The Child Worker: The Urine Factory

Let’s play
I am mature
At far too young an age
Lingering in my misconceptions
In wombs of failing times
And eras of disgust
I am conceived
I learn to work
I play with these machines
Monsters roaring at my face
I smile back, but they still roar

I swing myself across the metal plates
And when it hurts
I think of love
The image of my family
In these sad lands
We have to toil
We have to work for liberty
Only to hail another dawn
Of self-inflicted bigotry

Plastic handcuffs
These shackles here
Across my arms
This factory
It represents the day and age
In which a child far away
Is set to learn life’s misery
Too early on
A day where people’s needs are far beyond
The prospects of humanity

And so my fate is cast to doubt
The fate of our entirety
Lies in the cleavage of this slum
Breastfeeding us with certainty
That far beyond these metal prongs
We glorify our own country
What glory can there be in pain?
An economic victory?
And as we squeeze ourselves to grow
Without confined morality
The whole world chants our glorious name
They say we’re making history

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Character: 79/100 (We’re getting closer!)

The Party Animal: Fornication Nation

On disco floors
Blinking colored lights
Vintage glamour
Worn out edges on my Instamatic
In the nation of the night
Imagery does not abide by rules
And so the scene is akin to a dream
An orgy of desire in our minds
A masquerade of our emotions
A sexual frenzy covered up
Toned down by years of evolution
Modernized, commercialized
Served with champagne cocktails
Boasting breasts and silicon lies

We dance, we drink, we pop some pills
To fuse into the walls of shabby basements
To forget, as we evolve
We shed our daytime skin
And lose ourselves to rhythmic chants
Like ancient tribes in trance
Naked of our fears we dance
Pregnant with conviction towards the night
And all the promises it withholds

A ritual, a sacrifice by credit card
Swiped just like a guillotine
Cutting through our bank accounts
On alters of  bottled sexuality
We journey through collective satisfaction
And bathe in fountains bursting with seduction
With all the electronics and the bling
This all may seem some sort of other thing
But truth be told,
Not that very much has changed
Beyond the tweets about the ruck
A creature tagged for profile pics
Is still a creature longing for a fuck

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Character: 57/100

The Orphan: Stumbling Through My Life

I feel the snow
It falls
Atop my naked feet
Shattered by the cold
Bleeding with desire to be embraced
To journey across the world
To leave this place
One more step
One more adventure
Into the dark unknown
That I no longer fear
Where bitterness is hungry for a catch
Or so they say,
Snowflakes falling
Like there is no tomorrow
But here, there is no tomorrow anyway

Frostbites singing drunken songs
I escape
A pain that makes me carry on
I walk on shores of shattered glass
Where ice takes refuge by the sea
I cross the water to foreign lands
A change of mind, a renaissance
Flowers, shrubs and blades of grass
Play footsie with my fate
My temper bleeds towards the past
But heals with endless hope for what awaits

With roughened feet I trample on my fears
I’ve grown inside this house with all my peers
Just like these trees
There place is here
In forest’s tall and proud
Towards the sky
Between the clouds
Beyond the frostbites and the cold
I am a tree
My skinny toes like roots are cold from time
That passes through these somber woods
Never chosen, never loved
But watered by the rain forevermore

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Character: 56/100

The Protester: Deflowering the Arab Spring

An apple bitten to the core
A slaughtered rabbit on a chain
The dismal prospects of a whore
The screeching chalk drives me insane

Where should I go when I have reached
So far down pathways of remorse
How can I feel after I’m skinned
My conscience rotting in a cell

In prisons deep you hear the cries
We beg for death to end the game
No media cam is watching now
Let’s break our vows and die in shame

How can I write and make some sense
When all these words are far too weak
To shed some light on all my  fear
A tyrant challenged is a freak

With blindfolds on my eyes for months
I do not know if I can see
The nation’s blinded by its lust
For some expensive sodomy

We perish in the thousandfold
For freedom, honor, and for beauty
Then to our shock, lo and behold
We’re captive to our dignity

A despot leaves, the people cheer
The blindfolds off, it becomes clear
That we will always be confined
Collective memory rules mankind

Our freedom once a virgin child
An Arab Spring so young at heart
But now the blood runs down her feet
A nation raped on its own part

