Bjorn Visser

I silently gasp as the paper flutters to the floor
Is this a signal of the end?
the last pictures, our last hour?
...

He pushed her up, against the wall
He tore her dress, he ripped her soul
She felt his power
He sensed her fear
...

Lost, has the echo’s become my friends?
Alone, never. He is always there.
Staring, never blinking, breathing down my neck.
I scream as the pain claws through my heart.
...

Once again he visits
We share a cup of tea
We talk about the blood he’s shed, before he drains me.
We chat about the small things
...

Tick’ Tock the clock strikes twelve
a nightingale sings.
A treacherous heart releases painful gasps
a gluttonous hand grabs everything.
...

Like a tree,
you are.
Trapped in the very grounds
you once thought yours.
...

Another day,
a gloomy, dreary Saturday.
It passes, like a pregnancy.
Painful, yet excited at the thought;
...

Preserved like a still
born. Un fed baby.
Whit coats with
peering eyes stare.
...

I’m never safe.
My toes hide within your leathery confines.
But, as the nightingale sings,
I hide from you.
...

Your leaving, taking your body along
Leaving traces of your spirit though -
For me, us, to feast upon.
Like feral dogs or hungry cannibals.
...

Like slamming doors
Wood floors
My fists thumping gets louder in my minds,
Darkness.
...

When i was sick, you did not once
come to my bed. You did phone though.
Concerns with money.
As always.
...

Washed up into the corners of your body.
The immovable force, silently parted by your hand alone.
She lay still as the children of the world,
In gutters and on dunes.
...

The little lovers,
How they cross the distance with such haste
How about the sky?
Hands clasped in awkward movement.
...

Staring from the window, lives pass me by
a woman cries hysterically, her marriage a lie.
a man walks swiftly, a wallet in his hand
a girl alone on the corner, wearing nothing but her broken dignity and torn down heart
...

Gunpowder clouds cover the sky of the innocent.
A death no longer a loss
A tombstone becomes a rare expense.
No space wasted, a soul gone another already waiting.
...

The night time comes.
its ever-glowing darkness covers the tears on my cheeks.
the bustling of passers by. un-aware of my fate smile and talk as they slip over the black paved river.
...

Puppet to the Universe

You?
who are you?
...

Tea Time

As I go to bed
Just before I sleep
...