Goodnight wish
(trash poetry):

Lou saw trees of green,
but all I can see's gruesome.
The concept of a tree is beautiful,
no - marvelous, but I can't reach it
as long as I'm distracted by the frightful shrieks composed by my imagination. These fingernails of which I'm talking, friendly cut into my flesh, from the back, and simultaneously a turmoil in the abdomen occurs.
A corpse, a corpse, it's just a dead person. Afraid of those puny blows you call wind? May they shatter your fragile existence and blow you off the ledge.
Maybe, maybe.
It may be of the unspeakable. The world you only can'y glimpse in the corner of your eye. The ones who's always watching and ... waiting. The horrible waiting. And for what?
If God is with us, what can be against us?
Then again, the eve, in itself filled with chainrattle and murderous bastards as we all sometimes are, calls for the unexpected:
the purity and longevity of sleep. Deep, deep inside (or outside?) you'll find your pulse and even though it doesn't seem like it, a path drawn between will always be there. This path I'm entering. Good night!