I am in it. Love it. Saw recently a girl (didn’t like me, to harsh she meant) who was reading Poetry by an Writer i didn’t know.

I like feeling the colours in words. Feeling the pulse of emotions who are sometimes like green, flower-filled grass, sometimes like a desert of stones, bloody, grey and kinda wasted. It kicks your senses out of your head straight into your muscles, bones and your heart, sometimes opens your heart to listen a bit more sensually to the beat of the time, of the life, of the wind, the sun, moon and the coffee or tea which you hold right up in the morning in your freezing, lazy, sleepy hands. Listen to the skin of your partner, the softness of its chest, the charm of it’s laugh and the never-silence of it’s head.

You’re welcome, straight into- Poetry.


Well, that’s life. Life sucks.


Here you come,
And here you go,
There you’re lost,
Threw up and Throw,
Your heart away,
Your sense to dust,
But in me,
My Sweet,
For sure- you trust.


BANG- How fuuuuucking sweet. Kickass.