The ice has melted
Drowning the body in scars.
I can not flee from the message of the fig-yew tree
Once again it comes back to haunt me
It has covered the world in its shadow
I must chop it down
I see the axe is caught at the top
I climb.
But the branches are too thin
They snap
I am no longer light as a child
But my will is relentlessly stubborn
Always the full moon
So I believe I can pull the sea
But this time I must be able to escape the shadow and reach
the tree top.
Nevertheless failing to succeed
I only attract bees
The heart once a hornets nest
It is repetitive
Its trip to the ground
Hell hath no fury like losing another home
How could you forget to lock the door?
One thousand stings let in - just a few more small nips
I am a temporary arrangement.
Swelling up like an allergy
Forced to expose my open wounds
They are frightened away by the sight of blood
The honey does not matter anymore
In a few years time it will have evaporated
No more sweetness
Just a stickiness that has me glued to the ground
Starving till the Queen Bee flies down my throat
She knows what is a happy ending.
A marriage of two ”too much” such similar spirits.
No longer yearning for connection
The sting is the wedding ring.
At last pain equates pleasure
Eternally joined at the soul in death.
And all these apartments with their balconies
Sustaining separate lives
Overwhelmed faint.
Object permanence
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