The world could remain gas and fume,
The woe could remain lonely doom,
The words could avoid the plume,
The wilt could avoid my bloom;
If the womb could be my tomb.
No one loves me, not even one,
Not an animal, not a human –
Monster, I’m called by the men;
Loving and being loved, it’s them…
No one feels me, not even one,
I’m not an animal, not a human –
Monster, I’m called by the men;
Feeling and being felt, it’s them…
No one hears me, not even one,
They’re not animal, not a human –
Monsters, they’re called by the man;
Seeing and hearing, it’s not them…
Like sprinkling dust on the paper,
Moulding itself into mud;
Sound the words of the pauper,
Forming his tears into flood.
His need is not a bigger pocket,
Or a fam of a good blood;
His thirst made him a bitter poet,
Being lost in the flood.
Flood of a baby’s first cry to the world,
Seeing everything newly indifferent;
He wishes for a straight world unwhirled,
Wishing not being so different.
Dirting the paper with stolen words,
From sloppy worlds of others;
The pauper gets deeper in his thirst,
And goner in others’.
Sodden paper-pieces in the mud,
Like flood-brought thrashes;
But they didn’t came with the flood,
Just from a former poet’s ashes.
I’ve got a life sentence for every moment of happiness
because a thousand lives are lived by the one who thinks,
and has no living, only in his thinking of
dim fantasies and happenings of
what we had and now we don’t.
I had paid with terror for every evening tale of happiness
in the comatose moments of an easeless clock
that turnes the scenes in glance of shock
from dull peace and meekness
into whirling nightmares.
I paid dear for gazing at every unmerited gems of happiness
that were clearly not meant for such filthy hands,
holding torture in past and hast in the future
for once, ending that doubtful esurience
for all the good that I was bad for.
I’m paying an ocean for every single drop of happiness
that buries me with a million tons of darkness,
hits me with a thousand Newtons of waves,
and suffocates me without measure
for only the thoughts I had, have.
I’ll be paying a never-enough price for the least of happiness
because I’m destined for the opposite of good,
and I am still kicking away the bad mood
that always had cradled, peddled
and will have settled me.
Guilt-pushed wet pillow on my face;
What have I done? There’s no trace,
But there must have something happened,
There must have something happened.
I don’t know much what’s going on;
I have no goal, no role I could be living on,
I’m just surviving day to day,
Day to day.
But today – tonight, I opened a file;
Full of photos of a guy with the same profile,
But he is stranger to me,
Stranger to me.
On the photos, he was with a girl;
I would lie if I say I don’t know her,
But I can feel nothing,
I can feel nothing.
I don’t know who’s that guy;
He was so happy, but how and why,
How is it possible,
I don’t know who they are;
Why are they so bizarre,
They are a copy of me,
Were a copy of me.
That guy was in love with her;
Then, why I can’t refer,
What’s going on,
What’s going on.
You hurt and destroyed her;
But I didn’t even know her,
No, it’s all your fault,
It’s all your fault.
I’m guilty and for sure I’m crying;
I wish I could be faster dying,
Rather than feeling guilty,
While it wasn’t me.
I don’t know that guy, nor myself;
That girl must have left our self,
I am alone with my pain,
Who am I? I claim.
I sleep some nights or glance my eyes;
It happens: everything resets as lies,
But I didn’t mean any of that hurt,
I should have put out an alert:
Don’t approach; I may be fine today;
But I’m a new person every day,
Making you happy for a while,
Then, putting you into a file
With a lost profile
That comes out rarely
I’ve been in an acid rain.
From the start.
Every drop falls.
Through my coat.
Through my face.
Into the heart.
I’ve been sitting in a pit.
It rains sadness.
Every drop laughes.
Into my ears.
Into my soul.
I’ve been waiting death.
I can’t wait.
In the years.
In the pains.
How long they last.
I’m sucking on the rods of sadness;
My palate says no,
My lungs say so,
My heart says so,
Every reasonable mind would say no
While the void inside me says:
YES, YES, YES.
Happiness I seek,
But the surface is so leer;
Isn’t it six feet deep?
Like an injured dog having no sort,
Knocking about the world for resort,
I walk on the dark sides of the streets,
My sight sweeps the paper of the sweets.
This is the sole world that I’m trynna avoid,
This desolation cures my spiritual void,
The dark peace feeds my eagerness,
To care no more or even less.
So the solution here is solitude,
Carelessness while getting screwed,
Sober stupor agaisnt the cruel world,
Living on the surface of the underworld.
Seldom as Cerberus I walk on the earth,
A shadow-like monster seeking worth,
Searching life by trice of headness,
Finding no thing but sadness.
Anon, I fit another canon,
Being a sullen Hungarian dragon,
Tho, I barely bite, I do without sorry,
So, I rather remain on chain and write my story.
I’ve found my place now on an empty chair,
But I live in the blank looks everywhere,
I’m planting, and sadness is my seed,
I’m a sad dog having no breed.