Under night.

Under the watchful eye of the moon

His feet hit the forest floor.

His steps in tune with his breath.

One . . . two . . . three . . . four.

The sweat trickles down his face,

Falling in his eyes and corrupting his sight.

Yet he continues to run and run.

This will teach him to murder at night.

All work and no play makes Klara a dead girl.

There’s a potential bullet

In the back of my head.

You can’t really see it,

But I feel a bit dead.

Just one day off,

That’s all I desire.

My brain is suffering;

Caught in an invisible fire.

It’s too much to wish,

There’s a lot at stake.

My future could be ruined,

So all night I sit awake.

Forever living dead,

Burdened with dark circles,

Because I could not jump

These impossible hurdles.

You don’t understand,

My motivation is lacking,

And I promise you,

I am not purposely slacking.

One little break

Is all I need.

But life, it seems,

Does not heed.


I am nothing but a leaf,

One of many on a tree.

Watch me sway in the wind,

And wish I was high enough

To feel the breeze.

I am attached to the branch,

Watching the other’s fall,

Hoping not to be next.

One day a woman came along.

She didn’t spy anyone out,

But it was I that she picked.

I held on for as long as I could.

But she pulled and pulled.

I was ripped apart in her hands,

Made into shreds,

And then thrown away,

Who cares where I land?