The War Of All Against All Poem by Niko Tiliopoulos

The eyes of the squirrel were creepy and red,
but they held no mystery inside their coloured iris,
no evil haunted their look,
no anger poisoned their vibrations.
In fact they were dead;
far too dead...

'Life is the means to satisfy our holes.' said Cahn.

I looked at the squirrel, but it didn't understand.
Foolish animal, my briefcase is full of your mortal parts.

'God's breath is cold, cold and pink.' said I,

and that's no lie;
just watch the wind
as he dances around that pigsty.

'The windmills must be happy.' mumbled Yvette.

You are more fascinating, than that internet,
you're trying to explore.

I observed my African dagger.

'It is sick, you know.
It caught the rust disease
from the blood of its victims.'

noted Marieke sarcastically
and she drunk some beer from a bottle.
(such a lustful picture!)

Jan managed to distract my attention:

'You should try to seduce Nicole instead.'

'Hush! Love is the language of the unspoken.'
Forgive me Dr. Luther.

The stamps will always reveal the number of her letters,
the pain they absorbed,
the moments they captivated,
the forgiveness they sought,
the hope they denied...

I'll sleep my desires away until April
and then I will deceive my soul again.

Welcome to my commedia dell' arte.

Oh, I forgot, it's only a rehearsal.