***
Prostitutes are much preferable to spouses
After all, according to tradition, immediately after the wedding, women are killed by sewing up their vaginas, and men are usually sent to war
(War blooms crystal: war for men: forced homosexuality or forced homophobia?)
As a child (I was born from the dust of material/ism),
I dreamed of becoming a whore so that I could afford everything that I lacked as a child
But it turned out that I’m a freak
Nobody likes me: еven the dog refused to chew my bloody leg
Have you ever tried to chop a leg with an axe?
It’s useless, just like living
For the second day now, flies have been laying larvae in my festering wounds.
I give birth to the future by slowly killing myself
I fuck my roommate because I know that his stomach will not give birth to anything but feces
I lick my neighbor’s anus in the hope that I will suffocate during this process
The toilet leaks even more than the roof of a destroyed house
People steal money from the air
People even steal air and send it to their homes by mail
People steal everywhere: at work, at a party while receiving asylum for refugees
I’m the only one who can’t steal
I don’t even know how to steal money from my own talent
My leg hurts so much it feels like my heart is somewhere in my shin
I no longer have a heart or a soul
My leg hurts and I wish my anus hurt
I dream of being a whore in a world sold to/for nobody
Once again I fall asleep with blood instead of sperm on my lips
***
Teach war to begin at dawn when the sun teaches your eyes to close and your hands pray to anti-tan cream
Ban fighting before and during lunch in order to feed soldiers’ corpses to death
After noon and until the evening you can die calmly and live anxiously
In the evening the stars will compose a fairy tale about a hero no one wanted who died gloriously
At night the walls of darkness burn red and the smell of dirt and sweat fills the barracks crowded with survivors
Blankets clean of sperm hint that the next morning no one will be born anywhere except for war
***
no one
wakes up
every night
in the cemetery
***
the tree sheltered a family
of birds under its crown
how many people can
hide a tree under their skin
not a single human throat
blossomed with silent green outward
no man in the world has yet
counted how many times
he kissed his wife on the lips
how much sperm from
lovers on the lips of a quiet wife
(so much sperm in the mouth
did not dream of any gay)
while people with a white (empty) conscience go from house to house
filling windows with despair
the tree is silent
the tree screams
with the help of the wind
but no one notices
while white-eyed men chop off the hands
of trees and gays
their wives sew vaginas like rags
for their daughters
daughters will certainly
be widows of soldiers
homeless pigeons gather in heaven
the smell of blood is in the air
blood mixed with semen
***
we are gathered together like clouds
our clouds scatter across the sky
angels count the raindrops on the faces of those who cry
those who cry count the drops of tears of homeless angels