Who-Wants-NUTELLA

So clinically white, these stone walls consuming us The fake light as if the Sun was dead White circle cylinders above and everywhere, shiny plastic screens showing the time, 6, 7 and soon 8 Strange faces and too noticeable smells cringe in the 'air', dogs barking, angry men So.. white They are trying to remove the colors, only white is right. Clean. Fuck you!!

Foreign skies are over me and I feel a strange tickle in me, a deeper call for something unknown. The moon is looking down at me and I feel its presence like an old friend. From where ever I have looked out from, my old room full of blackness and destroying air, to this open night sky, it is there always. Your foreign skin on my own skin, warmth from unknown horizons, newborn somehow. But I don't know how to feel about it, it's in my head, always grudging somehow. I don't KNOW how to feel, I might be crazy? Why can't it all just be 'good', let me be! Let me live, please.. for once

We detest most                           The machinery of it,                                   The sloppy clockwork,                                 The ameteur precision                                      That punctuates the minutes                               With hammers and fingernails,                  That carpels the keybones                                   And strangles the adrenal veins. It is not pure iron,                              Nor yet the starless black. It is not the unliving                          But the very natal breath. From a hollow damp,                                Like a womb designed to e

It’s 1998 and you're in New York. You sit Buddha-style         Like a beggar’s cup         On a cold Brooklyn sidewalk. The passersby stuff coins in you         Like a karma slot machine;         They measure their generosity         Against your God-bless-you's. Raised, reared, reviled in Texas —         That’s where you'll return to;         Less welcome than a polished         Thief dry-drifting through                   Oil-rich streets. You are a blood-warm stain on the sidewalk;         Bitter as wormwood, pale as pigeon         Shit, dirty like a soiled rubber, pleading         Like an empty coffee

I'm kind of going crazy, I'm caught inside my mad mind. Ten different things weigh me down, but I'm still fine! The words are coming slowly, my mind is on a slur. I can't string this poem, because the brain is on a blur! And I get so frustrated, I tear away at skin; The hair is falling down and the voices make a din! I wanna shut them out, but I can't find a key, So all that I can do is simply shut away the ME.