Evening Spleen

Inside

Evening Spleen

seagulls arose
like fireworks from the ocean

the people were stocked in several boxes
each with their difference simulated

everything seems like a bad photograph
taken by a blind man fallen asleep

eternity comes in isolation

never taken poetry peacefully
always willing to change
to improvise when the rival tackles

I am the flame my despair is bearing
the sun will die together with my suicidal hope

the fear of being too precise
is a childish feeling
some words are created exactly for our state of mind
and help us figure how to transcend

the lights fade slightly
far away in the fields
the elements creep to darkness
something evil awaits underwater

the monster sun
was melting
in the ocean

I was much closer to the sky
let the stupid crowd from the shore all alone
you need magnificent cat eyes to rule the overwhelming chaos
too bad that a trip into hell
is followed by an ordinary comeback

abolish the effect
every act should be conceived in purity
plant a bullet in your brain
without even dying
feel death in instant virtual reality
make something exciting out of yourself
don't be a coward
just because you were thought so
the struggle within is the only confrontation
because the others are already acting dead.

Inside

I see heaven in a bottle
death eating the childrens' eyes
I see darkness in each joy
I find pleasure in crime

I observe the way I fall further
decay is written with blood and fire stars in my destiny
I look in the mirror
and see no one but a shadow

I'm a dying monster
I am nature's mistake
I'd like to become nothing
to disappear into a void

I look at the world and I see a desert
my capacity to love and lie has run dry
I perceive death as very alive
and I see that necessary is only to die

I walk the funeral road without curiosity
I inspect the living dead with a glimpse of regret and a smile
I find the same amount of joy in the sight of a rat as in kissing
I've got nothing left to give nor wish to take something

I look at my soul as at something strange and sorrowful
I've abandoned life yet I hesitate to die
feelings are nothing but an ironic waste of time
I'm unmoved and silent feel I never had a purpose in life

I read somebody's obituary and think it might as well be mine
my illusion is barren and my hope has burnt with my wise inhibition
I am a lousy excuse of a joke yet I see nobody laughing
my will is empty and my desire completely chaotic

and I feel like a puppet vaguely human
I feel like I'm the species' last home
and I found the final salvation in self-crime. 

poeme de Ştefan Bolea