Blasphemous images

Echoes of a prehistoric silence
Between your eyes and mine

Red ice, red waters
A waterfall of blood running

A wounded childish-
Memory :

Me at the door, you
Leaving
(without watching back)

Love,
A hug that I wait like some people wait for the Messiah :
Religiously

Spiritually empty
Soulless cramp

Godless eclipse
Armageddon, nuclear war

Every start have an end,
Religious nightmare : Hail the antichrist !

My poetry

Please,
don’t call my poetry
Poetry
It’s an insult to the Masters,
My words
Are just a vomit
In the face of morality
(… and good taste)
Words of a perverted mind
Sick and damned
So, please, don’t call me a poet
It’s an insult to the Masters
Instead
Invite me a drink
And let’s get
Blackout and wasted.

The cross

C

R

CROSSCROSSCROSSCROSSCROSS

S

S

C

R

O

S

S

 

 

 

 

(note : even when I believe in God, I’m far away of being religious, and I don’t like religions. I just found funny to make this word-play, that’s all)

A letter to God (crisis No. 1)

I see you

like a ship sailing in the mist,

it get’s so far away

that I can’t even say if it’s real

or not.

What if all that I believe

turn to be a lie,

a lie to myself,

a faith in fairytales ?

I believe that you really exist

I believe,

but I’m not sure

about

my beliefs