I can spend my hours staring at the light bulb in my roof
I can watch her photo-
graphies at the flashy washroom downtown
I can take a chai tea to go
I can write an essay on the semantics of tears
I can buy myself a smile for five more minutes

but I don't
instead I disappear
into whispers, chlorine and reassuring uncertainty

The spring has arrived where you are
while I ride on dim highways to escape swedish sounds

I can barely recall the feeling of gravel underneath my converse's
under my bicycle tires
the taste of sunburnt tears in Bulgaria
the sense of safety
the white furry beauty

I'm moving too fast toward
dryness you real blood summer you sobriety

Why are you not crying big brother?

Father drives you everywhere. Your tongue is unable to articulate the easier, the harder words, your sight is no longer sharp. Still your body continues being restless, runs back and forth, to places of intoxication, to friends with masculine chemicals, knives and shattered hearts. Father drives you everywhere, father drives you anywhere because that is what father does, has always done. No, brother is not sick. He gets seizures. No, brother does not have an illness. He has bad times. All states are non-emotional, all words derived from semantic universes without Is and yous.

Tomorrow my feet will once again pedal to institutions, hospitals, sterile coats and locked doors. Sudden head aches like flashes from unclear skies. I do not belong to this city anymore, to this time. I wish you could leave too, to another time, city, whatever. I wish you could leave with me (back to your untidy room, to the blue carpet and your Commodore 64).

You can leave during the days. But the nights are married to sleeing pills and surveilled corridors. Little brother is irritated over his lack of knowledge, irritates all over bigger brother (no knowledge shared to the small because we do not exist). What's wrong, why do you not cry big brother?

Through rain and cold. My body is smaller than ever, I have no blood in my fingers. Eyes burn. Skin burns underneath my cold fingers. No one notices if you're tired during the summer, even if you forget to breathe. And who breathes for you, big brother? I can barely keep myself alive.