get up.

get up.
rusty marks on chest and bone. i want to leave this place.

get up.
my brain is working full time. stop.
hide. behind rosy cheeks. your blackened eyes and
mean spirited demeanour.

get up.
from ashes. burned woods and cooling embers.

get up.
raise your voice. scream and stumble trough the roughness of your throat.
now is not the time to find cover. no threshhold will let you pass.
no candles in windows to lead you to a silver lining.

get up.
on this maddening path. in search for change. for one is only still when dying.

A few words…
Rising in my hollow self.

Resentments. Over dreadful past and stories.
I start scraping my skin again. Again.
Trying to peel of the layers of what is simmering inside my head.

A few words…
Enable me to bind myself to this glazing pain.

Free at last, singing my souls desire

copyright (C) 2014 by franzad

Fragments 1

Figures of speech, running and chasing – to the uttermost bewilderment of man. Up on a hill and down, down to the ash-filled holes of earth and filth. I scramble my words, the scattered letters. Worn like a crown upon my heavy head.
The smart connections of daily conversations. On never stopping, gleaming screens. How do i yearn for the sound of sentences, brushing my ear. Numbness of intactions. Atrophie of humanity, how Huxley predicted it so many short years ago. I want the Beat- (nik) of familiar souls, simmering in this heart of mine.
Waitin, waiting till life starts trembling. Blood is streaming down my cheek from constant weeping. The smell of bound paper subsides to a dusted memory. Do you not crave the touch of skin on skin?

copyright (c) 2014 by franzad

Harvest.

The rearrangement of the senses.
In the transcendentalism of emerging thoughts.

Haying in the afternoons fading heat
i tend to wander away, around                         Waldens pond

the coolness of spent shadows
make words linger in my mind.

sweaty drops lumbering down my spine       and lower
ha…..searing mind, decendes through worked muscles
–   to yawning fingertips and toes.

pink and orange colored skies, in variations –
after the horizon with cricket songs
my spirits strive

copyright (c) 2014 by franzad
written for dVerse

growing. up.

Can be less than expected. Even cruel in it´s underestimated trait
– To end

Fleeting. I try to grasp all the forms confiding you.
Words and guestures. Often in haste, so full of anger.
Which origin i can not decipher.
Are etched into my skull, on the map my brain so naturally created.
You say, it has to be that way.
Whenever i cry out in pain. Infront of you. You ask my what to do.

All of this happened so many years ago. But for the child inside of me,
It never stopped. I try to draw it out of the shadows and weary minded memories.
Latley

You told me you loved me. So many times. “I am proud of you, my eldest.”
And still, he kept hitting me, tearing my soul to pieces. from time to time.
The mind developes strategies to put together the shattered fragments.
My mind lost some parts through time, to cope and live, a life i slowly come to understand.

The almost average brutallity of me, growig up in a mix of tears and laughter.

Grief over your weeping body. Silent weeping.
Shocked by my own mortality. My wilted, decaying body under ground. Melting with your ashes. Digested by worms and maggots. My soul is coiling up around herself. Freed of daily ordinaries. Pressed and filed are the normed behavior patterns , fading in the memories of the living.
What remains are filtered fragments. To sougar-coat the past. The memories. To ultimately accept the never unchangeable.

Now:
I am. But diffrent. All these versions of myself. Most of the time.

For M.

Dear …..

I am sitting here, beneath the branches, swaying to the autuum breeze.

Thinking of you has taken on an obsessive character. There is a part of me, hiding like a trembling child, waiting in anguish fo a single word of you.

I resent and nurish this paart of myself.

And every once in a while, i detect a question rising in the darkest back of my head.  Why did i let you take hold over my quivering heart? Is it the human nature, which keeps my cells from parting?

Do i relish in this enticing pain? My trust is dyining, in slow-motion. And i let it.

How much are we responsible for the feelings of others, of our own?

It amazes me, how easely i let myself become this needy and wanting. Yearning for something…..you.

 

My cave of molded memories.

 

But not anymore.

I dont want your words, harsh or loving. I kiss goodbye your once so loving lips,

– producing butterflies – inside me – tangled.

I want truth, disecting all these parts wearing my name.

I want love, but not yours, not anymore.

I want as both to be whole again, seperatly.

 

copyright (c) 2014, by franzad.

all those latin names// it doesn’t do their beauty justice

truly magnificant. i want more of these moments, dont you?

jaywalking the moon

photo-249

.

it is the way of first dates,
a little nervouesness,
changing my dress a hundred times

i bike there, on the way
find a place to stop & sketch
sitting in the sun on concrete steps
the geometric movement of my pen
a safety net

“you look beautiful” he says with dry lips&
“your top’s a little transparent,
is this on purpose?”
“nope”
we walk in and out of greenhouses,
humid warmth, blue & red birds
flattering round our heads
“look at this flower” i say
“what an amazing shape”

i’m careful not to touch too much,
he sometimes grabs my hand
and it feels like in 8th grade
“did i get on your nerves
with all my emails last week?”
“no” i shake me head “i just need time&— ”

in the next greenhouse runs a vid, a bee crawls,
drunk with longing for the scent the black&yellow…

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