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Hellelujah
Ada Veen

© Ada Veen, 2016

© Egon Schiele, illustrations, 2016

Created with intellectual publishing system Ridero

In A Middle Of Somewhere

In a middle of somewhere, in a middle of nowhere. What is nowhere? My bed is sinking in dark water. I close my eyes. I feel sick. I’m obviously sick. Your charges, my changes. Apologize, another vice. Sinking, sinking. Thinking, thinking. Dying, dying. Darling, darling.

Let there be shadow. Let there be light. Grief, come to me. Take me, save me. Sing the forgotten song. Nowhere is a place where you’ll never feel the pain anymore.

Not hallelujah, but hellelujah. I’m not looking for redemption. Sinking, sinning. You taught me that, and what you’ve done? You taught me that, and took my hand, and pull me deeply down. You freak me out, you turn me in I never could imagine; religion in this region never be a heartfelt action.

Timebomb. Crush. Burst. Everything you love will be buried under the fabric of the time. Don’t get attached to your home and things you keep so aflutter. It all will be deprived, will be never revived, and ruined with glitter and clutter. Don’t touch our souls, we already know that Love is a friend of Death; sweet spasm is divine – red wine and I whine, I hear just your breath – and mine. Don’t think I’m afraid; you know I was made of strongest shatterproof glass. You live for a jazz, for kicking against and sleeping with prettiest lass.

The freedom is holding and squeezing my chest, can’t say I know what to do. I’ve been so light-minded, I’ve lost the last chance for living and dying too. My wishes are sinking in dangerous stream and never will rise again, and even the most terrifying dream is better than anguished span.

Dark, dark water. The happiest people are those who got nothing. Your home is a place where you’re waited. At night you can hear how your life passes by. How you pass by your life. How you get lost. How kids are moaning and screaming in embrace of holy dark, how they will find home under ceiling of blackest accursed heart; how devils are breathing and grinding their nails in the tender skin, how smile on the face your mind in turns into the creepy grin; how you can lie here forever, and how you can lie in face – alive! I’m alive! – you’re raving, and here comes your disgrace.

So get up and take your Bible and your artificial gun, and shoot’em all – once, and double – now devils are fully gone.

Ladies and gentlemen, ladies and gentlemen! Thank you a lot for your attention, now our troupe have to say goodbye, but we love you, we love everybody in this hall, yes, we do – and do you know that in a one language the word “troupe” means “corpse”, do you find it funny? Now we’re going away with the sounds of Kalman, our ballerina’s dead, our clown turned into a maniac, following the classical script – do you find it funny? Sure, we have a blind musician, and the cleaner pushes him into the lions’ cage, but he’s alright, ladies and gentlemen, he’s alright.

We’re all in the one train – you, me, women talking of Michelangelo, blind, dumb, king and slave; we’re in the one train that goes to – no, not Eternity, ladies and gentlemen, but Unknown Ineffable Place, where you won’t be yourself anymore, if you will be. So grab your saving books and pray, pray, pray – it won’t help you, but you can try, yes, why not – and maybe you’ll be saved. But, ladies and gentlemen, listen to old worn clown without a crown: you-will-not, you will be dispersed into dust – stardust, if you want – and it will be the happy ending.

Danse Macabre

 
My friend, please leave me, go away, I’m morbid;
You’re go-between for all the final words
I’ll hear from Lord.
And when you’ll see exactly
How pale and horrible my face becomes
And hands are thinner, bonier than ever,
Then you will realize that there’s a witness,
Invisible and dumb – but just for you —
That there’s a dancing Death beside my bed.
 
 
You see that everything is dead in here,
But those few things that ain’t I want to save.
You see there’s beauty – it will be my savior
Much longer than you think – yes, after death.
Elysium and voice of God – both tempting;
Why do I think that they will wait for me?
And should I really need it – woods and angels
Were all around through my terrestrial life.
 
 
I’m all hell-minded, but my body’s sinless.
My garden’s maiden-pure. Here tens of lips
Just want to press to mine: but only cold
And silence will be answering for them.
I’m darkside’s friend, yet neither Priapus nor Satyr
Are addressees of my devotions now.
I’m faithful son of Death. She’s promised me
An everlasting bliss so long ago.
 

A Knife

 
my slayer had a knife
I had a body that he could gore
he stabbed me in the core
I didn’t ask for life
I asked for more
 
 
my slayer told me that his victim’s gone
and he was looking for a kindred one
green eyes, thin a

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