Follow Your Dreams

I have no wisdom
I have no feeling
One day I will wake up
I have no emotion
I have no aspiration
With a gun in my hand
I have no job
I have no love
Placed on my temple
I have no future
I have no sadness
Shoved into my mouth
I have no pity
I have no shame
Ready to fire
I have no truth
I have no courage
A bullet that would break
I have no empathy
I have no desire
Inside my mind
Inside my mind
Inside my mind
Inside my mind
There is no heaven.

and i only am a man

I wander the empty roads around the forests by your house,
it’s the dead of soggy winter January 6th,
I haven’t taken the New Year too well,
and it has left me with empty pockets that speak
a sign language that I cannot begin to comprehend.

I hear your footsteps and I know I hear a charming man,
You make the wind quiver in the Finnish weather/filth.
This time I haven’t been drugged by pharmaceutics,
and I haven’t been fucked up by therapeutics,
but you already knew there was no worry.

You are so very bright and innocent now,
you gave up on the dregs of society’s piss filled heads,
where my voice was alone in a cave of echoes,
but your ears were there first to guide me.

And I only take baby steps in your glory.

What’s a Love Song?

The ceiling was repressed and shouldered by your minarets,
I kept calling, calling out from the tenement blocks,
Searching for tenets and orders, keeping myself in abandon.

What is a love song without a klaxon sound,
sirens singing like pistol carrying pawns,
What is a love song written on the hearts of law makers’,
and law breakers –the shakers of society anguished by
Those persons wild in disbelief.

I hang my gown on cigarette packs as I hang my soul
on cracked beer bottles, half-drunk half-empty
–but filled with pity and spit laced with bacteria.

What is a love song that doesn’t corrupt the heart,
slow and steady like larvae who only wish to reproduce a thought,
What is that love song so unheard of that drives an ape insane,
mad enough to slaughter history and themselves.

I have no eyes for my neighbor,
I have no words for my father –sister –mother.

What was that love song,
that was forcefully taken from another?

What is, and what isn’t

I hear the rain pour down from the dark January sky,
but I haven’t felt the rain, I have only heard her echoes through the walls
And I’m writing without connection to the world,
I am lost, but not quite gone

I think of the people who are outside,
some are wet, while others have umbrellas.

I am not wet, because I stay indoors
I don’t own an umbrella, because I plan to stay indoors.

I hear cars roar past my house as they splash the puddles,
The water drenches a passer-by, he curses and pulls out his middle finger,
It’s like poetry, but poetry with intent and not some bleeding heart bullshit,
I’ve heard the song that says, “anger is an energy”.

And I agree with that statement.