Andreas Blaustein

Couch is home

I sleep on the couch all the time
But I do have a bed in the other room
The bed is for good days in life
That’s why I never sleep there no more
Passing out on the couch
Dying alone on the couch
Movie dialogues are lullabyes
I’ll die to the credits at the end
At least I ate some pasta
Made by my own fucking hands
Entertainment and movies and couch
It’s killing me slower than time
And people would kill for my life
So why can I not be okay?
Maybe my couch has the answer

Making pasta

I haven’t made pasta for a while
I only had the dried ones to eat
I had no energy or will
To make that pasta dough by hand
Today I’m making pasta again
A sign that I’m back on track

Junk food and dark

I’m eating junk food in the dark
I’m crying because I don’t feel
A multiplayer game is on
But I don’t wanna play it anymore
I need to fuck myself up
Because I don’t plan on surviving
An accident or a gun to the head
Whichever is fine by me
Maybe something will happen tomorrow
When I’m buying more junk food
Otherwise it might happen in the dark

TV light

During the night is when the nothingness comes
There’s nobody there to be with me except the TV light
Sometimes video games, sometimes a movie or a show
Whatever it is, imitation of life
Not life itself
A TV won’t talk to you, a TV won’t touch you
A TV don’t need you
It will continue playing commercials if you die in front of it
But I need its light
So I can pretend I’m not alone

Going home

I can’t go home because I know
when I come home it will begin the end
The moments fly into a cage of memory
and there it stays and never grows anymore
I’ll sit and think and I will be blind
as life is being lived by someone else
Moments end and life continues forth
This life is moving, I can feel it moving
It really hurts, but now I’m going home

Author: Andreas Blaustein