in foggy reflections behind skin in colors milked with lavenders and soft tangerines live half-hearted twists of sunburnt oranges and crimson riddled with hurt. I watched her share feelings after the fight to unbury them, they call her needy, I call her brave. words spoken to a half listening computer screen are easier to breathe life to than words spoken in the midst of whole listening souls, the main difference being a flow of sub-conscience-bearing mumbles springing through aching fingers and a backspace key. lingering thoughts of an absent pulse, a deep desire for another place, wondering and flipping thoughts over and over in my mind to feel them, feel them, again and again with each turn. how are you feeling today. we can't pretend it isn't there. is it because of me?
the same. I want to. never.
someday it will make sense.

I wish I could guide
these caged words
be able to maneveour them
let them drift apart
towards the seamless light of the night towards the oceans of elixir

I wish I could set free
the taste of the bittersweet memories
without causing any harm to my conscience
without letting the uncertainties
affect my psyche

I wish I could join and tear
Cry and fear
Laugh and rejoice at the same things
Dance to those songs and cry to them
Settle and destruct
Without bluffing with my soul.

I have mere recollections of
******* cocktails being served
Under the starless sky
Because the stars allure the poets
And the poets mistake them for shooting stars

Another thing I'm reminded of is
Envelopes with pink and gold glitter dust
It's better to keep them untouched
Because touching them means food for thought
And food for thought is mistaken for inessential complexity

The last thing that comes to my mind
are the old chandliers in the hallway
And it's better to not look up while walking
Because blinding light would result in a catastrophe
And a catastrophe would restrict my recollections to these few elements

being
a good person
when you don't want to be
good
is easier
than being mean
even though
your blood is
boiling

If ****** could not **** my family...
What makes you think you could **** me?

What makes you think you could do me harm...
When the greatest harm hath been done

My blood is very much alive
Of fire, of Ghettos, of **** threats and hallow mass graves

I am the daughter of the Jews you could not ****
My grandfather watches me

Stands at the foot of my bed
With a shotgun to any man that tries it again

The last female, the last
Tis my duty, tis my right

Twas my father's to protect me
But ****** did not betray his daughter...

As my ancestors I was groped, stripped, bruised, ravaged
Spewed out to unclean, tainted, filth

History transcended through me
My camp was a house full of vice and sin

Where innocence was met with ****** eyes
That which cast disdain unto their memory

My Semitic heritage was concealed
Hidden as my scars and torn *****

My people were *****!
This flesh of mine no different...

But I stand, I did not die...
No pervert of old age, nor madman of Austria
Could **** me...

No, it was the closest man to home
That did the damage...left me to the beast

Dragged me into Warsaw of perverse intention
and like the rest of the world ignored the cries

My people and I cried out for justice...
and history as always repeats itself
and we were ignored...

But I live...I live...I live because my Grandfather stands by me
With a shotgun for the next man that tries it again