Solitude is nurture

 I stumbled upon the yellow trainstation of purgatory.
My Grandfather and father took a train from here.
Severing an entire leg
Severing a sanity

It must be two centuries since they painted these panels
Seems fresh to me
Somewhere corner of my eye a fox
No a ghost, no the breeze

And no train to come for another decade of these years
The solitude seems like nurture
This lonliness seems to sustain the hungry nothings that make up me
The millenia behind the veil and where are all the other souls?

I guess they all paired up and danced their way to heaven
All I have is this old yellow train station
My grandfather's appartion pops by to roll himself a cigarette
To eat a sweet and state the obvious

There's no hope for me but take a drag and chew the sugar
I check my pack and everything i need is lacking
I'd stick it out on these rusty tracks
In the fake sun

Out of the corner of my eye a wolf
No a ghost of myself, looking back blaming
This solitude seems like nurture
The minds stirrs inside my head as if it were a...
separate creature

Even in the dullness of purgatory where they built me up new
What has remained are these traumas and this burning sensation
That the lesser known truth of purgatory
eternity passes much slower here

Unlovable writer

 The Price of Becoming.
Why do still see nothing here?

That's why I almost laughed when you said:
You wanted someone to love you for you.

Where I'm from,
love always came with conditions.
Invisible contracts.
Outlined expectations.
You earned it or watched it disappear.

No one told me,
I could simply exist.
So I learned another language.
Journeyed the world alone.

Alone felt more real,
than conditional friends and family.

Achievement.
Performance who am I?
Seek applause, search spotlight.
Perfection no illusion as destructive.
Choreography that I criticize 

They dance imitating the fool I am!

A little desperate to grow,
A child.
Of becoming whatever earned another glance.

Hunger for recognition.
Why your attention feels
like water after years of drought.
Every compliment,
patches a sore but...
bleeding insists by morning.

I'm not more
than an empty shape,
Ghost on a yo-yo string,
rising with praise,
plunging with silence.

Mistaking encouragement
for good meaning.

You may hate me
because I seem impossible to love.

I was a child.

Some days I get that myself vibe.

Other days I'm just reflecting my style of ugly.

Producing weather

 The ball of fire lifts up from the snow
It grows despite the cold
the snow on the pines falls
Thumb over the fire

But the fireball doesn't go out
It just reformed and burned still
That fire is my heart
the snow is melting

the heart beats the veins obey
The cold strangles but no effect
The land is quiet bandits hide
Waiting for gossip and their graves

My heart is the fireball
The frozen sky doesn't injure it
Infact as it burns I'll make it rain

The depths and the shallows

 Then don't you worry.
You look so good almost everyday.
And on those days you don't...
You look quite dangerous.

My eyes have lives of their own.
People want me to control myself.
But there's nothing that can hold me back.
Then I go forward like a blind shark.

I bite down and take out a chunk from a larger predator.
I must try every kind of flesh there is.
I eat the strongest and the helpless with the same voracity.
I dive deep then surface into the shallows.

I am one of those unknown creatures.
My mind is one big ocean.
Don't fall in now.

Seicht und tief

 Denn mach dir keine Sorgen
Du siehst gut aus fast jeden Tag
Und an den Tagen, an denen du das nicht tust
Siehst du umso gefährlicher aus

Meine Augen haben ein Eigenleben
Du willst, dass ich mich kontrolliere
Es gibt nichts, was mich zurückhält
Dann gehe ich vorwärts wie ein blinder Hai

Ich beiße zu, reiße Stücke aus einem größeren Raubtier
Ich muss alles probieren
Ich fresse das Kräftige und Hilflose gleichermaßen
Ich tauche tief und tauche wieder auf

Ich bin eine dem Menschen unbekannte Kreatur
Meine Vorstellungskraft ist ein großer Ozean,
Fall nicht hinein.

Sky's alive with music

 The music rushed down from the rolling clouds
Flush out the ones we love onto roadway
Bakery cleaner sweeps and smiles
street hobo speaks to himself

Poser poses tries his macho best
Noone is impressed yet noone is out
The music rushed everyone
But they all stayed in

Afraid of their emotions
The way the rhythm attack the spine
Sends the legs kicking and dancing
Foreign music

Hitting the tower first
Percussion fashioning through
I smell belief and I thought caught a glimpse
Of a face trading places with a curtain

Could have been a ghost
But I sent the music
I jumped all the way from dull
Into a mystical state

Just to help extract the music
Pusht the clouds away
Send the sun with this electric numb
Center of me neverending battery

Spark, no original fire

 How could you like someone without knowing them?
Without understanding their beliefs and habits.
Just by the attractiveness of their face.
The way they walk.

Have they even earned your appreciation?
If you don't know if there is even rapport.
Is this admiration the most ridiculous?
beauty curses men's eyes?

Like curtains it doesn't let us see.
What is on the other side of the girl.
Protective walls, only allow them to see
How we fumble in their presence.