Eroutesque

Memento Mori

SHADOWDANCE

I hear screams of someone you made up.
If I meet him on the street,
I pretend we are strangers;

I pretend I
never played with your demon,
I

never kissed him with my eyes closed,

I
never told him your secrets.

I hear whispers of lust
from someone you made up,
a stain that never washes away,
a fatal shadow that always follows.

I sacrifice myself for your demon;

The brighter the spotlight gets, 
together we plot against you.

You were tired of

filling your life with disease,
craved interpersonal drama instead.


You were scared of existential crisis,
dreamed of a holy intervention —
to protect what remained of your sanity.

’Cause you were on your own

against your disorder,
and now

that I have burst into your life,
we share the rot.


I have slept with all the fragments
of your shattered ego,
and you hate me for that.

You showed me things I now crave;
without them, I am not myself anymore.
I feel so high.
I like it.

’Cause I was damn tired of myself,
but with you I am reborn —
reborn the way I always wanted.

’Cause I was so done with myself,
but with you the show is on,
and I am all in.

You taught me

a crime stops being evil
once it’s committed.
You proved horror´s irrelevance —
or at least its missing trend.

Kissing someone taken,
wanting the forsaken one,
chasing the fear,
only to end up all tied up and tricked.

Whatever —
in the end,

what is left to do but smile?

So sit down and watch, darling,
as I pray to your demon,
worshipping your weaknesses.

Infernal flames lick your numbing fear,
crucify your shadow,
turn your flesh to ash.

And the ashes I blow when I’m down,
miserable and lonely —
it’s the perfect chance

to drag you down to my private cell:
six feet under, premium hell-suite.


Our eternal embrace —
a new-age golden ratio of love
that, for centuries ahead,

will shape global culture.

We go under in famous anonymity —
an honor once in a millennium.
Our eternal embrace:

How long

Will you need me

To linger in your mind?

And how long

Can I keep loving you,

Until I stop seeing his world

Through your pinot noir eyes.

Why do we fall in love

with those we dont know?

Our fates run parallel

The horizon between us

Forever leaving us intrigued

By everything we will never reach.

The catastrophic scenarios

We write about each other—

An excuse to preserve a memory

Of the mutual first impression.

As we run towards each other,

the distance between us

Only expands—

making us stumble, fall, get hurt.

Making us want each other

So much more.

The abyss between us,

Will only grow deeper,

Will only grow darker,

Making our solitude

as solid as it can ever get.

My hands are tied

with a scarlet ribbon,

Your eyes are hidden

behind a red blindfold.

We are safe—

We´ll never hurt each other.

We play the crimson strings

A melody of a shared misfortune,

A tone of a common longing,

A requiem for a doomed attachment.

We hide knives in our pockets,

Just in case,

Just “what if”,

What if our love

spins out of control.

And if they told you

it was the last day of your life,

Would you feel it in your heart?

Would you recognise its last beat?

Would you still think of me,

As you take your last breath?

How long

Will you need me

To linger in your mind?

And how long

Can I keep loving you,

Until I stop seeing his world

Through your pinot noir eyes.

Why do we fall in love

with those we dont know?

Our fates run parallel

The horizon between us

Forever leaving us intrigued

By everything we will never reach.

The catastrophic scenarios

We write about each other—

An excuse to preserve a memory

Of the mutual first impression.

As we run towards each other,

the distance between us

Only expands—

making us stumble, fall, get hurt.

Making us want each other

So much more.

The abyss between us,

Will only grow deeper,

Will only grow darker,

Making our solitude

as solid as it can ever get.

My hands are tied

with a scarlet ribbon,

Your eyes are hidden

behind a red blindfold.

We are safe—

We´ll never hurt each other.

We play the crimson strings

A melody of a shared misfortune,

A tone of a common longing,

A requiem for a doomed attachment.

We hide knives in our pockets,

Just in case,

Just “what if”,

What if our love

spins out of control.

And if they told you

it was the last day of your life,

Would you feel it in your heart?

Would you recognise its last beat?

Would you still think of me,

As you take your last breath?

I wont.

I lost my feelings.

Now I dont belong,

I no longer relate.

Transmitter regulation

kicked in,

my overstimulated dopamine extinguished,

my shooting star quenched,

Right before I buried my empathy

in Jeremiah’s consciousness,

Right before I sang my pain to sleep

in Konrad´s addiction.

Astrid in virtual reality

Chases her phantoms;

the hearts she designs

only break one another,

they blame each other for cheating,

then eat one another

in despair,

from hunger.

