the black lung

my lungs are screaming in protest against this torturous abuse.

my mind is screaming for rest as i struggle to get loose.

coughing, hacking, wheezing

the only thing worse than death right now is sneezing.

the bones of my ribcage are bruised black and blue.

this death is to dying what plague is to the flu.

every breath is a dagger to the chest.

and right now maybe breathlessness is really for the best.

this pain, it lets me know that i'm alive.

this pain, it lets me know that nothing will be fine.

eyes bleed in boredom

i'm on my knees thanking god that i can't hear the clock ticking away the seconds of my life.

today's another day to sit and waste away.

my bloodshot eyes betray the tears i've cried, and my bloodshot heart betrays the times i've died.

insides on the outside leave nothing to imagine. insides like mine are uglier than sin.

and a black heart pumps blood through black lungs, leaving me gasping for breathlessness.

the sunrise is just another reason to cry now. tomorrow is just another day before we die now.

these walls are closing in so fast, i fear that i won't make it to the door. the time is ticking by so slow, i'm sinking through the floor.

in this solitary sea, i cling to a cordless life-raft, praying for salvation in its infrequent electronic song.

la-la land

It’s a cliché to say,

But plastic people prevail,

In this town that we call L.A.

And the angels of this city

Had better be mindful

Of a pertinent little ditty.

And mindful they’d best be,

More so of altitude

Than they are now, of velocity.

Because plastic wings melt

In temperatures at heights

That they have never felt.

And a ladder to the top

Is a pass to the bottom

When the cleaver brings the chop.

And plastic people smile bright

And plastic people melt

When they reach new heights.

And molten plastic will run free

Through the streets the day that we

Finally reach the top of the forbidden tree.

ganz klein

so i'm standing on die teraze and smoking a badly rolled cigarette. i stare into the night sky and marvel, as is no doubt customary among strangers in foreign lands, at the immense vastness of the universe. on one side, i can hear the babbling of a lawn fountain that more closely resembles a broken sprinkler head than any kind of proper fountain. on the other side, i catch snippets of music and dialogue from what must certainly be some humphrey bogart film, poorly dubbed into unforgiving deutsch.

und ich war ganz klein. i'm not sure that one can actually be ganz klein. is it not a contradiction of terms? da war ganz niemand. can there be a lot of nobody?

there's certainly a lot of nothing.