Hash-tags can never save us now
So let’s just tweet our own defeat

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Character: 46/100

The Ballerina: Dancefloors and Eternal Erections

When I was young
I danced with all the mirrors of my house
I danced with love
I danced for things I did not understand
I danced with passion
And hungered for his heart
That being so deranged and powerful
That I called art

Now as I dance
So frigid and alone
My body paints a portrait on the face
Of all those men
Whom in beauty are enlightened
The spotlight’s on
And I perform
In grace I move along
The lines of their desire
I’m dancing to the songs
Of lustful men in choir
To satisfy their hearts
I unleash my inner fire
I’m captive to producers
And the whims of those who hire
I milk their eyes from tears
I scratch their skin so hard it bleeds
I pinch their private parts they scream
But I still dream

This is the truth,
I’m hostage to this being so deranged
Objectifying sex in my career
Is this art?
The erotic notion of their inner craves
What about platonic needs?
Or is life nothing but a gentle sexcapade
On the banks of their collective inclinations
They punt eternally in waters deep and cold
A gondola ride with lustful aspirations

I still will dream
Butterflies do not lose hope
Floating above the ruins of my past
As time goes by
My moves decay
My beauty withers
A self inflicted mutiny
I’m thrown away
I shrivel in my own abode
Afraid to meet the world
I build my own cocoon
Hoping that again one day
That being so deranged
Will ask me out to play

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Character: 42/100

The Detainee: Postcards from Guantanamo Bay

Hell has built its citadel
And put me on display
The devil taunts my body parts
The inferno is ablaze
And as the fire burns inside
My flesh is dripping off my bones
Conventions fail to save me here
Even human kindness does not convene

But pain can guide you towards relief
With broken bones and aching joints
I’m baptized into new beliefs
I cross the gate and understand
That my religion is that of grief
And so is his
The soldier at the gate
In pain there is camaraderie

Back home where all my countrymen
Are hurting soldiers just like here
I’m sure the tortured understand
That pain and anguish bind us all

And for some moments
I wish that I could build a land
Where both the enemies share their prison cells
A neutral third can take the job
An outsourced torture
For all of us to have

We’d both be hanged on wires thin
We’d both be asked to sit on bottles tall
We’d both be whipped and tossed aside
We’d both be peed on
Together
Until are dignity drowns

And yes you ask me, this makes more sense?
At least by seeing whom I hate
In my same pain
And him by seeing me
We’d feel less pain
And in some way
We’d set each other free

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Character: 41/100

The Sociologist: The Story of Life

Man looking for his hunt
Great ideas on his mind
Or maybe even
Doors guide him to be blunt
Doorknobs try to turn his mind
Twisting motives and bending time

Woman looking for her hunt
Great ideas on her mind
Or maybe even
Keyholes waiting at her front
Roses pushing from behind

In spite of it all
The door will never find,
The knob
The knob will never find,
The whole
Bluntness, twisting rosy bushes all absurd
A circular motion that leads to where you start

The true self will forever be in thirst
Forever longing for desire
And only in the midst of love
Can we be made numb of our curse
An internal tendency to self-implode

Between destruction and the awe
A line so thin does separate,
The greatest tread along its path
” And until death do us part”
The end

The Composer: Hopscotch

Let’s play around a bit
Shall we?
I’ll start to hum and you can follow
A gentle melody that takes us back
Towards those days
When everything was simple
A kiss, a smile, a flower
Planted beneath your pillow
No longer does the trick

And in this spirit
Pleasing my own mental state
Of nothingness, I’m afraid
Is by no means an attempt to become whole
Or better yet
Disenfranchised from the unforeseen
But rather more a rambling of creativity
That emanates from my deepest scores
Of eternal remorse and bigotry
And on these lines
My life is nothing but a symphony

Plucking at the tune for all to watch
Is not an easy task
Tweaking it to please their modern taste
Planting it with melody and chimes
My symphony and I are just so out of place
We’d rather play a hopscotch game with planets
Then sit here every night
Between the deaf and dumb

And in the skies where stars are dazzling
We jump from rock to rock
Giggling on the way at our own carelessness
To those we tread upon so recklessly
We shake worlds, lives, billions of people
But we still play and lightly tread along the path
In our own time
For our own reasons
And forevermore