My world shatters:

to think grows harder,

emotions read zero

and I cannot create anymore,

‘cause a locked memory

hurts too much.

You dont give your darling a bleeding rose,

unless you mean to kill.

And among dying roses I lie,

Blessed with a curse,

to give and never get in return,

snipers aim past my chest.

I relate to things nobody gets,

I confess

But all they hear is nonsense.

I am a lost foreigner,

forever beyond,

and never within.

What’s wrong with it all?

Only the void is guilt-free.

I fear its innocence,

because it might mean

that I am on the right path,

that my therapist lies to me,

and my fairytale will never end.

With pills, or without,

Within asylum walls, or beyond,

Nobody can erase my memory,

They won’t steal my world .

A mad architect,

Trapped in sterile corners,

I model my own reality,

To protect the architecture of my world,

To preserve the truth of my belief,

To survive the plot against my will.

TEST DRIVE

“Our test-drive failed,

You keep pushing the wrong pedal.

So jump off the cliff

to learn to fly.

Or call the crisis line

to tell them about me. “

I reach out to my fake friends

To take a break from you.

It feels so good

To forget the taste of your spit.

I’m not trying to sound cynical,

You are the most genuine form of fake.

Your love is a circus,

Your honesty—a show.

It’s not a relationship,

It’s a wreckage hit by an iceberg.

You let me fly

Just to watch me fall.

Simple nasty craving,

Cause your heart beats differently from mine.

So if you really loved me,

Why would you expect me to die for you?

After all,

Do I really need to write

my love confession in blood?

Delicate, you take a bit of my sanity,

And choke on it.

I tailored my bruises to suit your cracks.

I carved my heart into a shape

Fitting perfectly into your hollow chest.

If only I could keep forever the moment

We entered the danger zone.

I wish we had met sooner,

Long before I stained my hands with blood.

Look into the well of my soul,

do you hear it echo?

I keep choosing the wrong pill.

I vomit acidic memories of us,

All of them,

Till I emptied myself clean,

You took the wrong turn,

running through a dead flower field.

Wherever your feet fall, things wither.

Lurking between the bushes,

you swallow stars into madness.

You cut lilies bleeding.

This is your comfort zone:

the realm of the tired and lost.

The dead stand beside you, smiling,

watching you decapitate flowers.

What makes you happy?

If I knew, I could make it last longer.

Your presence—an artificial sweetener.

Like a song you know you'll love from the first chord—

that's how I knew I'd hate you from the start.

Twist the knife through all my past selves.

You craved touch—you caused ruin.

I wish you'd met me earlier;

I might have fought back.

I'm selling my heart away—

it's cracked and bruised,

deformed,

really not available for sale.

My heart was a scam.

Still, I sold it.

Now you scour black markets

searching for it

like it’s worth something.

It takes a heaven-sized heart

to house all my demons.

Mine was too small.

Yet you found it—

and ate it.

A thousand thorns now grow from your skin.

You took one,

grew a rose from it—

a little gift,

laced in pity.

Now here I am:

a monster without a heart,

but with a thorny flower—

a blooming hostage

wedged into my eye socket.

You should have known

how many lilies

I’ve already murdered.

Another sleepless night—

I paint my lost future

onto the canvas of a stolen life.

Boiling ink evaporates into phantoms.

The blinding sun

bleeds through the horizon.

Roots of the fallen

crack open the ribs

of the steaming battlefield.

Dawn delivers

the return of the dead.

They stole my image,

but they cannot cage my spirit.

They haunt me still—

lily scars etched across memory,

crossing my thoughts,

a self-inflicted crusade.

Cold fingertips curl around my heart;

razor-sharp nails scratch through my dreams.

A veil of tears blinds my eyes—

and clears my vision.

Saltwater soothes my wounds,

but won’t wash away my crime.

I could spill my own blood

to purge the sin—

but instead,

I drank theirs,

drowning my innocence

in oblivion.

Take me home—

to the garden once blooming,

a warm and joyful place.

I am sorry for what I’ve done.

I want to see your face.

And yet,

when I ask myself

if I will still need you

once despair is gone—

I feel nothing.

I am lost.

And the halo

I claimed as a trophy

is iron-heavy,

ice-cold,

feeding on my guilt.

My wounds swell,

bursting into bloody roses.

You peel back each bleeding petal,

searching for what festers beneath.

There, coiled in bruised shadow,

dwells the leech—

a bloodsucking remnant

of my once-blossoming soul.

It’s up to me to decide

Who’ll get born

And who’ll end their life.

