Poem - the Hole

A big hole opens up, devouring everything.
I carry my tired legs through the dark days. 
I no longer know what true love is.  
And if I know it, I'd like to forget.

The kitchen is a battlefield,
and there's never enough beer.
I negotiate a plan with my spirits,
as I always do, 
and yet nothing will ever come of it. 

Dust-drying is my throat, 
my imagination is imprisoned 
in an ivory tower, 
and I follow old routes 
that have been expired for a long time.

Nothing is new, 
sometimes I can still hear your voice.  
But you are so far away
And me too.

And so the days go by 
without saying a word. 

I have died so often. 
Now I live a life of half-heartedness.  
It is soon over, 
but I can not get out of the matter.  
Not in one piece.  

I am a stain of the remnant, 
on which soon strawberries grow.  
Small, moldy strawberries, 
of which not even the snails want to eat. 

When is life like an ecstasy trip?  
Enthusiastically. Full of love for everything? 
Do I have to die again and again? 
will no one miss me?
I want to go, but it keeps me a bit. 
Something, something quite peculiar. 

A song maybe, 
a melody,
 a grain of sand in the eye, 
a sleepy thought, 
an idea of love,
 a beer for between, 
a call yet,
maybe a movie,
but in any case it is 

the thought of you. 

Because you exist.  
That is why I remain.