Insomnia

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.

F84861-SR
they named the eroticism in my veins.
F must have stood for “Forbidden”
or, perhaps, “Forgotten”.
No one asked.

White-dressed muses
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.

'Lithium Ordum'

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!

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