If I can give life—I can take it.

SUBMARINE SOMNAMBULISM

Once upon a dream,
He stared
into the eye of the sun,
to see the future.

An ocular eclipse,
and the ink of her pupils
stained his memory.
A gardenia bouquet left on a bench
by a cheater once loving so dearly.

His heart went silent,
as it urged to yell.
His body frozen,
covered in touch-me-nots.

His thoughts
arranged into chevrons,
as he promised
for the last time:
no place for emotion,
no space for recollection.

Salty waves dancing—
an Art Deco waltz.
He doesn’t cry underwater;
underwater, he sings—
sings a lullaby
for the like-minded,
for the broken-hearted.

Petals of a gardenia flower
covered his pain to sleep.
He is about to start a journey
between the coral reefs—
an abandoned place,
where the colonies
of drowned dreamers
are kept.

He is on a quest to find
those who survived,
those who are still striving,
at the bottom of her Pacific eyes.

He stole the morning moon
in her spite,
smashed it into pieces
against the ocean rocks.

The pearls stole the moonshine.
Liquid pressure turned the light off.
Tears turned into crystals—
a trophy he wears with pride.

Moon-shattered pearls,
a blurred silhouette
diluted in lilac waves,
vaporized crystals,
and all the narcoleptic decorations:
a superb submarine heaven.

A place where Orpheus meets Zephyr.
A fierce battle,
a storm one falls in love with—
bloody foam,
broken seashells.

QUANTUM VOID

You keep hallucinating pain,

just to share it with me.

If you could feel mine—

You’d know who I am-

You’d know

who you are meant to be.

Yet someone else

Already holds my pain.

And just like that,

You’re discarded.

Look:

a soul generator,

A life incubator—

your power,

and within that might

lies your limit.

I am not sold.

Yes,

One ache for two,

and you are left out.

Different fates,

None of them yours,

yet hurting all the same—

the silent unity of suffering,

And you hover above it all:

divine, painless, disposable.

I chose you to lead a narcoleptic life.

Yet your destructive tendencies screamed:

“I’d rather die of exhaustion

Than rot in your illusion!”

You sold your dreams—

In vain.

Darling,

You’d better trust me,

I designed your mind.

Square logic,

angular reason,

Cling to your pillars,

Stay in your safe geometry.

Or you will stumble—

and fall into the dream of a void,

You will never wake up again.

Surrender the code,

Dont fight the purpose,

Within your dreams

you will find the one you ache for.

The universe reversed—

There is no beyond,

only a within.

A galaxy slowly blooming

in the core of your heart,

while everything around it rots.

A hidden cosmos lost on Earth,

a secret sealed in your mind,

fractal chains glint in your irises.

Black hole of your pupils—

A cursed magnet,

of a lonely soul gone insane.

I get your frustration.

Searching the garden of cyber shadows—

I picked the wrong flower.

Living dead eyes

reflected in the mirror,

my eyes—

we share them,

but not the soul behind.

Behind your glassy blue eyes,

Nothing but an echo of reason.

It’s not your fault

you hit the wall,

Trying to hurt my shadow.

You’d better ask:

Where is yours?

Is this the freedom you wanted?

Is this the life you never prayed for?

A goddess never cries,

so don't you cry.

Tears won't mend the fragile things,

The mirror is broken,

The curses won't take back the assaults.

A goddess spits in death’s face,

Glass spilled liquid—

your essence is shapeless.

Unclaimed.

Eternal.

When a parasite whispers your name,
you stop calling it a monster.
Constant thirst—
kisses and blindfolds,
heat and euphoria—
own it.

Shattered order.
Deviant failure.
A happy accident
gave rise to a new civilisation.

There was so much love in you,
yet no one to give it to.

So you chose me—
a heart-shaped hole in my chest.
You picked my body,
and became my beating heart.

And here I stand,
alone and naked,
body arched and tight—
all set and ready.

They say: be yourself.
But if I ever stayed true,
the world would’ve gone up in flames.

Do you get it?
Tell me—

Who am I without flesh and blood?
Ash and bone,
diamonds and lilies,
air and soil—
robust, delicate, eternal.

Try to blow my head off
without spilling the blood.
Or teach me your skill—
how to stop hating by will.

I watch myself
from distorted angles.
What I see
makes nonsense:

Lilies blooming ash,
seashells spiraling stars,
flying fish, crawling birds.

I’ve learned to stay high
without doing drugs.
I remember memories
that never happened.
I say things
I don’t mean.

I’ve forgotten the difference
between love and hate.
The verge between clarity and blur
is my sanity.

