boiling water

Posted on Posted in posts

A poem from my life
written in a hurry
super hurry
on a table full of chips
and beer
and an old pot full of
old tea.

The harmonica is resting
who am i kidding here
i don’t know how to play.
But

I have this feeling
It’s not a fire burning
(that would be too much);
it’s rather water boiling
silently
but fiercely
at million degrees
and then disappearing
forever
like water does
like i always do.

May God
or the Universe
or my Mother
be with me
but i have this feeling
sometimes
that no one’s there
not even
Me.

More beer!
More music, please.
Please!
The water’s boiling
words are flowing
and i am ready
to dissapear
again.

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