mickeymichal:

Bitter suckle on my knuckle
a waste of time, really.

I sat on my ass for too
long today, I think I
broke my back on
the bus ride, but
the overwhelming
collection of belongings
and the smell,

the smell,

got me, a tear jerked
to the corner of my
eye, a dead silence
as the room echoed
with shuffling, the
shawls were spread
high and mighty, the
hairbrushes were piled
amongst
the glasses.

Remember, their forearms

were bruised by numbers
and triangles, forever to
be carried

into the real and true
cemetery outside

of the gate.

mickeymichal:

And here we were in Minsk holding hands for the first time, paying ransom for our children who deserved no beating and no smothering. Here we were in Minsk holding our fathers’ cold bodies in the massive graves, holes gaping from head to waist, I thought we were safe, they all walk with white patches, numbers are our key for our houses.

Here we were in Minsk on our old street, remember Sasha’s dog Vanessa? I saw her whimpering somewhere last night, when we were rushing to hit curfew on time. 0500 hours, I kept repeating it in my head, I can’t forget.

Here we were in Minsk being murdered by the moods of the week, what is left of my skin is what I will give to my kin, I am nothing but a fleeting moment in a cracked window in this forgotten alley.

Please, please, let this living space increase,

I am so very done with sharing my spit with my piss.

mickeymichal:

“I’m hungry papa!”

He screamed into the far distance his father had walked. The little boy was shivering in his worn coat and shorts. His knee-high socks were faded and dirty from falling and running. His father turned around,

“What did you say?” Almost in a whisper.

“Papa, I’m hungry! Please, I need food!”

The boy’s father headed towards him. His face was a picture of anger and disgust. The boy peed himself a little.

His father reached him, grabbed him by his neck, and shoved his face into the ground,

“You’re hungry?!” The father was yelling, “Hungry?! Eat the grass, malchick. There’s no food!”

He dug his face harder into the ground, his mouth filled with soil, he screamed for his father to let him go, his hands were flailing,

“Mama! Mama!” Tears streamed down his dirty face.

“Your mother can’t help you,” his father uttered and let him go. The boy whimpered and spat onto the ground, “Your mother can’t help you, she can’t help any of us.”

The boy looked at his father leave the clearing and looked up to the sky. It was grey with a hint of sun,

“I’m sorry, Mama,” he breathed.

mickeymichal:

Daniel was driving the van, he knew how many people were in the back, he was saying the number over and over again in his head,

twenty three, twenty three, twenty three, there are twenty three people in there.

The commander sent him on his way an hour before, he was suppose to dump all of them on the outskirts of the city, he was suppose to cover them all with gasoline and smoke in the deep hole,

but he counted them all in his mind again, twenty three men. There are all these men and all these breathing lungs in the back, and he was suppose to just let them suffocate,

but he was suppose to release the poison half an hour ago, they were suppose to be lifeless vessels by the time he reached the end of the forest,

twenty three breaths, twenty three hearts pumping oceans,

“My body is freezing! I can’t do this!” Someone from the twenty three was yelling.

Daniel had his hand on the trigger, his leg on the pedal, he braked. The twenty three gasped in unison, he wasn’t outside the forest yet, he couldn’t do it. He got out of the white van and tripped over a rock, scheisse, he raged quietly, and opened the big door, “Go! Don’t look back and go! Schnell! You’re free!” The twenty three tumbled out of the white van with gaped mouths, Daniel started counting them, 

one, two… Twenty two.

He could see a small figure lying all the way in the back of the vehicle, he slowly climbed in and put his two fingers on the man’s wrist, he was barely alive,

“Bitte, bitte,” He whispered,

Daniel leaned in, the man said,

“Bury me.”

The twenty third man died moments after. Daniel wrapped him up in a large dirty cloth, dug a shallow hole and buried the man.

He buried the twenty third man with tears and Kaddish on his lips.

The gas didn’t kill him, Daniel said to himself,

I didn’t kill him. I didn’t.

I didn’t.

You don’t choose who you
are born to— you
choose your friends

they say choose wisely 

“An acquaintance is one
thing, but a friend?”

A friend will rip you apart—
a friend will stab and twist
until you drain out.

“I want you to be smart.
Know who you trust,” She kissed
me on the temple, twice—

I know who can hold me,

do not worry, mother.  

It was cold on the metal
table with the pumps
on each side of my
head screaming you’ve
got a problem down
there the blood won’t
stop and I cried
do I have to take
my underwear off?
She put a hand on
the oxygen and
said everything off
we need to operate
and he urged me to
sleep kiddo you’d
be in recovery in no
time and I was out
like a fish in the basking
sun mommy mommy
three incisions and
three scars later
a titanium staple
to forever pinch
me at the bend.

You are morrow for safe keeping
in frozen tanks I used to dig
in lab the dry ice I inhaled
took some of my brain
cells as my hand moved
deeper and deeper into
you until you moaned
relief and I held your
capsule in my hand

to be centrifuged at
thirty seconds while
the blood climbed up
and I pipetted your
dreams down the
cocktail for a
midnight snack. 

itsallthereisleft:

Did you ever notice
how small my frame was
against the hills of your eyes?

The pendulum swing
of your anger, dancing
up and down the beaten path of my ears.

Fight your fingers dancing
amongst dirty lights and
forgotten images of gods

too big for your opium-ridden
mind because we couldn’t
hold on to anything and
the story was nothing but
a dried up pool of
fake serotonin.

Collab with Michali in italics

mickeymichal:

The fog is overwhelming
in this bed

i am numb
i am numb
i am numb

i am undone
i am undone

i am undid 

she gave me a golden
swan ring— I lost it 
I know why, too, because
it wasn’t meant to be— 

the 49th week counts
the end of the flames

seven times seven and
we are free with—

tilted olive trees on the
mountains of Jerusalem
where I rested and they
rested in the uneven
ground— are you

a bird now, too? My
pockets are full of
sand, will I

track mud?

Please overflow me. 

The fog is overwhelming
in this bed

i am numb
i am numb
i am numb

i am undone
i am undone

i am undid 

she gave me a golden
swan ring— I lost it 
I know why, too, because
it wasn’t meant to be— 

the 49th week counts
the end of the flames

seven times seven and
we are free with—

tilted olive trees on the
mountains of Jerusalem
where I rested and they
rested in the uneven
ground— are you

a bird now, too? My
pockets are full of
sand, will I

track mud?

Please overflow me.