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It breaks the fabric of the soul,
Each time she smiles and says nothing at all.

Somewhat it tears a rift
Right through the crippled heart.
Knowing love can move mountains
Yet only keeps the souls apart.

The mind leaks worry
Like a broken glass of wine,
Nursing spirals of panic
Creeping liquidly beneath the spine.

A desperate chaotic gesture
To sommersault into this flood
Submerged solemnly into oblivion
Into a cauldron heart of boiling blood.

The Tyrant of Heartache

The titan of despair
Carefully weaves his drama.
A blackened quilt of dissappointment
In hopes to move the wheel of Dharma.

Its fingers dance slowly
For patience is the virtue of men.
While heartbreaks gather
Like heavy rings upon his hands.

Choking life out of words
For life leaves no meaning behind
And as certain as the flight of birds
The time that's lost, can't be rewound.

However, Calm and pleasant in sunlight,
Always wearing gloves of comfort.
helping hands of sweet delight
For a world that lost its worth.

So valiantly he strived
To cherish and to dry
The ambrosia of pearls
Gently picked up from our eyes.

Now, Plucked his ears
To live alone in darkened silence
For the noise of sympathy he fears,
Already threatens to upset the balance.

Within his lonely machine,
peering curiously outside,
He glances lost at a distorted world;
So cold and strange to his own eyes.

Memento Mori

We, the outcasts.
The tattooed, the painters, the writers, the live lifers,
the drinkers, the smokers, the runaways, the stalkers.
The homeless, the shameless,
the lovers, the bruisers, the substance abusers.
All fade as one.

We, the fit-ins.
The lawyers, the doctors, the soldiers, the tailors
the thinkers, the drivers, the cops, the accountants
The well paid, the got-laid,
the brokers, the stock holders, the multiple car owners
All melt into one.

We, the saints.
The stars, the athletic patrons, the missing on milk cartons,
the actors, the rebelious scoundrels, the never born, the unknown fire starters.
The politicians, the popes, the merchants of hopes,
the tv icons, the conquering characters, the oblivious martyrs
All resurrect as one.

We the people.
The black in the blue, the white in the ques
The yellow in the streets. The red on the skids.
The young and the old, the weak and the strong.
All die alone.

Periodica

Cateodata ma zbat,
Sa gasesc un fir de sange
sub piele de bumbac.

Cateodata inca frige,
Urma unor degete
ce tendoanele-mi le-nvinge.

Cateodata ploua isteric
Prin carne, os si sange
si arcul de triumf
al vertebrelor se frange.

Cateodata e haos
Si intreg universul
zace in repaus.

Cateodata e dementa
Si nu poti soarbi din ochi
nici un strop de clementa.

Cateodata nu vad,
Cateodata nu simt
Cateodata mereu
Cateodata nimic.

Blind Apollo

Write poems to people
Whose names ring unknown
Flatter them dead, disarm their control.

For what regards form
I trully am shapeless
Like all heathen gods, crawling through ages.

Bind not yourself
To the motives of men
For their is no such thing as the certainty of plan.

Trust not Love as your sight,
For it will rob you of direction
And in your mortal hours you'll be severed from connections.

Eros under pressure

I am young, my spirit's love
Heart of sea foam, grown from earth
You are none of the above.

Live in chaos, dead with grace
Treaded silent, place to place
From a death that leaves no trace.

Fruits and flowers, they grow daily
Hungry bellies, can't speak plainly
Of souls vibrating so frailly.

I am young, my body's fever
To my love, no switch, no lever
But I won't be young forever.

The Natural Beauty of Infidelity

Through borders of black
Lie truths too late uncovered
Beneath the sheets of snow
Lie lovers lost, unbothered.

Slowly, take a sip,
What an extraordinary soul!
Find it to your liking,
Yet somehow crave for more.

But what I find distracting
Is the logic in your weary heart
The way you plead for mercy
From the heart you tore apart.