The Watchmaker: End of Year Blues

And so the year comes to an end
The clockwork breaks
Nuts and bolts flying through the air
A piece of my soul caught between the dials
Pulling down to stop the world
The clockwork crumbles
Into a million pieces
Its pendulum is tired
Its chimes are faint and muffled
Its watches on the hands of many passersby
Explode into a million numbers
As my hands shiver and my eyes squint
So many years I’ve kept the time
And in so doing I have lost
My time
And as the New Year ushers in
With blessings many
I rally in the cold to make it home
A shabby little cottage on the hill
Alone and empty from within
I sit beside the fire for a while
Tonight my clock will strike for one last time
And history will fade into my grave
Who will tell the time when I am gone?
Who will keep the knobs well screwed and ticking?
Another peddler on the street will take my place
Like an old engraving I fade away
I never was entitled to my own watch

The Eskimo: Arctic Mantra

In my igloo
I am free
Alone, but rich in contemplation
Bare-fated but secure
In this arctic tundra
This world does not forgo
Those who dwell
In love’s warming presence

Close them
Seal the lids forever
Be in darkness
Be the darkness in your eyes

Undress yourself
Embrace your worries
Embrace your fears
And jump into the icy sea
Sink towards the core of your existence
And let go forever of all the weight

Open up and breathe
Breathe deep and long
Allow the bits of ice to fill your lungs
Look towards that distant meadow
Feel the grass field’s tickle
Trapped between the ice
But alive

Play along with time
But always know
That time does not define your life
Your actions now, reverberate
Throughout the universe forevermore

Rise again
Cold, naked, drenched in water and alone
But free
Free from pain
Free from meaning
Beyond what is right and wrong
You build an igloo
In this cold barren world
And live like me
An immortal Eskimo
In the kingdom of tundra
We are all free

Empty Savannas – Inside the heart of the Swahili Hunter

It hurts
To think
To speak
To feel
To love

An everlasting winter in my heart
The fields are bare
The land is dark
The ants have been in hiding for quite a while
The birds have left with no return
The wind is cold and dry
The world is dark
Lions hungry staring at the time
Waiting for a catch
Waiting for a breath of life

It hurts
The hunger
The longing
The anticipation

And as I skin myself to feed
The world I live in
Sheath by sheath I lose myself
To malice, hatred and intimidation
I paint my cheeks with strokes of blood
A hunter ready to provide
Willing to set forth on an expedition
To hunt himself
With pointy spikes
To burn himself
Atop a blazing bonfire
To serve himself
To loved ones, friends and family

An unreciprocated intimacy
Resides in these parts of the land
They take and give nothing in return
They poach and steal
From my lagoon of ever-giving love
They drink themselves to sleep
And I grow thirstier with every sip

I wonder when the day will come
When the world will notice
How skinless I have been made
How naked I am to the unforeseen
How weak I have become by my own decree

I spread a sheath of flesh into the air
I point it towards the sun
And I stare
A glare of pinkish red lights my face
At last, some color in this barren place

Emancipation Nation – In the Bedroom of the Female Activist

Sheets of cloth
Wrapped around
The layers of my world
Alone with warming covers
Alone in peace forever
This is my nation

My bedroom, an eternal sanctuary
Stands strong in the face of time
In the face of all those voices
That hang behind its door

And what of love
What of work
What of life itself?
There is no failure in my shrine
Pieces of my soul
Are soaked in wine
Prospects of my future
Are shadows on my wall
I dance alone
And make the whole world shake

I cling to what I have
My body perfect and untouched
Will never leave me
And so in my nakedness
I am liberated from fear

My eyes, they’re closed
I spin myself into a mystic dream
I see a world with colors bright
With hope and love and endless joy
With passion, without fear

The choices all around me
I cannot think, I cannot feel
Beyond the comfort of my bed
I do not know where truth resides

A princess in my own abode
But slaved to hunger beyond these walls
I march along
In search of truth
In search of passion
In search of emancipation
An incomplete happiness
That fills my heart
But leaves my mind and soul
In thirst