I am your shell.
You are my engine.
A deadly symbiosis.
A last chance.
A new life.

My silhouette—monster-shaped.
My mind—hungry.
My vision—clear.

My heart rate keeps rising
to unexplored highs.
My pulse dropping
into unreachable depths—
places where I hear
my name echoing.
Our name.

Blame it on pills,
bad diet,
poor sleep—
or on my will
to keep on living.

THE ICON

THE REPLICA

Bass pounded through my ribs,
hijacking my heartbeat.
Jack Daniels and Mary Jane
waltzed me into oblivion.


Neon haze wrapped around our bodies,
swaying to dub techno’s monotone pulse. 
The vanilla scent of her ginger hair
made the sweat and smoke harder to resist.


Her sharp smile, toxic-green eyes
pierced through my foggy brain,
sparking raw lust,
Her heat welcomed me—
a reckless need to forget

the coldness of your fingertips.

She dragged me through the wasted crowd,
past flashing strobes, past blurred faces.
The club bathroom reeked of bad decisions.
Had I ever acted on reason?

No words, no names,

We hit a wall—
lips desperate, hands wild and daring.
She tasted nothing like you.
Sweeter. Louder. Reckless.

Jack and Mary twisted the world around us,
burning touch, flashing lights—

all at once—without you.

The club got too small for us,

The night city was awaiting. 
We ran, laughing.
I didn’t know I could laugh that hard.

I was uncatchable.

She was ungraspable.

I loved that.


Suddenly she stopped.

A jewelry store. A glass case.
A deep blue gem shimmering—

The Heart of the Ocean, 
A replica, sure.
But even a fake could make you believe.
Just like you always did, Jeremiah.


“Your ocean eyes make me wanna fall high and deep.”

Your whisper twisted a knife into my memory.

Your razor sharp words,

Slicing sentiments open

Leaving them bleeding.
As if they really meant something.
As if you ever meant something.

The ocean—it was yours,
now, trapped in glass and metal.

“Show me what you are made of,”
she whispered,

her voice,

velvet wrapped around a blade —

soft, dangerous—
not so different from yours—

sent shivers down my spine.


She grinned,

mischief flashing in her gaze.
A challenge. A dare.
Something wild to fill the hollow.


Glass shattered.
The alarm howled into the stripped streets.

She snatched the stone heart,
put it around her neck,

Like a random trinket.

The sirens wailed like banshees,

merging with her laughter.

Blinding blue lights flickered like bats,

Vertigo took hold. 


Knees cracked,

concrete tore the skin, 
arms wrenched back, 
metal cuff bit into my wrists.

Sharp and tight, 
Familiar feeling.

Almost a comforting one.

The cage stank of piss and cheap beer.
I slumped onto the bench,
she leaned into me,

Searching for my lips,

giggling like it was just a game.

And maybe it was all just a game,

But this time,

I played to win,

Jeremiah,

DARK MATTER

He’s got million ways to murder,

He’s got yet to try all those on me.

I am free trial in his eyes,

I am immortal in his arms.

I hid my scars under bondages of cute lies;

I opened my arms to embrace his tense body.

I told him what I never meant.

And got payed for it well.

With lovers like Jeremiah,

who needs a hangman.

He is a song verse ripped out of context.

“A rotten heart is beyond cure.”

Who could understand it?

Jeremiah could.

His body, a dark matter,

His mind, twisted philosophy.

As I look into his eyes,

I see myself drowning in a widened well of his pupils.

I cannot stand it,

Spit in the face of a moon to stub its light out.

We look prettier in the dark.

It was the last night,

but I didn’t get it back then.

The last night,

It will last for the rest of my life.

A vivid image of his blood bitten lips

spit rhymed curses,

Cut through my burning flesh,

Razorblading my nasty fantasies.

I cannot stand his timbre,

Yet, each fibre of my lust

got excited by the frequency of its depth.

His voice sounded like my inner screams,

cracked my skull open,

Yet, his salty compliments

healed my wounds.

My imagination is made of clay,

Things he whispers

shape my brain into dirty dancing figurines,

Only for him to break them at the right time.

His smoking essence infiltrated my mind.

It is painted on his face,

Timeless echo, late night chances.

Delicate wrist, steel strong fist,

He smashed my heart,

Bloody splinters all over the bedsheets.

They say it would hurt,

yet I felt nothing

Under me lies the devil himself,

Splinters of my heart

cut a deep cross across his throat.

“I was made for hurting you baby,

you were made for killing me.”