Then, bribe with salty pearls
That you farm just to impress
The everloving hollow eyes
Of the beautifully depressed.

And the skin which you inhabit
Was his favorite land
Until you've let it to be crumpled
By some strange and greedy hands.

 Arsenic and old lace
Will make your poor man mad
And they'll stand like a memory
That he'll wish he never had.

Duality

Crept through windows
From the biting cold
While you rest your head
In beds of solid gold.
I dream of color,
to see only black and white and gray
You never dream at all
But waste your eyes away.
You talked of roads
I read, listened and felt
Following your skin,
Wherever your heart went.
Winds cracked my lips
Lipstick had yours beat
My jaws clenched in hunger
Yours gnawed the finest meat.
Days filled your pockets
With my mordant silver tears
And I waved broken at the station
When you left your youthful years.
My final letters
Moving lucid through illusions
And the leash is now broken
Freeing me from all confusion
For the same reason
The sun never bothers with the moon
When Earth's in its reach
From dusk until the lazy noon.
For the same reason
There is north and south in poles
And warm hearts that pump life
Cannot withstand mechanic cold.

Cred ca cele mai mari tragedii ale erei noastre nu iau nastere din sunetul armei, pentru ca un foc ia cu el viata rapid si usor. Ce ne darama structura spiritului, lasandu-ne sub daramaturile unui inteles, sunt cuvintele care nu le spunem. E linistea zdrobitoare in care isi fac cuib indoiala, anxietatea si regretul, fara a mai lasa loc de nimic. Sunt lucruri care nu te omoara, dar se agata de tine perioade lungi de timp precum boli necunoscute ale sufletului. Intr-un fel nu te vindeci niciodata, doar inveti sa traiesti cu ele pana dispar. Asa ca un te urasc sau te iubesc, ma bucur ca te cunosc sau vreau sa mori iti pot imbunatati considerabil viata.

Chlorosis

A trecut ceva timp de cand ne-am cunoscut. Uneori timid, alteori mandru, mi-am inghitit cuvinte care nu le voi mai gasi niciodata. Sincer sa fiu, Mi-ar fi placut sa ne tinem de mana in loc sa incerc sa impung gauri in indoiala care o ai in suflet. Sa te inteleg fara sa vorbim, sau macar sa te ascult fara a te intelege. Sa urlam amandoi de bucurie in loc spunem in soapta ca toate trec si va fi bine intr-o zi. Sa fiu acolo tot timpul, nu doar cand nostalgia ploii ne lipeste de taste sau caldura ne tine in spatele geamurilor. Dar timpul a trecut prea repede ca sa pot avea speranta de a tine macar evidenta zilelor. Tu te-ai pierdut printre fetele primitoare ale prietenilor si eu am facut acelasi lucru. Preocupati de simplul fapt de a fi in viata, am pierdut intelesul multor fraze, am inteles gresit multe gesturi.  Mi-ar fi placut sa fim copii impreuna pana intr-o zi  cand viata ne-ar fi aruncat aleatoriu in directii diferite. Dar astfel de sanse nu primesc decat putini. Si probabil doar cei care merita.
In timp, marea imi va sterge urmele de pe nisip. Poate si pe ale tale. Sau poate vor aparea altele noi in locul alor mele. Dar asta nu mai e grija mea. Intr-un fel nu a fost niciodata. Tot ce pot face acum, e sa sper ca lacurile Constantei iti vor strange sarea din suflet si o vor dilua in marea linistita. Sper Ca vei trai viata ca pe o toamna linistita, departe de frigurile singuratatii sau caldura aglomeratiei inutile. Eu voi iubi iar, iar tu vei face la fel. Vom umbla sub soare ca umbre zambitoare si intr-o zi daca pasii ni se vor opri sub greutatea emotiei ne vom zambi si vom schimba iar replici fara sens. Viata va fi frumoasa, ai sa vezi.