And so alone at night
I drink myself to sleep
To quench my inner cravings
To ease my mind and free my soul
To rise above the social chatter
To become
What I am destined to be
A shooting star
And nothing less
Although I’m racing towards my end
I race towards it in endless glamour

In Search of Purpose – Suicide of the Business Tycoon

What thing can fill this bottomless hole?
That deepens with my increased understanding
Of life, and how we’re taught to think
That meaning lies in trivial things
A job, a car, a house and lots of cash
A future full of promise and reward
They do not seem to fill the void
The more I think the more I feel alone

You ask,
How does it feel to be alone?
A monster ploughing through your bones
A hungry hippo feasting on your flesh
But for some reason you don’t feel
A single ache, instead the pain
Is in your mind, as you are forced
To watch the feast repeat itself
Every day

And as cliché as it may seem,
Only a force that’s all engulfing
And gives you purpose can fill the gap
And that is love, or so I’ve come to know
Could you imagine what it means to live?
A life without the notion of attachment

I stride along the shore collecting shells
To make the largest necklace that can be
An empire of fortune, a conglomerate
Connecting pretty things together, as I try
To connect myself to something in this world

And after all this time I realize
A necklace is more appealing when it’s put on
And so I roam the world like a freak
With an oversize necklace that can only fit
A hippo’s neck, not to say the least
I do not fancy dressing up that beast

The more I become proficient in the craft
The more I lose the human touch of things
And so I’ve turned into the very string
That holds the necklace right in place
Connected to a million winning shells
But worthless on my own accord

I’ve come to learn that love does not exist
Inside the minds of those
Who solely dwell for future gain
And so today I’ve made the choice
To slit my wrists and end my silent pain

And while I’m galloping to meet my fate
The string across the hippo’s neck
Cuts through my hands and I am thrown
Towards the ground
The beast has got her way

And as my blood drips gracefully
Across the floor
I rejoice, that it will stain
At least I’ve managed to leave a mark
Before I go away

Portable Performance – Life of the Woman in a Burka

It’s hot in here,
I’m afraid of the dark.
But I feel protected
From what awaits me in the world
I feel so lonely
But propriety dictates that I remain concealed
From the world outside the contours of my drape
Sex and what not, the lustful sentiments of horny men
Is what they’ve taught me to escape
And so I live my life in a cocoon
A victim of their own perversion
Waiting for my wings to grow
To fly above it all
In graceful color

With time I blossom,
I feel a throbbing urge between my legs
A power stronger than the course of time
I’m taught to keep my feelings to myself
But something in me can’t withstand the wait
Its time to break this shell and fly away
No worries,
Opening night awaits
Soon I am to marry
The curtains will be drawn
And I will perform

I wonder how it feels to hold his hand
I wonder what would happen if he sees my face
Would he like it?
Would he smile?
Would we share a conversation?

No worries,
Opening night awaits
The curtains will be drawn
And I will perform

I am a theater, I am a stage
A portable performance
That features private sessions every night
A life-time ticket guarantees your audience
And only one man will get to have the chance
Let’s see who’ll pay the highest bid
For me to draw the curtains and spread my legs
A joyous toy, quite practical to keep at home
And as the days go by
The narrative of my life remains
A story of a girl in chains,
A story of a girl in chains!

Circus Lights – Shattered Dreams of the Investment Banker

This screen
With bleeping tickers
And shining lights
Reminds me of a distant dream

Let’s join the circus
You and I, we’ll roam the world
Make love on every coast
And drink ourselves into a shiny haze
You’ll throw the knives,
That be your act!
You always had a piercing eye
You aim and make your mark right on the spot
You did that with my heart
So I suppose
The world would love you
And I can be your aide.

That’s what she used to say,
But as days passed
We saw the world converge
Into a path
And headed forth
No questions asked
I wanted more
I want the best
Or so I thought
And throwing knives
Just could not make the cut

And lo behold
In my glass place
My office overlooks the world
I see the market move
It represents
The movements of
A million hearts

Some place their fear
Some feed their greed
Some with conviction
Make their mark

Some make a move
Some are too shy
Some sleep with every
Rising shark

And as for me,
I get to watch it all
I place the trade
Enjoy the spreads

But with it comes a haunting toll
I’ve traded dreams of shining circus lights
For tickers flashing green and red
The trading floor a circus field
The hedger walks the line above a net
My boss spits fire from his mouth
And juggles papers back and forth
The clowns shout back and wave their hands
And for the grand finale
A bull or bear

I’ve spread my legs between two worlds
Up to the point where I could feel them tear
And with them torn, my life apart,
My high school sweetheart
She used to prep my lunch-box every morning,
Is just another stranger across the road
In her own office

I’ll place a trade today and hope she buys
Maybe we could touch in cyberspace.

