislead.
i am the meanest of the tavern whores
you have yet to meet.

was i ever young, boy?
i've felt old for so long.
last night was the first night
i didn't blow my head off.

you know how suicidal i get,
you were there when i counted the pills
of the first bottle i downed.
oh jackie boy, you saw the knives 
i hide beneath my vows.

the rickety rackety of the night...
my heart beats like passion, like love.
there is a joyous gleam upon my eyes.
i have lips shaped like a thousand kisses.
and my hips are curved towards thrusts.
you and i, boy, we know of those lies.

these are the baby steps,
towards my grave that i crave,
since that night i woke up
in that deep, dark cave.

it is kind of ironic how little i care about money and how happy i get when i earn even a little bit of it.