A simple touch to crumble worlds
shaky fingers before the truth.
What if one contact could change everything?
The world around might shatter and dissolve,
leaving nothing behind that is known to mankind.
The fear of the unknown fills the mind,
is truth worth this sacrifice?
For all the bad that’s happening here,
good does prevail sometimes.
Could you break the world with a simple touch -
sacrifice the well known illusion?
Would you hesitate to stay in wonderland
or is there nothing you could lose?
Is it worth by any means
or would you draw back your fingers?

Keeping in the boiling rage is the hardest part of the state I’m in.
This blinding hate and sadness that took over my mind
it’s like a vile beast waiting for a chance
a chance to breach my shell.
My discipline and quiet are rapidly fading.
Maintaining the illusion of my identity
is so heavy that it hurts every inch of my body and mind.
I am at the brink of sanity and still accelerating
to the other side
whatever might await me there.
I wish I was in another place
another time – and life.
But you who look at me and say you know me
you don’t see the mess that’s raging in my head.
My calm surface might crack here and there
but the eruption of my temper is directed to the inside.
Even if it was the fault of someone else
and I had all reason to share my mood with them
it’s simply not the way I am
and it’s not the way I want to be like.
I’m witholding everything in my core
handling my misery in silence
on my own and alone -
so in the end the only one who will suffer is me.

Ein Traum der sie, die mir so weit entfernt scheint näher bringt –
zum greifen nah
Aber es ist und bleibt doch nur ein Traum -
strecke die Hand aus und versuch sie zu berühren.
“Ich will dich lieben bis in alle Ewigkeit” -
sprach ich und berührte sie, da war sie Schnee.
Der Traum geht, die Distanz bleibt -
Wir sehen uns wieder.

Irgendwann.

Ein ganz kleines Reh stand am ganz kleinen Baum
still und verklärt wie im Traum.
Das war des Nachts elf Uhr zwei.
Und dann kam ich um vier
Morgens wieder vorbei.
Und da träumte noch immer das Tier.
Nun schlich ich mich leise – ich atmete kaum -
gegen den Wind an den Baum,
und gab dem Reh einen ganz kleinen Stips.
Und da war es aus Gips.

(Gedicht von Joachim Ringelnatz – Im Park)