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Death – Slanted Reasoning of the Sick Man

We are all passing by
Dancing through this life
Skipping through the Milky Way
And yet when everything seems to make sense
We lose sense of it all

We age, we grow, we wither
And beyond the silky skies
The mysteries of existence
We cannot look
We cannot see

We try to peer across the corner
We catch our breaths
But yet again death catches us
Empty handed
It visits us in our homes
With no invitation

It enters our families
Makes friends with our friends
Parades through our lives
Uninvited

Claims us all
Claims everything
This whole entirety is up for grabs
Continuously claimed
Destroyed
And then
There’s room for more creation

The newborn is as much a murderer as my sickness
The seed sown deeply into the ground
Drinks from the blood of its predecessor
It could have not existed
Without a death

In search of meaning we say
We’re all connected
We switch our thoughts
We say it had to die
For life to be brought forth

But no,
There is no meaning in life
We know that
And for all we know as well
There may be even more meaning in death
So we are wrong
It is the other way
Its life that kills not death
And so, only in death can we be set free

Eternal Gray – last testament of the junkie

Monstrous tentacles ploughing through my veins

Reaching into my deep thoughts at night

Hunting me relentlessly and without stop.

As I peer through the window sill

I catch a glimpse of light and smile,

Its been dark for quite a while

But somehow I still have not forgotten

How color looks like

Even though I now perceive the world,

In shades of gray

I guess that gray is a perfect mix

Between two ends that do not often meet

Or at least for me they don’t.

In its banality I feel at ease

Or probably rather more accustomed to

Why look for color?

When you can paint your life in gray

Why even bother to improve

When you can always use the gray

Into my veins it clenches tight

Onto my very blood cells

There is no need to fight

Soon even the color within me will disappear

And I will become one

With eternal everlasting mediocrity

International Disorder – rambling of the deranged scholar

(To be rambled very quickly)
Regardless of the debate regarding
the effectiveness of international legalization,
one cannot deny
from a descriptive point of view
that the cultural values of the renaissance
and enlightenment eras in Europe
act as the building blocks
of our modern international liberal order.

To the extent in which
the international normative environment
is contingent on the sociocultural values
of a specific form of polity
(that of Europe to be precise),
an anomaly arises
when such an international model is used
to govern diverse polities
with different understandings of social values.

One could assume
that only when an international order
that better reflects the notion
of uneven and combined development
comes into existence,
then such an anomaly can be solved.

In this respect we may conclude
that the current liberal order is anachronistic
with the logic of social evolution
and of humanity as a whole.

Bedroom Bliss – sonnet of the man in love

Combined with smiles and laughter I release
My inner anger spreads into the air

The stench of fear is overcome by peace
The calmness of an empty dragon’s lair

A smile so innocent from her lips so pure
Unclothes the pieces of my inner gloom
The more she smiles the more I feel secure
Undressing me as spring bursts into bloom

She shakes as I exchange her gentle touch
We mate and I ascend into a haze
The fire burns as we lay whole and clutch
Our passion keeps the dying flame ablaze

Forever seems to linger far away
All I ask for is another day

Thorns – dilemma of the eternally troubled

The countless thorns we try to pluck
We count and pluck and throw away
Have made another bush beneath our feet
And now the thorns we once had overcome
Are sounding bells for our own sad defeat

When plucking thorns it is a must to think
Beyond the pleasure of the pain
of plucking our own plights

What of the thorns when they’re discharged?
A harmless little lifeless thing we think
But soon enough we come to learn
That as we march towards victory
We drown in our own reckless pride

For such a future prickle pickle
Remember to go against your instinct
Don’t pluck the living hell out of yourself
Instead just treat the wounds and wait until
Those thorny bastards fall off along your way