Poem By Niko Tiliopoulos
For thirty nights I stayed awake
with twelve, lepers, punk, disciples,
in a dungeon in Utrecht,
bathed in the blood of the needles
of the researchers of apocalypse.
they named the eroticism in my veins.
F must have stood for “Forbidden”
or, perhaps, “Forgotten”.
No one asked.
were messing up my mind with visions,
but I had an angel in my dreams.
“I threw your lies in the toilet, babe.
Two thousand millilitres of urine”.
The west wing was occupied
by the “happy” ones.
For a moment, I envied their sleep,
although it was fake.
I am imprisoned by the Holy Inquisition of my passions.
A sick demon, guilty from birth.
No, I won’t give in to the silence of the mirror.
I will burry the sun in the pain of her letters,
but I will fool the darkness,
for once more.
My first grey hair reminded me of time.
To her health!