I remember the odour
of your leather
while deafening German sounds
were slowly killing me
with a desire
to never stop kissing you.
I remember the scent
of your embraces,
they felt like you
were borrowing my life
for some freak show.
Years later,
I’m here again,
in the sweet spot
of square one –
same name,
different letters,
and yet another indescribable feeling
of loss,
just in reverse this time.
I looked up to you
so much,
it started to feel
like a hungover cocktail
of hot and cold.
more than by any other experience
in the past,
I finally overdosed.
On you.
And it seemed like a such good decision.

– Chatty Owl –


A second choice,
a backup plan –
like leftovers, still warm on your spoon,
but tasteless –
good only to keep your body alive,
without any real passion,
that humanity craves so much
(that you crave so much!)
Thats all you get –
substitute of feelings.
You’ve been living off her love,
but there’s none left any more
for you,
just chucked-outside coldness
and pity feelings –
like trash of the riches.
I know you hurt all over
as if your skin is a reflection
of a bruised soul
and I watch you force yourself
to fall asleep like this –
by waking up with a headache,
that seems so soothing
in comparison.
She has done it.
Not on purpose, yet so effectively.

You left your life for her
and she returned to hers –
without you.

– Chatty Owl –


I had to change my name,
because my face didn’t fit your hands
as it used to
and when you kissed me,
there were no sparks to prove,
that we are in love.
I like the thought of you
(un)dressed on my bed,
but it’s not easy for me
to hang my clothes
on your peg of honesty,
so I just throw them on the floor –
the same place, where
you used to tell me,
how you enjoy the smell
of my just-washed hair.
You write prose about your past
and I (un)write poems about the future,
because I don’t have one.
I want to stare at your face
all three hundred minutes
and no breaks,
but I still won’t be able to see
past that mask of yours
and guess the name
of your first girlfriend.
Sometimes I drag my nails
across walls and floorboards
trying to find that perfect word
to describe
how much I want to hate you,
but it takes three seconds
to find a web of words
to express the emotion I have
for your blue eyes, that
are not blue after-all.
Creative monsters live in walls
of my bedroom,
but only on those days,
when you’ve slept in my bed
and left socks on the stairs –
like a reminder,
that you will crawl back
inside my mind again.
Like a snake in the grass.
Like my hand in your pants.
I wear a shirt with no bra
and I drink coffee with no sugar,
but I cover my eyes in front of strangers
and I disguise whiskey in my coffee,
when the clock strikes 7 in the morning,
this is the time,
when people have lunch in Japan
and I like eating in good company.
With strangers.
You told me to quit lying,
but I never even tried
doing it,
so don’t patronise me about things
I have not intended to do,
until you offered
I slipped.

– Chatty Owl –

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