Undreamt

Nestāsti man neko. Pūtīsim gaisā dūmus, Nobirdināsim pelnus, Skatīsimies pa logu. Ne jau pirmo reizi Cilvēkiem tā ir jāsēd, Kad tu uz kraujas turies Tikai ar to, kas nav pateikts. Parāds uz kraujas tura, Samaksāsi-un gāzies. Vienkārši tas jau būt nemēdz, Tad jau tā nebūtu vispār, Nebūtu šī te marta Un divu papirosu, Un rieta oranžās uguns, Apelsīnkrāsas uguns. Kaut ko mēs abi gribam Tādu kā šī te krāsa. Un tāpēc grūti ir klusēt, Un tāpēc bailes ir runāt.

These nights I spend like a creature howling at the moon as my insanity strips me of the best of me. Instinctively chewing the skin and the flesh off the bones that are supposed to be mine but just end up feeling like death’s daggers in the back of my mind. I'm passively tossing them into a pile that has grown so much over time that climbing it could be considered an unrealistic dream or a childish fantasy. (Like the ones children have of climbing the roofs and towers of the tallest buildings and sweeping through the clouds above all the restlessness and loneliness that rules the kingdom of man.)