He is Sick (the monologue of a sick)

I am sick
weak
shouldn't you seek me?
shouldn't you accuse yourselves
when they refuse to see?

I am sick
and I cry
I am sick
and I scream
because I am sick
but even if I extirpate my throat
to show you the way I am cold
and alone
you wouldn't listen to me

Would you listen to me?

Do you hear me?
I am sick

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poem by Katerina Val
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Tall Pines (the last seconds of a hung)

Tall pines
huge excuses
terrible endless cries
remorse
and then silence
cessation

continuous cessation

Tall pines
infinite shame
undefined cries
needs
passionate
last flick of passion
last spark of a need
passionate again
to wave goodbuy
with a blooded tear running from his closed eye
to prove his innocence

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poem by Katerina Val
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Wooden Heart

As the fire warms my eyes
I cannot not burn myself
Inside
As the cold hands all my cries
I cannot not loosen the flaws I have, hold
Inside

As I use some wood to make my heart
I throw the blooming flowers in the fire
that grow from my wooden heart apart
And those sticks I hold between my broken hands
I throw them in the remaining cold
The flames as they slowly eat my grown respect
The fright that fearlessly warms my eyes

I' ve learnt to appreciate my multiple faces
Respect my wooden hearts all the exhausted made-up tears
I've been taught how to show gracious respect to my clothes made of laces
And how to be incapable to bare my nudity inside the cold
In the weirdest crowded and vacant places

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poem by Katerina Val
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The Cloth Doll and the Weeping Wallow(recitation to sorrow)

She straddled over the lake
as she approached the only existing living hell
as she approached the lonely
she opened her violet eyes
eyes made of three buttons of a dress
lace dress
beauty
half-burnt dress
I can inhale the smell
of seared fabric
and my soul with sorrowful compassion can follow
the threadbare fringes as they creep painfully and woefully
across her skin
and across the ground
where she leaned
but refused to kiss

I can inhale the sadness
emitting through her skin
I can repel the darkness

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poem by Katerina Val
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Head Howl

Not everyone can get
the things running down on your little head
not every single person can see
the things twirling on your twisted head
the things you can pull out of your hectic fantasy

No one has the right
or the right instinct
to testify
the things that happened in your head last night

No one can explain the reason you said you had to fight
should we decry the candles for burning so bright and gloomy?
was it the burning light?
or the trembling grin of a shadow that stayed still?
of a shadow that got to obsess your rusty dark old mind?

Was it you fighting as a mighty knight?
or were you that poor crippler creeping and begging
for some candles to light on

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poem by Katerina Val
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