Cyanide
Ada Ionescu
I
Lovers In The Post Office
Swinging door i met the wounded river
myself was at the death step
wordless amazing feathers, entwined
shadows to cover
To uncover my mesmerizing smile
savage glass mirror conveyed
i stayed emptying fields
Magenta experience told my boy to
leave_ The broken woods. My borders_
Round door six room paragraph
my Christ in disguise.
blue clowns of never. my blood does
move
You watched broken stones pavements of dark
it was the march of the living.
Dead
Stimulae for the incandescent goal
proposal to end burning fingers
My hand was caught by the door's swinging
circling birds fed the skies
Clouds entered the barren space of the Post Office.
II
Deadly Lunch
an army of masks
redefining disintegration
a collapse generation_
the winston generation
stains of murder
my venture dismal
clouds entered the empty world of
the passionless, of The Fake and
of The Common_
Bringing an avalanche of unquenchable
fire; forgiveness is in the heart of the
heartless
visions must fade thoughts must disappear
blue blanket trees
simile means alike
don't recall the taste of
my Cyanide
broken looking-glass
7 years of misfortune
the oath is finally broken
is it?
bluest fingers, bluest tears
Faces of Hell.
Hell is in the heart of those who
Desire. Higher and higher.
convalescent of the reason.
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III
Masters of Disguise
alter altars
punishing image
worthless projekt
vain aims
gruesome prospects
evanescent labels
greed is in the heart
of him who inspires
parks of swans
this burning world
a boy named Martin
i met him on several
pages,
occasionally broken
commonly thrashed
torn lovers downtown
Argentina
all is in the mind of a
Master
IV
Contemporary Aria
concerts in smoke
and diamonds aren't
forever
tremendous iuk-like
saints
silence me the way
to the Post Office.
not concerned for the past title
we are the nameless generation
we are the untitled 1
V
Fever Nails
bridging the gap
feeling the trap
smiling it back
circling the dark
rituals of decomposing
dilemae
i was the master of disguise
today they die
dir for square asphalt and
new made highwayed pyramids
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the apart
Alex. Sigartău
will you cry silences to me
and adorn me as no mistress
ever could? to deny the apart.
willows seem to pass to
another world, where we are
but mirrors coinciding with
light. to me, such things are
unbearable. to cry mistakes
and things gone wrong.
to forever crawl in the face of
destiny, this so called
magnifying glass; to us, ever small,
ever so terrific as atoms
shattering horizons.
morgana in morbid admiration
Alex. Sigartău
the star shined twice
in neon blinking we
surrendered hopelessly
inadequate for obscenities
in the dead of the day
like laughter or violins
playing i try not breathing
for times we almost met
our fate we blinked
twice and met our match
like tutors stabbed by the
unworthy yet we were
never ashamed we
passed in silence on
burnt sidewalks to
grim reminders... grim reminders.
:late.
Alex. Sigartău
the days pass
dissolving matter & thoughts
into something unrecognizable
memory seems to fade more & more
i seek that which has been
left out.
in daydreams i hear voices
whispering reveille-toi...
reveille-toi! all the time i'm
sinking deeper and further
in liquid sown like broken webs
i now think that sleep
is the barren fields of
failed destinies.
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