Grandiosity of fake modesty
there’s a thin line between irony and poetry
for example
suicide with antidepressants
*
it’s called “the breakening”
and it happens
at night when i glitter in the dark
and everyone’s asleep
and don’t see my glittering
even i don’t see it
because i sleep too much
and then in the morning i’m picking up the pieces
hopelessly unable to keep warm
*
i know they’ve all
expected a downfall
but instead they’ve found success
and although they didn’t know what to do with it
i didn’t help them
when you exceed all their expectations
you end up all alone
*
don’t accuse me i don’t love you
every morning i wake up
with a feverish desire
to bite your toenails
*
when i wait for you i turn on a blinding light
and then you arrive
and turn it off
(so that i can see you)
*
and after all –
am i truly the antichrist
by the will of god
if i’m afraid to be a man
and if as a woman i can’t act accordingly
to the will of god