​Not having anyone

In this world

Who can do a favour

Or be of help

In times of grief

Or for moral support –

Not having a single being

Who knows better,

Who cares,

Spots the wiped-up tears,

Who can hear through the silence

The high-pitched cries of desperation –

Not having a person

To share

This immense sorrow

For which there’s no more space

In this chest

To contain and hide –

Is why soltitude is unbearable.



​Being alone,

In this merciless world,

Wanting destruction,


About the cruelty

Of the current world,

Wanting to be taken

By death,

Not wanting anyone

By the side,

Pushing away

People who care,

Stepping on their kindness

And crushing

Without even knowing so

Requires guts –

Which you seem to have in plenty

Even at this age.



​Death comes

Like waves from the depths of the ocean,

The lively, endless tides,

Urging to take you along;

Like an enormous eagle

Flying round and round

Over its prey

Spying, plotting

Before tearing it apart;

Death is,

Unexpected, but firm,


Like the noose

Tightening one’s throat

Till the breath stops;

Like a letter that is written,

Addressed to you –

Beckoning you forward;

Death, my friend

Is the only thing

That humbles arrogance,

Tames adamancy,

Calms anger,

Heals all pain,

As a mask of serenity envelops you,

And bees come to feast

Slowly, followed by ants,

And a few other insects

Until vultures set their eyes

On your rotting carcass.