There is a man without a face,
a faceless man without a name.
He's the son of nobody-knows-whom,
the father of no one.
...
We see the world through these coloured glasses,
rose coloured glasses.
With tinted spectacles we preserve the
red vision of love,
...
I came with my confession.
I couldn’t take the palpitations.
With this love digression
I admit you got my heart in possession.
...
Wipe the spots off.
No remains.
Traces washed ashore.
Marks flushed away.
...
What matters
you don’t seem to know.
I know it.
know it too well I suppose.
...
Tender lovers
ordering tickets to modern love.
Catch my breath.
Wish it was not so.
...
These days,
love's wrapped in red paper,
given with red roses and satin hearts.
Chocolates,
...
Spread your wings,
just let yourself fly.
Spread your wings,
prepare to die.
...
He sealed my lips,
while he gently ran his fingers through my hair.
His tongue stroke mine,
then a wobbling feeling of relief ran through me.
...
Born and raised in Oslo, Norway. Loves writing, languages, politics, karate, films, music, literature, travelling and drawing.)
A Faceless Man
There is a man without a face,
a faceless man without a name.
He's the son of nobody-knows-whom,
the father of no one.
He talks rather slow,
but indeed he is a man.
He is somewhat like cellophane,
no one will take notice of his appearance.
He writes his name in invisible ink,
writing lines on the paper which will never be seen.
And as the years go by
he will just sink further still.