in september i learnt
that the dead lives
among the living but not all
sees

when i was fifteen i once played
the ouija board
i said goodbye but
the spirit never left

my mother never understood my
incessant insomnia
she never saw the dreams
of strangers in my bed

she does not hear the voices
of people long gone
yearning to be heard
once more

it is said that in order
to live
you must first learn the
meaning of death

every night i made my bed out of
suicide notes and
broken bones and
overdosed cough mixtures

i once sat on the windowsill
a friend i once called a friend
helped me tight
while i cried

a love i cannot love told me
not to wake up and
regret
it would be too late by then

this is what i learnt in september
that some of us die in the
suffocation of the
overnight casket

and if i forget to come home
one night
i hope you read the signs clearly
this time

I let my  hair bow to the slow wind of hope;
I let my words fall like auburn leaves on paper;
I let my soul dare to believe
in life,
in serenity,
midst universal death.
I took the plunge
I fell head first
ready to graze harsh concrete,
but I rose.
My flight has just begun.

Sept. 29th, 2014
Is combing and brushing your eyebrows in the morning.
It's leaning on the cold car window with earbuds
and as the last notes play, thinking
"Please don't make this a happy song
I don't deserve a happy song."
It's seeing ads for a clearance sale
plastered on a store that almost never is occupied
and seeming to just know that it's
it's subtle way of going out of business.
It's knowing and not believing.
It's breaking out in a cold sweat when you finish a book.
It's wishing I could go home
and lie on my carpet
and peel all my skin off
then crawl back inside
and maybe feel comfortable this time.

Lon, lon, lon
Disdain emerges and clings up to my eyes.
Lon, lon,lon
I stop and mumble, rainbow and sunrise.

Lon, lon, lon
How words can break, they crumble
lon, lon, lon
I abstain of sorrow, I **** to stay humble.

Lon, lon...longer
I sing a song and I tumble, slighty used, nights I borrow.

Lon, lon, lon
And on I ramble,
September is almost gone.

night of truth, rainy september the twenty-third
truth of our movements spread out like wings of a bird
listening so closely from the noise heard so near
making sure each vowel was inhaled, loud and clear
to touch on this subject of struggles and previous
was all at once taken over by the success and the devious
two souls alike, seperated until rain
cast upon windy roads, spoken too little in vain
for the world does not exist without the five senses
the idea of this woman, cross imprinted on his hands as he clenches

jeg sidder og stirrer
ud i mørket
en kold september
nat
karl william synger
om at "vi ku' ha' gjort så meget"
og jeg ved ikke om det er vinden
eller tanken om de sørgerlige
rester af
dig og mig
der får tårer til at falde
som glas på mine elfenbenskinder
kaffen er blevet bitter og kold
ligesom det jeg føler indeni
men mine hænder klamrer
sig til koppen som om
den indeholder det
sidste af dig
jeg har aldrig fundet ud af hvorfor
jeg sidder der
nat efter nat
og stirrer ud i mørket
måske håber jeg bare at se dig
få bare et eneste glimt af dig
som et stjerneskud på himlen
i et milisekund
men der kommer aldrig nogen
eller noget
og endnu en lille del af mig dør
så jeg tænder en cigaret og lader
den brænde mellem mine læber
for godt nok vil du altid
være en del af mig
men du får ikke lov til at være
den der tager livet af mig

The perfume of warm caramel married to spiced pumpkin permeates the amiable atmosphere
The stifling heat stammers a tired goodbye and welcomes the blushing breeze
Shorter days feel interminable as the lethargic sun sleeps behind comfortable clouds
Courageous colors in leaves, calming colors in the sky
The pure scent of rain washes over parched life and pushes people indoors

Back bent, arms out,

I cannot contain my spirit's desire.

I will dance if there is no music,

and roll with the punches,

even if nobody is throwing them.

I am heaven-sent, hell-born,

purgatory-living in its finest form.

If you dare to laugh, I'll laugh along, too,

Because it feels good to hurt so bad.

You don't seem to realize how much I know

without saying a word, with just a look in your eye.

I am glimmering, reading, illusion illustration,

staring into the greatest galaxies I have imagined for myself.

And you, with petty marks and pretty scars,

have ventured out into the cold without shoes on.

As I look both ways to cross the street,

your pinky swear pulls me back in.

You are the sea turtle's deep, slow, sleepy veins,

and I am a hummingbird heartbeat.

The leaves are falling as if from far up,
as if orchards were dying high in space.
Each leaf falls as if it were motioning "no".

And tonight the heavy earth is falling
away from all other stars in the loneliness.

We're all falling. This hand here is falling.
And look at the other one. It's in them all.

And yet there is Someone, whose hands
infinitely calm, holding up all this falling.

Rainer Maria Rilke