You are the old flower
injured perfume
never coming for more
never full always a bit bored with circumstances
splintered into pieces of people
into being seemingly real
you are the old flame
of me when I was burning out of the two-faced happiness
now put your pile of blame on me...


you stink of your own past
my dearest friend
when your life was on its way
admiring plants in the garbage
parasiting on the orchid

you are only the flower
and I was so sad for you

and in your holy life
there is no profound encounter
that could be precious to you anymore

and it is so silent here and there
the next plan is to be silent
it is getting silent now
I´ll take a quiet life...