I am exhausted,
But hey,
Everything else is ok.

Don't
Do
Anything
Stupid,
You
Idiot.
Period.

Strangeness is what's still keeping me alive
And making me happy.

Our feelings are crushing together,
We are two birds of impossible  feather.

There's no bin
For the wasted time.

I am fine,
I am fine,
Even though
It's not mine.

I wish you a bad luck,
And then a good luck,
And then a quiet life,
For which you'll be ripe.

Everything is for a reason.
Do you have a reason?
No, you don't.

Time,
And time again
I'm in pain.

What if you loved me?
Just imagine that,
It would be wonderful for you.

My inner child
Is thinking about the inner immigration,
And I have no idea,
Where does it leave me.

You know, how it is,
When someone walks into your life
On very high heels.

In this world
I'm not alone,
And that is often the problem.

Nothing is like before,
And before, it was nothing.

There are so many things,
About which there is nothing to tell.

I am not your problem,
You are not my solution,
We are just two question marks to each other.

That is not
What I thought
It would be,
It would be.

There are no guidelines
About a background noise,
About a chilling wind
Or a mixture of those.

There is no good time,
Unless you have it,
There is no good place,
Unless it's yours.

Breathe in,
Breathe out,
Very good, that's what it is about.

There is no context left,
There is just a language desert
With occasional ruins of ancient contexts.

I'm looking for an island with a nice house, calm lights and some occasionally laughing people not far away. Nothing fancy, really.

How to think back,
How to think back to the beginning,
Erasing all the thoughts along the way?

People are falling out of their dreams
Onto the empty streets,
Winter is coming.

I am looking troubled,
Being the trouble.

It was very tough,
But I made me laugh,
And it's really quite enough.

In the grey world,
A red squirrel
Is running frantically through the whiteness of fields.

I'm not sorry,
I'm not angry,
I'm just sleepy,
Dont touch me.

if you can't find anything
in your secret cupboard,
take a day off,
clear up the mess you became.

Christmas is
What Christmas does,
For us.

I am booked by my feelings and thoughts
Till the end of my life,
And being overbooked.

What is it?
Why is it?
Is it?

In our foreplay,
Which is currently just a wordplay,
The punctuation can be ignored.

The biggest fear of my days
Are my nights,
Otherwise my days are just beautiful.

I'm not against any religion, but how many typos are we quoting centuries or millennia later?
But we believe, in God and nowadays in cuteness.

The emptiness is looking at you
With a lot of love.

I'm looking at you in the mirror,
But you keep disappearing,
But you keep disappearing.

Rough edges,
Mirrors without end
And empty pledges.

A dictionary has been spilled into a desert,
And so many nice words are laying around, half-buried in the sand,
Waiting for a passer-by to be spelled.

Your words don't have any letters,
Put the letters back, please.

don't be afraid of any fate,
don't be afraid,
don't be afraid.

I wish you a good journey
into yourself,
following this bottle.

We know that the life is short, but still we imagine it like an eternity. And so any problem we have become in our mind an eternal problem. Even if it's just a pending dentist appointment.

In my life, from the right to the left,
There is nothing right
And there is nothing left.

There are times when you can do nothing and that's exactly the only right thing to do. You recognise those times immediately, after they've gone.

To smile or not to smile,
That's a bitter choice.

For each timid day
There is only one foxy night,
With a fleeting hope for eternal love.

I appreciate your feelings,
I do,
I would have some towards you,
I would,
If I knew, how to.

No one is empty or broken inside,
The fate isn't taking somebody's side,
The fate is judging, but mostly waiting.

They told me
That there was no sky without me,
But there is now.
So I jumped.